"The Clear Skies of Sanity"

Log Date:
	10/19/04

Log Cast:
	Doreel, Ynderra

Log Intro:
	After dallying among the Cat Elves for the past couple of turns of
the seasons, Ynderra's conscience has finally nagged her into moving on so
that she can continue her search for Kai, her missing lifemate, and Myriel,
her missing sister. Derra has found neither of them in the jungles, and 
neither has she found Kai's mother Jeela, the only other elf she can think 
of who might be able to enlighten her about Kai's whereabouts.
	She has found another elf, though--the last elf she would expect to
find wandering alone on the savannah. Doreel, the Firstborn who has caused
more than a little havoc for Lostholt over the years and who was healed in
Sorrow's End by half a dozen magic-users, has left the Sun Village in aimless
wandering. And now Ynderra has found him. Terrified at first, the Wolfrider
healer has quickly discovered that the work done upon the elder seems to have
had an effect: he not only seems far more coherent than she remembers, he
seems to feel remorse for his past deeds. Moreover, he seems oddly, pitiably
eager for companionship--and thus, much to her own shock, Derra has agreed to
let him travel with her northward.
	Now, as the two of them continue their journey, she begins to 
enlighten the ancient elf on certain matters he has never learned during his
solitude. Such as why a Wolfrider healer may not consider herself to be 
'tainted' in the slightest....

----------
No matter how grand the shelter, still a few stray lines of light filter into 
  the abode constructed. Unfortunately for Doreel, he is sleeping in such a 
  position that one of said rays of light crosses over his face and causes him 
  to wake early. Work towards an evening schedule will be achieved later in 
  the day, perhaps resting some of the afternoon so that the elder will have 
  energy to carry on further than the night before. Sitting up after waking, 
  he rummages about for the second fruit that was given him the night before - 
  hunger has stricken and he's going to sate it. A precursary glance is given 
  to where Ynderra slept, to see if she's still sleeping or his shuffling 
  about has roused her.

She hasn't quite roused yet. And it's with reluctance that she curled up in 
  the little den in the tree to begin with--but her senses, magical and 
  otherwise, told her only that it felt like any den that might have been back 
  at the Holt in the Father Tree. So Ynderra's curled up there, her small form 
  tense even in sleep, her dark brows crinkled over her closed eyes. Still 
  sleeping... but lightly, the slumber of a restless little she-wolf.

Unnervingly, Doreel sits where he'd slept, blue eyes watching Ynderra for a 
  good few minutes before his gaze lowers to the fruit in his hand. He works 
  on getting the juicy center out of it, with occassional glances towards the 
  sleeping she-wolf. He keeps his distance, not wishing to be in the wake if 
  she woke up with a start at his presence too closeby. Instead, he just 
  observes her with silent contemplation while putting pieces of fruit in his 
  mouth for chewing.

Not pale like the residents of the place you've come to learn is called 
  Sorrow's End--though her skin has been tinged with gold. Possibly from the 
  light of the Daystar. Small as the vast majority of elves you've seen in 
  recent seasons, too; dainty, though not to the point of frailty. Ynderra 
  seems to glow with health... possibly due to thhat trace of power that lurks 
  about her. As you watch, though, she twitches and stirs, frowning unhappily 
  in her sleep. Behind closed lids her eyes dart back and forth, and a tiny 
  groan sounds in the back of her throat.

Not exactly sleeping the best himself through the night, Doreel had a number 
  of shifting fits in his dreams - though nothing unbearable. ** Something 
  troubles your sleep. ** His mind-voice speaks, just a light brushing against 
  the other's mind. If it was meant for her to hear is untold, even if it is 
  spoken as though it was to her. Some part of him wishes to touch, though he 
  knows he shouldn't. She'd forsaken the empty hand he offered to her the 
  prior evening - there's no reason to believe she'd accept it now. A slender 
  hand pushes some of his hair back over his shoulder instead, to quell that 
  urge.

Whether it was meant for her to hear or not, that light mental contact is 
  enough. Ynderra starts, shivers, and without much else in the way of 
  fanfare, her eyes fly open. For a few moments she lies where she is, rolling 
  onto her back and panting a little as she tries to re-establish where she is 
  and how she'd gotten here... oh yes. Right.
When memory returns, she sits up, peering out of the little nook in the tree, 
  uncertainly. "Um. Yes," she answers, not knowing what else to say if the 
  Firstborn has witnessed her sleeping badly; she can't exactly deny it. "Er. 
  Hello."

