Log Date: 9/27/99, 9/29/99 Log Cast: Aureole, Doreel Log Intro: Aureole of the Plainsrunners is an elf driven half-mad. After being trapped in the grove of the old Shaper Doreel for many eights of days, she has been led to believe by him that she is nothing more than a Dream... a Dream called Elisel, who is also a tree. Only by the sacrifice of an old Wolfrider called Thicket, who gave her life to try to rouse Aureole out of the stupor into which she'd been seduced, was the young huntress able to get out of the hidden grove -- but as a result, the soul of Thicket is now lodged within her. And Ree, unable to return to the normalcy of the life she'd once led with her tribesmates on the plains, now finds her sense of self in tatters. Her memories blur into those of the other soul who now lives within her skull. And sometimes her sense of _what_ she is, and never mind _who_, goes awry; sometimes, she finds herself fancying she has vines instead of hair, branches and leaves instead of arms and hands. Now, too, she has been separated from her lifemate. And driven to a desperate act: returning to the grove of Doreel to demand of him that he return her to her true self. Doreel, however, has his own ideas about the truth of said self.... ---------- And so the night progresses, growing darker still before dissolving into the muted silver of morning, which creeps in like a hunting cat. The sun comes not far behind, staggering to climb over the treeline, sending a few fingers of gold in through the windows along one side... She who sleeps beneath the window does so restlessly, dreams haunting her through the night. Rich scents of green growing things that surround her tickle her slumbering awareness, luring her through visions of losing herself in the feather-soft contact of grasses... or sinking into the embrace of the mighty trunk of the great tree in which she rests. It is so tempting, so peaceful, and yet she struggles, half her memory insisting that she should be elsewhere. Should be under the hot golden sun of the Plains of her birth. Shouldn't she? Over and over again she wrestles, occasionally whimpering during her sleep... and awakening at last with a fretful start, opening uncomprehending eyes into the sunlight that falls across her face. Bright and golden is that sunlight, casting illuminating rays at odd angles, warm where it touches your skin. With it comes the cooler whisper of leaves and the babble of the brook outside, unmingled with any other noise. Together they are inviting, enchanting.. all the things a plant could ever hope for, at any rate. The soft warmth on her skin sends shivers coursing through the maiden's frame. Slowly, groggily, she begins to pull herself up from where she'd been lying. Her mouth parts slightly, and with half-closed eyes she tries to lift her face to that intoxicating light. _Her leaves, slowly unfurling, opening to the warmth of the Daystar..._ Then, she starts violently, losing her hold on the blanket that had covered her, both her hands coming up to scrub desperately at her face. She has hands... she has a face... she is... "I'm Ree," she groans into the air. "I-I'm Ree..." No challenge to that statement comes, at any rate, at least not from anywhere within the tree. The breeze whispers something contrary as it flutters past outside, but it is interrupted by a decisive *splash* effected from somewhere outside. One *splash*, and then another, as of a pair of smallish somethings hitting the water, one right after the other. What's that noise? Aureole staggers to her feet, shooting restless glances in several directions... and remembering in a surge of consternation that she must find... the Shaper. Doreel. She needs to be healed... where is he? And wait... her weapons. Need the bow, need the spear... where are _they_? A little fretful noise escapes her as she pivots this way and that. They lean up against the wall, supported both by themselves and the wood. You didn't put them there, certainly.. but when has the Mad One ever let you keep them? That stops her, for a moment... he hasn't, has he? Why not? _What does a tree need with a bow--no! No! I am Aureole!_ With a groan half relief and half fright, the maiden then leaps for the weaponry she'd carried into the heart of the grove, and with shaking hands lifts them up to clutch to her... more like protective talismans than weapons, though this does not register in her thoughts. Only then does she begin to search the tree... to seek the healer. It becomes rapidly evident that the other is not here. There really isn't anywhere he could be, for the interior of the tree offers nowhere to hide. His sleeping niche is empty, unless you take into account the tangle of blankets, and while the cloak hanging beside it might in the dark pass for someone, now it is nothing more than a muddle of grey. And then there is another splashing from outside, this one more effectively something moving about in the stream. Warily, hesitantly, the tousle-haired, tousle-garbed maiden edges out and down through the great tree, occasionally pausing and swaying where she stands as