Log Date: 10/28/96
Log Cast:
	Strongbow, Rillwhisper
Log Intro:
	Dart's come back to Lostholt with news of trouble -- and Strongbow
realizes that there are no healers in Lostholt to heal his sick son.
With that in mind, tentatively, he sends to his distant soul-sister,
the chieftess of Willowholt....

----------
Familiar, even through distance -- in part, then, because of the distance -- 
  comes the Lostholt archer's quiet mental touch. Low, though his mind's voice 
  contains a trace of a smile, he sends, ** Rillwhisper. **

You can hear her stir in response across the vast distance, surprisedly, but 
  more clearly than she had when you last contacted her. Her answer comes, 
  wordlessly but quick. ** ..... **, and then, ** ? **

The archer grasps that, though just as you have more strength this time, he 
  grasps less firmly, allowing a little more space. In a moment's shared 
  silence he greets, heart more open than perhaps, for the archer, is normal. 
  He lets the moment go with a bit of wistfulness and finds words. ** Dart's 
  with Lostholt, ** he murmurs, ** and has need of Ynderra. **

Startlement. Then, sympathy, and worry. ** Son hurt/sick? Healer come promise 
  fast **

The archer sends assent to that. ** Wrapstuffed...we have some time. ** This, 
  for some reason, seems to be a point of amusement. He pauses, as if on the 
  edge of another, less pleasant thought, and finally turns away from it. ** 
  Is your tribe...better...? **

As if, perhaps, sensing your evasiveness, Rillwhisper's answering sending is 
  tinged with strong concern. ** <Image of 'Derra><Trees still in-all-seasons, 
  not-bad-magic, Sweetleaf-spirit-strong-in-trees><Rillwhisper, napping, 
  encouraged by tribe><'Derra, resting after trying to heal Talek> **

Some relief for that, for the trees' strange health, even if he can't call it 
  'right' in his mind and worries on about its effect on the holt's 
  inhabitants. Greater relief at the thought of your taking rest. ** She'll be 
  back. Or Leetah, when she returns, to help Talek, Silversong. ** Again, the 
  little turning-away, quieter, stoic.

With some effort, Rillwhisper clarifies her sending; it echoes, ethereally, in 
  your mind like a ripple in water. ** Strongbow. Tell me. **

The archer winces, cursing. Something echoes in his thoughts on the edge of 
  sending, something like not-a-chief-yet, and fades. ** Trouble left alone. 
  Dart went after her. ** A pause, tense. ** Came back poison-weak, I think. **

Dismay, from the chieftess, and desire to know what happened. If you know. In 
  her sending, she tries to clasp you in mental arms. ** Tell me... **

The archer allows himself to be clasped, and shudders -- but grips tight to 
  something, some sense of duty or need, and, clearly, returns, ** Trouble's 
  in Doreel's grove. **
The archer is still after that, as if he'd say something, if there was more to 
  say.

Silence; then, as palpable as though she stood before you and you could see it 
  reflected in her eyes, sorrow and alarm. And, swift and sure, a promise of 
  whatever aid can be given, not only from your tribesmates to be sent home, 
  but from her and hers, as well.

** No! ** As soon as it's sent, he regrets it, and reaches out in the 
  closeness to touch, to explain his feeling, the fear that this is precisely 
  what you'd do. ** You need your tribe. Trouble...she's...trying to bring 
  Doreel out. ** He frowns, as if the idea is folly, but for some reason he 
  needs to defend it anyway and, lacking any skill of his own to do so, 
  searches for his son's own words. ** So Leetah and Ynderra can help him. **

As though with a worried crinkle to her brow, you can her Rillwhisper's 
  ghostly sending asking, ** Leetah not home Cutter not home _you_ alright? ** 
  It carries with it flashes of recollection, of Rillwhisper asking after you 
  in that same anxious, searching tone, her face hovering over yours... in her 
  Holt... in the glade where a Cat Elf was sent on his final journay to the 
  Palace... and in the grove where a mad Firstborn dwells.

For once, the archer's answer is certain, even a little bemused. ** Yes. ** He 
  reaches out again, with concern for you, your tribe, his son, Trouble, even 
  the mad Doreel -- and the odd strain of needing to decide things for the 
  whole of a holt, things that feel wrong to the Way at times even if right to 
  his mind -- but beneath all these worries and stresses, he is unharmed, even 
  confident. ** Just need to do something, ** he explains, and though 
  'something' contains much more, specifies, ** Get Trouble. **

You locksend to Strongbow, Rillwhisper promises, firmly, ** Will send Ynderra, 
  Kai. Tell Eagle, Mirth. ** Lingering on the edge of that promise comes 
  another, unspoken, an offer to do whatever she can, for you.

Gratitude, not just for Ynderra but also for the one he had, intentionally, 
  not asked for with her, comes back from the archer. He holds the sending, 
  silent, for a time. In sending as well as in the tree his body is perched 
  on, he takes a few large breaths, forcing a little relaxation of tension, 
  and after, sends again. Thinking around the edges of your unworded offer, he 
  states, ** I'll see...when Dart is well. **

** Don't _you_ forget to rest. ** _That_ sending comes clearly, as though from 
  the very center of that still, clear pool in a green glade somewhere.

If a smile, in sending, has sound, it's there as Strongbow replies, 
  gratefully, ** I hear. ** Tentatively then, he lets go, comforted.

[End log.]