Having managed to finish the end of the fruit, Doreel sets aside the seed and 
  peel nearby where he'd put the other the night before. He seems surprised at 
  her reaction, however, a slight start from him as she moves. ** What 
  troubles your sleep? ** He asks, with a hint of concern. Seems she's not the 
  only one who can try and help - or so he thinks he is. ** Good morning. ** 
  He adds afterwards, giving her a few moments to collect herself without 
  forcing her to answer the question he'd imposed on her.

What, stumbling across the elf who has a history of scaring most of her 
  tribesmates and clouding the minds of hapless maidens isn't enough to 
  unsettle her slumber? It is, actually, but Ynderra knows better than to say 
  that. And it honestly also isn't the only answer. She chews her lower lip, 
  sighs, and clambers out of the niche in the tree, to stand up and stretch 
  and rub a hand across her eyes. "It's a long story," she says sheepishly.

Having not dragged himself up out of his sitting position, Doreel remains such 
  a few more moments after the much smaller Ynderra climbs out of the niche. 
  He follows, afterwards, though does keep his distance from her. Mustn't 
  touch. ** We have a long walk. ** He suggests, not forcing her to spill it 
  out but making it an offerance - even if it's with information about him and 
  the discomfort he causes her.

At first, at least, Ynderra seems occupied with retrieving her belongings and 
  systematically looking over them to make sure all is where she thinks it is, 
  and to verify that nothing needs repair. So far, so good. Then she pauses 
  and considers the tree, wondering whether shaping it back to its prior form 
  might not be a good idea--after all, the way it is now, it might scare off 
  potential beasts that might need a denning place, with the aura of magic.
But then, if it was shaped back, it'd still smell like magic, wouldn't it?
She sighs, glances upward at her companion unsurely, and finally ventures, 
  "Well, maybe not that long a story. I've been looking for missing kin of 
  mine. I... worry about them."

Having left the staff he carries outside of the makeshift den, Doreel collects 
  it along with the other belongings of his that have been settled for the 
  evening of rest. Daylight plays on the slender oldster, and even if he 
  didn't look ethereal before with the daystar shining off his flaxen strands 
  of hair, he does now. He follows her gaze to the shaped domicile, and leaves 
  it to her judgement and undoing as he's apparently prepared to leave it as 
  is. ** Me also. Missing kin. What have you lost? **

Ynderra stops in the middle of slinging her bow into place on her shoulder, 
  thinking about that question; her hand strays to the panther pendant she's 
  shaped for herself as a memento of staying among the Cat Elves, and her 
  small fingertips rub unthinkingly along the smooth surface of the wood. Then 
  she sighs, and with distant eyes says softly, "My sister." She pauses, for 
  one heartbeat, for two. And then she adds, much more softly, "My lifemate. 
  They're... not dead... at least, I don't think. I _think_ I'd know it if 
  they were." There's a suspicious uncertainty looking under that grave 
  statement, though. "But I haven't... seen them for many turns of the 
  seasons."

Taking a moment to run fingers through his hair as though to get it somewhat 
  orderly after a night of fitful sleep, Doreel keeps his gaze on the she-elf 
  much shorter in stature. "Your sister." He repeats, his voice less than 
  smooth from lack of usage. It's then that he simply readjusts how his packs 
  are resting on his back, and takes a few steps in the direction they should 
  be heading - or at least he believes they should. ** How many turns? Do you 
  know? ** Something can be told from that send, that his perception of time 
  is not quite reliable.

She'd been going to ask about setting out--but since Doreel seems prepared, 
  she goes ahead and gets into motion as well, hoisting her knapsack up along 
  opposite her bow upon her shoulders. Setting out on a bearing somewhere 
  between Sun-Goes-Down and Hubward, the maiden keeps to a leisurely 
  pace--remembering that her companion hadn't exactly moved quickly. Going to 
  have to keep an eye on that, she resolves. Anything jumps us, how fast can 
  he run? And even as she moves, hearing Doreel actually speak seems to 
  startle her. She blinks up at him, considering the sound of his voice, and 
  what she actually says is, "Um, if you prefer to send... that's all right. I 
  don't mind." Just don't go sending any dreams of leafy sleepy goodness into 
  her head, and she'll be fine. Er. Mostly.

Pre-emptively jumping her assessment, indeed, Doreel is prepared to set out. 
  He doesn't continue speaking, however, returning to the comfort of sending. 
  ** It is more comfortable. ** He admits, since as his voice betrays the lack 
  of usage. He has picked up the pace a bit more than the night prior, the 
  rest and food doing his body well and allowing him better strides than the 
  smaller ones he'd started off with then. Long legs are good for something, 
  at least. ** Are you going back to your tribe? ** He asks, looking at her 
  askance though he doesn't pause in his steps. The soft tapping of the staff 
  he carries is heard as it hits the ground from time to time, not always on 
  every step. Before recieving a response, he returns his gaze towards the 
  horizon they're headed towards.

