"The Giving of Comfort" Log Date: 10/20/04 Log Cast: Ynderra, Doreel Log Intro: Setting out once more from the Cat Elves' territory to continue searching for her lifemate Kai and her sister Myriel, Ynderra has taken on as a companion the last possible elf she could have envisioned as a travelling companion: the Firstborn Doreel. But the ancient elf is much changed from the last time she'd seen him, now that he has had time among the Sun Villagers. He is lucid, almost friendly, and almost pitiably eager for companionship, with an aura of acute vulnerability and remorse about him that has convinced the little she-elf that he is no longer the danger he once was. And besides--she begins to feel sympathy for him. Especially when she catches him haunted by a nightmare.... --------- The sun climbs higher over the savannah, enough to sting a Wolfrider maiden's sensitive eyes. Ynderra finds herself grateful for even the marginal shelter of the small copse Doreel has picked out, and at least to herself admits that it's an unexpected pleasure to have a travelling companion. Even if it's the last elf in the land with whom she could have seen herself journeying--except, well, maybe Winnowill or something. Even after the Firstborn drowses off she remains wakeful for a time, trying to commune with the segment of wood she'd picked out for a flute. It's stubborn, refusing to yield to her will, and she begiins to wonder if she will have to save it for fuel for a fire later. And she thinks: about where to go next, about how long to let the Firstborn travel with her, about what to do with him while she does. Watching her work for some time, Doreel shifted to a comfortable position leaned up against a tree where his eyes started closing slowly. He might have even looked rather peaceful with his golden hair draped over his shoulders, tumbling down over the clothing he wears. There's no such thoughts of the future in him now, instead they dwell somewhere in his dreams. Such things always started off well enough, but on this afternoon it appears they're taking a turn for the worse. At first, the only real hint that there's anything troubling him is the way his brows furrow - easy enough to miss if one isn't looking, with how pale his brows are. At first the she-elf does not notice; the scents of the savannah, unfamiliar though they may be to a Wolfrider's nose, are nevertheless Ynderra's biggest sources of information about what's out there around her. And for a while, as the wind shifts and brings her the tale of things upwind of the little copse, she quirks her head in that direction. Something off in that direction, something that makes her unaccountably pleased even if she can't quite put a finger on it yet. Whatever it is, though, it's almost out of scenting range. _Wait for it,_ she counsels herself, _it'll come._ And she turns her attention back to the project she still holds in her glimmering fingers. All right then. Is she going to be able to shape this thing or not? Should she give up now, or keep trying? She can remember her granddam Nightfall talking about Redlance shaping a troll's spear in the middle of combat in the Palace War... but then, Redlance is a stronger shaper than she is.... She gives only a fleeting look in Doreel's direction, enough to make sure he's still there and still quiescent, which is almost the best way to find him, at the moment. But it's only a fleeting look. The fleeting look doesn't reveal much of his state of mind, Doreel has the semblence of a peaceful sleep other than the creasing of the skin between his brows that portrays a less than restful slumber. Shifting slightly, nothing more than would be expected of someone in slumber, his legs shift to the side as he draws back in on himself as though nearly touched by something chill. A defensive move, if one was paying much attention. In his mind, however, there's something wrong - terribly so. Those past events have resurfaced, as they have since they were brought back to the fore of his mind after the healing. He's not insane now, not completely loopy, but he's still haunted. There could be a long line of fine nights, where he sleeps well - like the one before, but something about the not-quite-restful sleep of not being truely tired, yet trying to sleep and get on another schedule that has triggered this phantasm. Something snaps in Doreel, and while not awake his mental voice sends a shrill cry of utter despair, ** No! ** And his eyes open within a flash, though from the appearance of them it's uncertain that he can see what's right in front of him. Yeep? Ynderra jumps practically out of her travel-worn boots, the glow of her magic dying instantly and the chunk of wood clattering out of her hands. Her head swivels around to seek out the Firstborn again, and