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Barghest watched his dam join the others. He had heard Xibalba's interpretation of the spirits. But Barghest frowned. How did he just listen to them. The spirits could not communicate like a soquili or a familiar. One must understand the signs that they leave.

He had brought something just for the occasion. He dropped an eagle that he had caught earlier. The eagle seemed to represent the herd in the mountains. With a swipe of a paw, he sliced open its stomach, and nosed at the innards, five eyes scanning what would look like a bloody jumble of squiggly red to most... but his eyes were discerning... looking for knots and strange shapes.

He scanned the signs in the entrails and frowned. They were knotted. In one spot, it appeared that a bone from something the eagle had eaten had pierced the lining.

He shook his head. The signs were not good. They were not horrific, but they did not look good. His ears lay back.

"This will not be as simple of a battle as you claim, Taraxippus," He challenged, lifting his head to meet his brother's.

Barghest frowned, pawing at the dead eagle indecisively. "Ixchel said that she would aide the herd with her poisons... and aid us again with her poultices and healing talents afterwards." He caged. Taraxippus's eyes narrowed as he read easily through what that meant. That she would not be joining them. But for the sake of morale of the rest, he did not draw attention to it... for the moment.

Barghest sighed, looking at his mother, tail swishing as he considered. He enjoyed terrorizing others. Striking fear into them - letting them see their death coming. But an outright confrontation... no anticipation, no omens?
An ear flicked backwards. This was his home, though, and he was not shy. Perhaps he could fight in his own ways...

"Very well," He growled, padding up to join his mother, "I will show them their impending doom" An eye lingered on the eagle's corpse. He just hoped he wasn't making a mistake. He'd use discretion, hunt from the edges. He'd fight HIS style, not Taraxippus's.

Pooka had only been half paying attention to the whole proceedings. Every now and then, her shoulders would shake and her eerie grin would stretch her face as she laughed at something that she (and no one else, really) found particularly amusing.

But after her brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles and bats and wolves and slugs and mice had stepped before her, the rabbit waited no longer. She tossed her head, capturing her bother-who-acted-like-a-father's attention and shook her shadowy tail.

"What a game you call for, Terror, what a game!" She snickered. Snicker-snack!

"Brother Dearest, you must ask me most nicely," She said with a cant of her head and a flash of her eyes.

Tarahippus rolled his eyes. The madness of this one. It was infuriating sometimes, but he knew how to deal with her. Knew how to deal with ALL of them. It was part of his responsibilities.

"It shall be a great game, Pooka. New faces to share your stories with, new ones to make fear you, and us, our whole herd. It will be fun." He forced a smile, "Please come with us." It was almost painful to say, but if it got the mad rabbit to join the fight... it was one more in their ranks.

"Lots of eyes will be there," She trilled madly, "There are more of them than us, but we have many eyes. Maybe our eyes will be more than theirs, and we shall be greater."

She scanned around for Father. Was he there? In the shadows. Well, he was shadows, but shadows-in-shadows. There was red. It might be him. Would he smile his wicked-teeth if she went? If she spread the frightening stories of their herd? "Then I will win this game." She grinned.

She saw that the ones playing the game stepped forward. The ones who were BORING stepped back or left. Just two ways? Front and back? Why not other ways? Pooka sat down. She played the games her own ways.

"You never play! You never play!" Pooka interrupted before Taraxippus could speak. She had so MANY eyes... well, maybe they weren't eyes, but they looked like Father's eyes. Pooka would count it. She didn't act like she should. She had seen her, sometimes, when others weren't looking, the mare would crack like stone and visit cruelty on some animal. Like a rabbit. But not a Pooka-Rabbit. Why couldn't she be more fun like that more often?

"BOOOooooooORRRrriiiing~!" She trilled.

Nocturne still shook. Suddenly, she found herself distinctly uncomfortable. They called on her duty. On debts.
"I thought this was a choice," She rumbled with her hoarse voice and a glower.
"I have defended this herd. I am a guardian, not a soldier." She emphasized, building confidence as she spoke.

She spread her wings slowly, "I cannot... no, I cannot deal with this right now." She said with a panic in her voice. She needed to get out of there, to think without all the eyes on her. The thought of being alone in the world, exposed... not having the tangled woods and frightening soquili to keep the world away was a terrifying thought. But so was going to war. It felt like her mind was cracking, and Nocturne panicked. Before she heard Taraxippus's angry response, and insistence that they would speak more about this later, she took to the skies - something she rarely did - and flew away to think.

Grimoire's wings fluttered impatiently as she watched the other soquili join the inner ring. She knew Taraxippus didn't care for her much. She didn't give a damn. He didn't like her mother, either, but even after Arcana left the herd, she had stayed with her brother Diogenes and sister, Lycaenidae.

She belonged here more than with her simpering mother. Her mother that twittered and fussed whenever she thought maybe -just maybe - the stories that others told about her might be true. She didn't want to believe that sweet Grimoire wasn't as sweet as she let on. That she was a true bully.

It was true, of course. She had nearly stomped one of Taraxippus's baskets... before she was stopped. He had never looked at her the same since then.

So she wasn't doing this for him. War.... it sent chills down her spine. All these weak little things... weak like her mother...

Her form shimmered as she grew in size nearly twofold - from a diminutieve pony - smaller even than her dainty mother, to a massive draft mare. She snorted with a wicked grin. "I will paint my hooves in their blood," She rumbled.

Chemosh, as far as he was from the place he had grown up in, had overheard that there was something going on in his grandfathers lands, normally he wouldn't have dealt with family shenanigans, he didn't have the patience- what he did have was a great interest in protecting his own hide. But a gathering of so many of his family struck him as a little too disturbing to not investigate, if nothing else it would be an interesting experience. He arrived, slipping out of the shadows of the trees, his tail curling about behind him as he slunk forward, his milky eyes taking in the whole great mess of relatives and spooky cohorts that made up the shadow herd. He soon heard his mother before he had time to even think about finding her, her girlish shrill rising above the dark mutters and papery cackles of the others. " Mother" He said, walking to stand beside her " I sssee you're as ressstlesss as alwaysss." He offered a grin as wide as her own, his long snakelike fangs glinting. His ears were pricked forward, catching every mutter, hiss and howl, and soon enough his suspicions about the gathering were confirmed. This was a meeting of war. His upper lip curled as he regarded the others in this circle, while Chemosh preferred to look out for himself and his own interests, he had a bloodthirsty streak that ran, skipped and frolicked through this family of his, his poisonous mind fed him images of blood, his fangs sinking into vulnerable throats and watching the light leave the eyes of his prey. War was interesting, war was fun, and like his mother, he intensely disliked being bored. " Well well, lookssss like we've got ourssselvesss a party" He said churlishly.

Malfeas hardly moved as others joined him close by his side: Grimoire in her burly form, and the storyteller, and the serpent. But his four eyes tracked their movements carefully, judged their distance. Kept their paces, their gaits in his head. All information was useful, if one knew how to use it. Even if that use was not obvious when the information was collected.