House of Keen-Eyed Snowcat, Grandmother Pestle

"It is the rule, that for one to be of our number, she has to have lost a child and a grandchild in service,. It is also the rule that only one of our number can nominate a prospective member."

The older woman paused, quoting the rule to remind everyone, not of the rule, but of her power, for they were in her house. She would not have any shenanigans here. She was one of the strongest here, so strong, she was a candidate to host this meeting. The strongest didn't always host the meeting, but it was always one of the strongest.

Chosen as a show of trust, for the hostess had responsability for all matters related to security in the gathering.

While few in this land would attack a convention of grandmothers, drinking tea. Those who knew of the ears of the north, those with insight as well as power, well those would consider many of these women enemies, or at least, tattletales. Spreading secrets they shouldn't.

Anyone who thought Keen-Eyed Snowcat, Grandmother Pestle feeble would live to regret it, for she had lived four-score and six years, but for a chosen of the moon, that was a trifle, the chosen of Luna routinely saw eight or more centuries if violence didn't end their days. Her patroness moon had blessed her with the ability to take many shapes, and with sorcery and necromancy that would shame any mortal, as well as the martial art of the tiger.

Most of the other women were mere mortals, wise and well informed, but you never knew, what enemies would try to infiltrate.

She looked at the fireplace, it's stone soot-stained, where a scion of the dragons had tried to fly in, and burn her with his breath. She had turned his own fire against that foolish lad, and the soot there she had never fully cleaned, deeming it a memento of taking things too casually.

"Sisters!" She declared, and the women around her table, sipping tea, and eating scones, paused. "We are met for more than my boysenberry syrup! We must decide what we will do about the New Shoot!"

The mood changed immediately. The women around the table started arguing. "He is not ready!"

"He is ready, but not yet trustworthy!"

"Who vouches for him?"

"Sisters! Sisters! We've been through this! I've vouched for this boy before." She didn't tell them why she had though, that, in their prior lives, Elias Tremalion had been her bonds mate, her tied to the moon, him tied to the sun in symbolic matrimony, before the great betrayal. She wasn't sure if she wasn't extending him more trust than he'd earned, but if she let them argue, they'd just argue, and not decide! And that just wouldn't do.