alarm washes over her entire expression as she sees the state into which he's gotten himself. Oh dear. Now what? She rises. She studies him intently now, trying to keep from trembling, and she sends cautiously, ** Doreel? ** The blue of his eyes may not be as clouded as it once was, but to look at him now, Doreel does not look all there. The good thing, is that there's no magic pulsing around him, nothing to make it look as though he's going to come after her and attempt to make her something she isn't. However, he doesn't appear to recognize her at the moment either, even when his gaze is adverted to her at the send. There is, however, the start of welling tears in his eyes - as he looks upon Ynderra. More than she'd like to admit, the lack of any rising power around him is a comfort. Ynderra's good at what she does--but she isn't in any mood to try to defend herself with her own power against a son of the High Ones. But as soon as his gaze whirls to her, all thoughts of magical defense or attack drop out of her mind. She knows that look. That's _pain_, and she can't help but respond to it. "Hey," she breathes, holding out her hands, palm up, as she might to show harmlessness to an unfamiliar wolf. "It's me. Derra. Remember?" Clamouring backwards, Doreel looks as though he's trying to push the tree out of his way with his lithe body to get away from her. ** Don't /touch/ me! ** He sends, and while it's with crystal clarity that he sends that, that not-quite-there look hasn't left his gaze. It's slowly receding, the words spoken to him not entirely lost in his momentary madness, and a tear falling free of the confines of his eye on one side. ** Don't touch, can't hurt.. don't touch. ** He rambles, though it's leaking out to more than just him, it's obviously him thinking to himself, and coming back to the moment - this place, rather than existing in some phantasmal nightmare. _High Ones..._ Oddly apt, that silently thought oath, but Ynderra tries not to think about that. Instead she creeps a little closer, her expression softening at the sight of that visible panic. ** It's all right, ** comes her reply, gently, softly. ** You won't hurt me. ** She hopes. Just focus on the fact that you're a healer, Derra-lass, and can _probably_ fix anything he does by accident... Doreel doesn't move away from her this time, instead he sits there and wraps his arms around his legs, rocking a couple times as the flow of tears tears increases and falls down his cheeks unushered. There's more sanity growing in his gaze, though he does insist. ** Don't.. touch.. me. ** There's a warning in those words, though no force behind them unlike the first time he sent that statement. ** She's dead, they're all dead. ** He sends, closing his eyes and loosening his pose a bit. Not quite as pent up in on himself, there's mourning and dispair in that send as well, and a need to be comforted betrayed even if his sent words oppose this. It isn't the wisest thing Ynderra's ever done, edging up close to a griefstricken elf who could probably flatten her with a thought. But while she's working on that whole wisdom concept, she's got many turns of the seasons' worth of impulsive habit to break. And now, she does not resist the impulse that steals over her. A small hand reaches for the bigger elf's shoulder, and an earnest sending comes with it, like a little star. ** I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. ** More sanity edges into Doreel's expression, his body relaxes and only when she touches him does that happen. The pale strands of silvergold hair drape over the shoulder she touches, and he turns his gaze upon her. Pools of blue, seeping over the rims with tears that fall down his cheeks as he seeks to meet her own blue eyes. His brows still knit in grief, but slowly he's coming back around. ** Thank you. ** He sends after his mind clears, lifting a hand to brush the dampness from his cheeks. Subconsciously, he leans closer towards her, but doesn't actually ask for an embrace. She'd tasted this mourning before. She couldn't help it--she had, after all, been elbow-deep in the healing given the elder's mind. Then, it was almost soul-shattering. Now, though... Ynderra pulls in a breath, daunted by the strength of the sadness visible in the other elf's expression. Watching him hunkercloser to her like an overgrown cub makes a lump rise up on her throat, and so she keeps to sending even as she tentatively strokes some of that long bright hair. Starlight and sunlight intermingled, she thinks. She's never seen an elf with hair quite that color. ** You're welcome, ** answers she, still gently, still solemnly. ** I'll howl for them for you. ** And with that, her little hand reaaches the top of his head, stroking loose strands back. ** It'll be all