a current of air brings to her senses the taste and smell of the vibrant green life outside. Once she reaches the doorway of the tree she pauses again, swallowing hard at the impact of what she sees before her before she shakes her head rapidly and tries to catch a glimpse of the one she seeks. "Doreel," she rasps, her throat dry; the name comes out a bare whisper. She tries again in sending: ** Doreel... ** Doreel. Ah, yes. He isn't hard to miss, that one: he stands at the edge of the creek, holding.. something ..in his hands quite fiercely. Perhaps, though, the sending startled him, because as he turns around whatever it was slips out of his grasp and onto the grass, then rapidly back into the water. *splash* He whirls back after it as it goes in and scowls blackly, then once more turns toward the tree. "Good morning," he calls. Swallowing hard, the she-elf stares round-eyed in the ancient elf's direction, thoughts scattering and reforming at the sight of him, before she regains enough composure to call hoarsely, "You need to heal me..." Calmer now she is... but there is still a tinge of desperation to those hollowed eyes. Doreel shrugs his shoulders a bit, letting sleeves that had been rolled up fall back down around his wrists, and steps away from the water's edge. He studies you a moment or two, expressionless but for a strange flicker in sky-hued eyes, then nods. Slowly. "I do," he agree. "Indeed, I do." The maiden still clutches her weapons to her in an awkward grip, and now she inches forward, her attention skittering this way and that as she sees once again -- and this time in the light of day -- the ring of mushrooms that encircles the great tree. Then her gaze flashes back up again, blue meeting blue, as she blurts, "Heal... heal me now... heal me... please..." Hands are wiped on pants, darkening the grey only slightly, while the old one watches you. "What, my dear, is it that you wish me to fix?" He asks the question curiously, as though genuinely wanting to know the answer, odd as the query is. What kind of healer does not know the problem? Unless there are many of them.. Wait... didn't she tell him this last night? Aureole's brow crinkles beneath her bangs, and in consternation she blurts, "I... I am... confused... supposed to be... Ree, yes, Ree, Aureole..." Her shaggy head begins to bob, unconsciously. "Sometimes... Elisel, Thicket... sometimes.... tree... " Edging warily nearer, she adds plaintively, "I'm an elf..." Doreel folds his arms over his chest and stares at you. Or through you, maybe. "Sometimes an elf and sometimes a tree? The two are, you realize, different." But didn't he begin to turn you from one into the other? Little time is left for contemplation of this... he begins to approach, nodding slightly. "Very well. We shall fix you." "Different," Aureole agrees huskily. That sounds clear, a thought onto which she can latch her erratic consciousness. And she keeps nodding unthinkingly, a bobbing of her head that grows slower and slower the nearer the old one walks. At last she is still, gazing up at him with a half-clouded regard. "Need to be... just Aureole," she adds, intending it as a reminder... but whether for herself or you, she does not think to consider. The look in azure eyes is completely unreadable, fixed though it is somewhere in your own. Brows furrow just a bit in thought.. and then he moves again, following the ring of mushrooms for a pace or two before perhaps finding what he sought. He leans down, snatching one from the grass, and holds it out to you. It isn't a big shroom.. certainly no more than a bite or two ..soft purply blue with a dusting of pale speckles. "Eat this." At this, Ree shies back a little, her lower lip tucking under her teeth, alarm flaring in her eyes. "Not for healing," she moans. Doreel holds out the mushroom, a little pile of dark in a pale palm. "If you cannot trust me enough to eat this, how can you possibly trust me enough to heal you?" The question is mildly put, but somehow with an edge. Trust... _that_ thought tugs her unwilling gaze back to the little shroom. A curl of need, though, keeps it there. "Wh...what's it...do?" The maiden takes a step forward. "It's a mushroom." Deceptively simple answer that, given with no trace of intent. "It doesn't do anything." For a moment, she wants to claim that she is not hungry. But the longer she stares at the little thing, the more that subtle need uncurls within her belly. A heartbeat... two... and then she lifts shaking fingers up to curl around the shaper's creation. To take it from his hand and draw it to her mouth, her own hand beginning to shake more as she does so... and to, at last, nibble it down. And it is exactly that. A mushroom. Tastes like one feels like one, even eats like one, with none of that strange fog so often associated with the things he offers people to eat. Doreel just watches you, perhaps expectantly, nodding only a bit as you taste the thing. "There," he murmurs. "Better." Danger! Half her mind wails in protest... while the rest cajoles that of course she can trust the shaper. That wasn't so