affame_le_geant_the_revival_of_cayris fyn gula cayris nodded his head to the rhythmic pounding of the deer skin bongo and made his way to the farmhouse porch, shaking hands, slapping five, and accepting the encouragement from his dedicated followers; the fuel he needed to rekindle the motivation to go forward from this place of brokeness and unexpected loss. he reached the flagstone patio where ice still clung to the surface and then mounted the one wooden step. turning around, he faced the chanting mob, who filled the crisp night air with shouts of... "SELF IS NOT DELUSION!" he listened. he wanted to believe it. but the final words of twinkletoes placed a veil of doubt over him and now when he tried to look upon the future of his mission, it was the wrong colour and shapeless and foreign. he was a stranger in his own home, a wolf-man with no den. and so, he stood before the gathered mob, all of them, the injured, the dazed, the delusional, those trying desperately to assemble their wits, those chanting words they forgot the meaning of, those who looked to him for what to do next, and he squirmed. he pressed his feet into his black leather doc marten boots as if could squish his apathy into the oak boards of the porch floor. there was a bitter taste in his mouth and he realized it was his own blood. he spat it to the blown snow behind him. more formed upon his tongue and he felt a soreness in his jaw. "this improbity will eat me from the inside out," he thought to himself. he knew what he had to do with ghosts. he lifted his arms up and with gloved palms facing out, he slowly brought his arms down. the volume of the chanting decreased until he achieved the silence he desired. he studied the wolf faces as they looked up at him through their leather helmets. mouths clenched tight, they stared, waiting, eyes barely blinking, souls hungry for direction. it was this devotion that became a voice echoing deep within the caverns of his stored decadence, that called forth to the beast within and served to revive the nature of the ravenous wolf. finally he spoke. "we came to this farm to take the mandrill as our prisoner," cayris said. his words were loud and clear, ringing like a quaint village church bell announcing the hour of prayer. some of the wolf-men cast a downwards glance to the rumpled snow at their boots in the acceptance of failure. "and due to unforeseen circumstances our plans were challenged." several of the followers glanced over to the bonfire in the painful remembrance of twinkletoes and his final act of revenge. "yet, we cannot allow one small obstacle to upset the balance." all eyes were upon him again and heads were lifted. this was the cayris they knew. "we will regather ourselves. we will pick ourselves up. we will look back on our mistakes and will learn. we will remember what we did wrong and will not do it again." he could see their chests rising and falling as if his words were fresh air in a room of choking smoke. they were starving for encouragement and he was administering long-awaited succor. cayris felt the spirit of the mission returning to him as if it was a bird long gone for the winter and had come back with the first whispers of spring. it was time to start over, to emerge from the ash of what had burned in the collective souls of their revolution. taking a torch from one of his comrades, he held it up to the mob, still silent in their rapt attention. "THE FIRE THAT THREATENED TO BURN US WILL DEVOUR THE GHOST THAT THREATENS TO HAUNT US!" cayris yelled. he took a few steps backwards and smashed the kitchen window of the farmhouse. with his other hand he pulled out the curtain and ignited it. the dry material caught imediately and burned quickly, flames leaping, attacking the wooden sill, casing and framework, spreading with a velocity that thrilled the crowd. a sudden cheer went up from them that filled cayris with admiration propelling him to the revived heights of hs leadership. "WHO ARE WE?" he yelled, jumping down off the porch and into the mob. they made room for him backing up, but not taking their eyes off of him. "WE ARE OURSELVES!" they returned in unison. "WHO DO WE LOVE?" "WE LOVE OURSELVES!" "WHO DO WE NEED?" "WE NEED NOBODY!" the fire at the kitchen window was ferocious and soon leaped and jumped tot he entire kitchen, climbing, spiraling, sucking air. the crowd retreated in respect and as the rest of the farmhouse yielded, becoming a mass of orange, yellow, red, and blue combustion, cayris led his followers away to the driveway where he continued the liturgy of their mission. "WHAT WILL WE DO?" "WE WILL WIN DENNIS BROWNE!" "WHO WILL HE BE?" "HE WILL BE OUR GOD!" "WHAT WILL WE WORSHIP?" "WE WILL WORSHIP THE SELF!" and so they watched the farmhouse crumble in on itself, framework exploding in showers of sparks. what was, no more. what will be they took with them, a caravan upon the bianca strada, to montamore to find puppertwinkle's flesh 030307 what's it to you? who go blather from