right. ** Obviously, Doreel wouldn't have wanted to try forcing her hand trying to get aid in suicide if it weren't a crippling experience in memory. He's grown since then, now it taunts him in his nightmares rather than while he's awake. His eyes close at the gentled stroking of his hair, recollecting himself after all this. The tears cease, though when he does lift his gaze to meet hers, the liquid blue of his still seem sorrowful. ** Howl..? ** He asks, continuing to angle his slender body towards her until a realization swarms over him of what he's doing. He snaps back to a sitting position, even trying to squirm and get her hand away from him again. ** Don't touch.. ** He repeats inwardly, again to himself but so she can hear also. Firstborn he may be, armed with enough power to shape an entire grove to his will and to change the stuff and substance of elfin bodies... but he is also oddly innocent, oddly vulnerable. _Exactly_ like an overgrown cub, Ynderra thinks. And she feels a fervent hope that she isn't wrong. Almost amused that she should suddenly feel protective towards a being many, many times her age, she lets herself smile a bit, just enough to gentle her expression further. ** You won't hurt me, ** she promises. ** It's all right. ** She ceases the stroking, but does not remove her hand; the weight of it remains upon his hair, warm and living flesh, more substantial than leaves or the petals of flowers, far more present than dreams and ancient memories. She's close, within reach, and Doreel can feel her presence as more than just the gentled touching against his hair. Reaching for her, provided she doesn't try to step away from him at the lifting of his arms in her direction - he's going to attempt to bring her up closer to him. He's larger, she's smaller, and it's far easier for him to reach for her than it is to try and give him comfort. A few more tears roll out of his eyes, unhindered by any sense of propiety or pride, ** They are gone, I am all that is left. I should be alone. ** It's that line of thought that got him pinned up in his grove for all those years, thousands of them. He might send those words, and they ring with truth - he feels he should be alone, and as such he pulls away from her and reaches for his staff. ** I will go. ** Er. Wait a minute. Ynderra blinks as the elder rises and starts to struggle to his feet. She takes a few steps backward on her own, and then lets out an audible sigh. One hand, the same hand that had stroked his shining hair, pushes a few straggling curls of her own out of her own face--but this time in restless uncertainty rather than comfort. But when she gathers her thoughts, only after a heartbeat or two, she sends firmly, ** You can go if you wish... you're a free elf. I shan't force you. But I do think you're wrong. Just so you know. ** ** I burden you, it is not fair. ** Doreel perhaps has gotten the feeling that she might not wish him around - and who could blame her if that is the case? He manages himself to his feet, though his belongings are still settled on the ground rather than being picked up. Standing at his entire height, not leaned over, he is a rather impressive sight as the daylight that filters through the small canopy of leaves hits upon his hair and gives him what appears like an aura. ** I'm wrong? ** He asks, eyes cast down to his belongings and not looking at her. Impressive indeed--and for an instant Ynderra forgets to breathe. He looks like a _High One_, for Timmain's sake--or at least what she thinks a High One ought to look like, with all that shining hair. Not quite so grand a figure does the little Wolfrider in her motley leathers cut, but her chin lifts resolutely as she steps over to place herself in front of the Firstborn. So does her gaze. ** You are. Your folk may all be gone, but that doesn't mean you have to be alone, not if you don't really _want_ to. You shouldn't feel like you have to go hide again just because your tribe is gone. ** Her mouth quirks, then, but her eyes do not waver. ** I know I must not look like much to you, I mean, I'm a little wolf-blooded barbarian and all compared to what the High Ones must have really been like. But I know pain when I feel it, golden one. And I know pain will eat away at your soul if you keep it locked up inside you. ** Ynderra, as she sends, just stands there. But as she stands there, wetness begins to trickle down her cheeks. The maiden does not appear to mind; if anything, it underscores the compassion beginning to lend strength to her sending. However, Doreel doesn't appear as one must imagine a High One would act. There's no arrogance for all his turns, and confidence is shattered - vulnerability permeates his existance at the moment and is partially why she didn't run off when he