difficult, was it? And if it convinces him to do what she wants, where's the harm? The shroom eaten, Aureole frowns to herself, her pale brows knitting above her azure eyes, and takes an involuntary step sideways as she squints down at herself. Still Ree? Still Ree... but how long will it last? Anxiously, then, she snaps her attention back up to the ancient elf before her. "So... heal me," she repeats hoarsely, half-plea, half-demand. Doreel muses over this for some time before nodding, then steps backward, over the boundary of mushrooms, into the soft grass abounding beneath the tree. There he settles, apparently making himself comfortable on the lawn, and obviously taking his time about it. The tree... and the shrooms that ring it. Swallowing hard, Aureole pauses, something growling caution in the back of her mind and warning her to keep taking inventory of her hold on her thoughts. "Do... you want me to sit?" she blurts then, her voice husky with fretful impatience, her arms tightening around the weapons she still clutches. Her gaze flicks across the mushrooms nervously as she speaks; Doreel's silence unsettles her. Doreel doesn't answer for a moment, finishing his orientation on the grass before doing so. Sky-coloured eyes lift, locking on you -- through you, perhaps, if one were to attempt to find a fixating point for them -- and all but outright staring. Somewhere in them glitters something inexplicable, something that would be feral were he not so obviously of pure elfin stock, or perhaps familiar.. if he were a snake. But he nods, slowly, and pats the ground beside him. "Yes," he murmurs. "Come here." A little gasp escapes Ree as that steady, unwavering regard pinions her. For a moment she does not move, while a frisson of mingled dread and fascination spills down her spine. Then, slowly, she edges forward through the shroom-ring, subtly starting each time her foot brushes one... but not looking down. Your gaze holds hers, till she reaches you and sinks down uneasily next to you. That strangeness does not waver, is not at all changed by the faint smile that manifests, or by the supposed gentleness in the old one's voice. He reaches out a hand for one of yours, to take your fingers in his, and muses for a moment half to himself. "Yes, but what.." he begins, only to break the thought off with another. "No. I think.." Again he interrupts himself, inclining his head about a finger's width to one side. "Perhaps.." Both her hands have been wrapped about her weapons, but it is easy, very easy, to coax one of them forward to be taken. The contact of fingers wrapping about her own sends a tremor of reaction through the maiden's hand, travelling up her arm; for a moment, there where she kneels with her other arm still clinging to spear and bow, Aureole sways. Her gaze remains locked in your own, blue swallowed by blue, but her frown returns. "My... name is Aureole," she blurts, rather more softly than she's spoken before, but still by way of reminder. "I am an elf... need to heal me..." A slight nod is given to that before Doreel begins to attempt to coax your other hand from its grip around the weapons, to separate you from them. "Then heal you, my dear, I shall. But first..." and yet another thought is not completed, for now he shakes his head a single time. "Let me have your sticks, little one." Sticks? Again bafflement flickers across the maiden's eyes -- though she still does not look away from the gaze that has caught her, nor does her hand move out of yours. But then she hugs the weapons to her with her other arm, and protests plaintively, "I need my weapons." "Why do you need them?" The question is mild enough, all things considered.. particularly when paired with that odd azure stare. "Is it not safe here? Or do you still fear something?" _Safe... oh, yes, safe and peaceful and sun-warmed, where she can grow in quiet solitude, her branches stretching for..._ For a moment, her eyes go unfocused, languid, and she sways ever so slightly... but then, the maiden catches herself, features tightening. "Frightened," she affirms tinily. Again Doreel attempts to unpry your fingers, though without any real force. He works gently, slowly, rather as though not entirely serious about taking them away. "Frightened of what? There is nothing here. Nothing but me and my plants." She is not scared of green growing things, she knows that much. But... "Dreams," Aureole mumbles. Her arm around her weapons is growing slack, unwillingly but inexorably yielding to the patient movements of your hand. The spear and bow begin to slide sideways, but Ree, her gaze still caught, does not seem to notice. "Frightened of dreams. Get lost in 'em. Wrong..." Doreel ahhs softly and shakes his head. "Sticks do nothing to dreams, little one. They cannot help you in your sleep, which is where those dreams come." Still he works at your fingers, until he can slide bow and spear away, pushing them onto the lawn some distance away. "Only I can help you." Her brow crinkles as her weaponry is coaxed out of her grasp, and for a moment, she sways towards the spear and the bow, her