was first spotted. ** Why? ** He inquires, stepping closer to her and reaching one of his slender hands towards her damp cheek, adding, ** Why do you wish to help me? ** He asks, wondering why, indeed. He did so many terrible things, why shouldn't she wish him to wander off and hopefully - not be come across again in her lifetime. What -will- he do? This afternoon he's come to realize that his wandering is aimless, there's nothing for him to find - he realizes again that there's nobody left for him to find. And with that, in his sending is filled with sorrow - not so much pain, or ache, just uncertainty and sorrow. Good question. Ynderra's been asking herself variations of it ever since she set off with this most unexpected companion across the savannah. But she finds the answer for it, a heartbeat before she actually sends, the contact of her mind stronger now, glowing green and gold. ** You're hurting. I'm a healer. I'm an _elf_. That's enough for me. ** And much to her own surprise, it _is_. The peace of the decision giives her stare a steady clarity now, despite the tears that moisten her cheeks, and without a trace of hesitation she lifts up her own fingers to take hold of the ones venturing to her. Doreel clasps his hand against her cheek, not so much brushing as just closing the contact and letting her hand touch against his. A perilous situation if she thought him harmful, and at the send that's tinged with magic he blinks those luminous blue eyes of his. ** I.. am a healer. ** He sends quietly, barely a brush of his mind's thought there. He still thinks himself one - uncertainty tainting his send as though he thought himself a corruptor of health before now. ** I feel empty. ** If asked, Ynderra would not deny that she'd thought contact with this old one dangerous. But that was before she saw the agony in his eyes, saw him weeping in the aftermath of a nightmare, and felt the hints of what may well have been the elf he once was trying to struggle out from under the burden of ages of grief and mourning. Something has shifted within her now, though. She does not flinch at the touch off ancient fingers against her young skin, and neither does she flinch in her mind's voice. ** Even healers need healing sometimes. I've been there, but it worked out all right! And it can for you too. ** Encouragingly, she gives that hand against her cheek a single squeeze. See, she's not that scary after all, is she? And she's still _here_. ** You may have your lifemate yet. You have a chance, mine.. is gone. My child, gone. ** Doreel sends, his fingers brushing against the cheek of the young elf and smearing the tracks of those tears. He drops his hand, though doesn't pull away from the contact of her hand should it follow his and continue holding on. His gaze meets hers, a resigned sigh following before it lowers. ** There was.. Oriolle. Do you know of her? ** More questions, from the elder, more memories that need quelling. Derra has to tilt her head back to meet the eyes of her companion, but she does it without hesitation. And she does not let go of his hand, though she simply holds it, amiably, firm but not hard. ** You might find another lifemate again someday, ** she ventures. ** That happened to Clearbrook, in our tribe. Her lifemate One-Eye was killed by trolls, but now she's lifemates with Treestump. ** At that further question, though, both her expression and her sending turn quieter. She pulls in a very soft breath, and then just nods. ** Aye. We tried to heal her, too. And to figure out what happened to her. ** There's a flicker of pain in his gaze, something that betrays the responsibility for his actions that wouldn't have been there before. Doreel pulls his hand away from hers, and turns away from her. ** Tried? She did not make it? ** Did he forget everything, or was he simply that sheltered.. He doesn't know where she is, that much is obvious, and he's worried. There's the taint of worry, the taint of a warped affection for that one even still. ** We can look for her, while looking for yours. I will fix what I have done. ** Which is somewhat true, she is the one who lasted through him as far as he knows, and the one he knew best. Not that they'll find her, but what does he know? ** She... kind of fled Sorrow's End, while we were all there and you were in wrapstuff. Kiralee mostly worked on helping her--and she did some good. But none of us could get the other soul out of her. And when she left the Sun Village on her own... that's the last I saw of her. ** Ynderra considers this, reaching up to fidget with her pendant with her free hand. And she risks another comforting squeeze of the hand she holds, even as a back corner of her mind that the Firstborn's hand seems almost more fragile than her own. ** I've been kind