now-empty hand extended toward them. For that moment, too, her gaze flickers away -- but only for a moment. It comes right back to the azure gaze upon her, drawn right back in even as her hand hangs there seemingly without her knowing. "Only... you can help me," she agrees. "Why... I came back..." Now one hand moves up to touch your face, fingertips already aglow with light as pale as winter sunshine, but ever so slightly warm. They touch to your brow, your cheek, your temple, soft as moths' wings against your skin. "It is," he agrees. "I will keep you safe from your dreams, Elisel." Her mouth parts slightly; her free hand drops slowly to her side. And although her gaze remains held by yours, her eyes drift half-shut for a moment in a little drowsy thrill of pleasure. Until, that is, you name her... and her features begin to tighten again in anxiety. Something is wrong with that. "My name is Aureole," she murmurs in insistent tones. The glow deepens subtly, taking on saffron hues, its area of brilliance spreading. It is warmer now, creeping into your body and spreading, taking its heat into your fingers, and your toes. His other hand too is equally endowed with heat, still holding your other hand. "There, there, little one," whispers the old elf. "Do not speak. We will heal you." As the warmth grows stronger, seeping through her frame, the flicker of dismay drains slowly out of the she-elf's countenance. "Heal me," she echoes, as she draws in a slow, marvelling breath at the glow beginning to enfold her. This is... what she wanted, isn't it? _To feel the Shaper's power welling through her, filling her with its strength and warmth, to yield to its promises of peace and safety and... and..._ Then, a sending trickles out of her, tentative as a spring blossom unfolding: ** ** The whole world shrinks, condensing down to become only a plant and the radiant sun.. or you and the healer, perhaps, depending on one's perspective. The light wells outward further still to enclose you entirely, floods inward to course through every vein, tingling where it touches skin and collecting in short-lived pockets in your fingers, your toes, the tip of one ear. It is invigorating, certainly, purging all physical ills: a scratch here, the last hint of a bruise there, all the tiredness lingering from last night. Invigorating... yes. As more and more of the warmth and light surrounds her, the she-elf's expression grows more and more tranquil save for a dreamy pleasure slowly taking over her eyes. Her heart speeds up within her, and a faint flush overtakes her cheeks. ** , ** she sends then, her thoughts opening further to the Shaper... _her sunlight, nourishing her leaves and coaxing the sap to flow more fully through her, shaping away flaws within her bark_... wait! Those opening thoughts of hers ripple with confusion, as she begins to try to remember her purpose. She has a purpose here, doesn't she? The ripple is, perhaps, noticed. As though a cloud had suddenly covered the sun the warmth ceases, and rushes out like a backwashing wave retreating from the beach. A few traces linger, but they too begin to dissipate after just a few heartbeats. Doreel removes his hands and leans back, drawing one hand up to touch his own brow, and closes his eyes to heave a sigh. "Don't... don't stop," pleads the she-elf, the words coming out in a low, yearning groan before she is aware she is uttering them. The retreat of the _sun, blessed sun, want more come back_ healing glow strikes her like a physical blow, and she sways forward unthinkingly, trying to follow it. "I can do no more now," says Doreel flatly. He watches you rather sidelong, all at once appearing quite weary, but watching you with raptorial intent. "It took me a great deal of time to get you where you are now. Surely you do not think it can be undone in a few moments?" "Wh-where... I am now?" The words seem to confuse her. Blinking several times, feeling unaccountably chilled now that the magic has retreated, Ree wraps her trembling arms about herself and hugs them to her. Time? How much time did it take? Uneasiness slides into her voice as she mutters, "Don't... remember how long." But her gaze is still half-needful, half-captivated, as she looks hopefully over at you. "Do more... when?" Doreel rubs his temples with thumb and fingertip, though gazes at you through a splay of pale fingers and lock of pale hair. Again there is a glitter of something.. something that might almost be recognizable if one had ever seen a wolf with the foaming sickness up close. Then he blinks it away, and it is gone. "Soon," he says. "I must prepare. I must.. find the way to effect the cure. We will try again when the sun is closer to the trees." "The sun," repeats Aureole, a sharp longing abruptly coursing across her face, her eyes momentarily blanking. ** ** And she sways gently there where she kneels, arms loosely entwined about herself. Another moment of staring and Doreel picks himself up, brushing off a few clinging bits of leaf. He picks up your weapons, too, and then wordlessly turns, setting off toward the tree and around it.