of keeping an eye out for her, too. She hasn't been to the Cat Elves. And she hadn't come to Lostholt as of when I left. We'll look for her, too. You... _do_ remember she had an extra soul in her? ** ** She would have been mine... She would have been, if not for that other. ** Doreel sends, vaguely sounding obsessive about her. It would probably be best if he didn't run back into her, it might snap something inside him at this point. This overwhelming need he has, and her.. when she used to be so malliable to his touch. That, and he doesn't know much about her lifemate - doesn't know that he'd be mauled for what he'd done to change the waif of a she-elf. ** I remember. ** Derra purses her lips, considering that reaction, considering the other elf's stance and bearing, and the tenor of the sending washing down over her. Another little flurry of uncertainty skitters through her--what in the _world_ is she doing? part of her wonders. This is harder than just pouring power into him, on Leetah's and Savah's and Djhala's commands. This is, after all, looking into the emotions of one who, for all his power, seems about as frail as thin ice upon a river... and the maiden has never been faced with its like. She thinks hard and fast, and with a swift inner hope that she is doing the right thing, moves her free hand down to join the other in cradling Doreel's between them. ** Wanting to help her is a good thing. Hang onto that. And... we'll look for her too. I promise. ** 'We', she says, Doreel reflects upon this for a while. His gaze lowers to the much shorter in stature elfess as his hands are cradled, some of his emotions that were rising so quickly have become quelled and more relaxed. He is different, this ancient elf, not reaching out with magic and trying to change what he sees to what he wants to see - accepting things as they are. He pulls his hands away after a few moments and nods, ** Alright. We should go. I've.. kept us too long. ** He sends, stepping away to attempt and gather his things for the continued journey. There's some part in him nagging that he wishes to just sit here, and linger with her closeby - but the other part of him wants to carry on.. to find something out in the vastness that is the world, an ambition he hasn't had for quite some time. Patiently Derra bobs her head; if there's one thing she is absolutely certain about, this entire business is going to require every bit of patience she can muster, and that's saying a lot for one of the twin daughters of Tyleet, who spent her cubling days as one half of a tornado of mischief that swept over Lostholt. ** We can do that. Getting past the hottest part of the day, anyway. And it'll do us both good to keep moving. ** True to her earlier statement--Doreel being a free elf, that is--she lets him pull back as he will, and lopes easily after him to scoop up her own possessions. Once her hands are released from his grasp, Doreel goes about collecting his things. No shaping happened here, so it's simple enough - he collects his staff and belongings and gets himself settled for the continued walk. There's not to be any rushed pace on this walk - he's rather languid in his steps as though he had forever to get somewhere. Anywhere. ** Let's go, little one. We should be able to go until we're hungry.. then until mid-night. ** He figures his partial rest this afternoon will carry him that far, at least. To this, Ynderra's smile flares up. She pauses long enough to drink down a swig of her water, then stashes it again and steps over to fall into step at her companion's side. ** Sounds good to me. I do look forward to the night--and getting back into a forest. ** And maybe--ah, yes, there it is, that whiff of something on the wind, something that prickles at her wolf-blood. Something that'll be interesting to track as she moves along. ** There's a river we can make for, too... and it'll head all the way Sun-Goes-Down till it hits the Vastdeep. I'm kind of looking forward to seeing the ocean! ** Doreel will just have to allow Ynderra to do her hunting, while he shapes the sleeping quarters - as he did last time. It'll probably be commonplace, he'll provide the shelter while she provides the food - a perfect combination of two working together. He walks with long strides, trying to make it so she doesn't have to hold up for him as much as she had before. He can carry himself well, when he wishes to, after all. ** The vastdeep... ** He repeats, since who knows how long it's been since the last time he'd seen it. He'll follow, this much is sure - he doesn't seem wanting to part with the she-elf's company yet. She does seem to care for him, even when he wakes from nightmares. Yes, there is something to this.. friendship. ** I look forward to it, also. ** He agrees. [End log.]