Questions. Quite a few of them. Well--he did say he had several. Ynderra 
  thinks about them as they walk, taking at least some comfort in the smell of 
  the early morning and the breeze wafting across the savannah. Not so hot at 
  this hour--not a bad time for travelling. Most of the night predators are 
  denning down--but the daytime ones, well. She'll just keep an eye out. "I 
  know if you're used to sending, talking hurts your throat. Kind of why I 
  usually talk, just so I don't have to waste magic on fixing what I could 
  just keep fixed by using, you know? And I'm not all that good at sending 
  anyway. But I can hear you all right, so, um." She sighs, walking 
  lightfootedly along, barely disturbing the grasses with her passing. And she 
  decides to answer the latter question first. "I'm... not quite ready to go 
  back yet. I wasn't heading back there even before I bumped into you. I have 
  some things to work out. And, well... the other thing you asked..." Her 
  gaze, blue and melancholy, tracks out to that distant horizon as well. "I... 
  kind of stopped counting. Wolfriders aren't too good with time anyway, and 
  it was depressing me to keep track." Her mouth quirks into something that 
  might almost be a smile, except for that melancholy stare. "Not so long that 
  I've lost their scents or faces, but long enough ago that I can't quite 
  recollect why I was such an idiot about the fight I had with Kai to begin 
  with."

Doreel has his gaze mostly affixed upon the horizon - out there, not where 
  he's standing or walking. Oblivious, perhaps, but he's made it this long, 
  surely he has some skill in keeping himself alive and whole. ** I don't know 
  where I'm going. ** He admits, the truth there staggering as though he 
  himself had just come to this realization. ** There is nobody I know left. 
  ** He adds, though doesn't exactly look over at her to see if she has any 
  sort of reaction to this statement. He continues walking, and nods at her 
  sentiments, ** I hope you find them. Both. ** And with that he does offer a 
  brief fleeting smile, a shimmer of something that could look fairly decent 
  on him should he impliment it more often.

The maiden catches the smile, blinks a bit, and more or less manages to hold 
  back her startlement. _Maybe we did accomplish something in Sorrow's End,_ 
  she marvels in passing; maybe Doreel _has_ changed. This Doreel, at least, 
  is... friendly. She can work with this. And although there's still reserve 
  lingering about her expression, she even offers a bit more of a smile back. 
  "Thank you," she answers earnestly. "I've... been doing this a while now, 
  and no sign of them yet, but maybe I'll get lucky. And work stuff out on the 
  way. Mother did a walkabout like this when she lost Father. So." She spins 
  around a bit as she walks along, just for the sake of seeing everything in 
  all directions, and ponders the admission given her. "Well, um. Right now 
  you're going kind of between Hubward and Sun-Goes-Down with _me_. And I'm... 
  well. There are tribes this way, though it'll be some eights of days before 
  we get near any of 'em. I was thinking of looking at those Holts for Kai and 
  Myriel. Maybe looking at the Vastdeep Water, too. And if it makes you feel 
  any better, I don't really know anybody in the tribes I'm going to go see, 
  either. So we'll be kind of even."

** You have direction, you have a purpose. ** Doreel corrects his statement, 
  in the fact that he may know which direction they're heading but for what 
  purpose? Why is he out here in the tall grasses walking about? This he 
  doesn't even know, and as such Ynderra might be stuck with an ancient elf 
  for longer than she ever suspected. The smile fades, back down to the solemn 
  expression he had before. There's some heady anticipation in him before he 
  adds, ** These other holts, are they like your kind? ** Your kind, being 
  wolfriders, of course, and not the impressively tall type of elf that he is.

Ah, so now we're getting to something of the more pertinent matter--for both 
  of these oddly matched companions. Ynderra actually lets out a small burst 
  of self-deprecating laughter. "Purpose--aye, that's kind of the whole point 
  of what I need to work out while I'm out here." She considers what to say 
  next, and then goes on as she ambles, "Some of 'em. Wolfrider tribes. But 
  there are Sea Elves living by the Vastdeep, too." That she's heading in a 
  direction that swings nearer to Blue Mountain momentarily darkens Derra's 
  eyes; what to say about that? Um. "There are... other elves in the world. 
  More like you. I mean, older. And taller. But they don't tend to like elves 
  like me very much." She can do a retreat back to solemnity, too. But hey. 
  It's the truth.

Arching a brow at the short burst of laughter, Doreel doesn't quite know what 
  to make of that. His gaze looks around, as though expecting to see some of 
  these elves pop out of the foliage and grasses lingering in the area. ** 
  Like me. Can you point me in that direction when we get closer? ** He asks, 
  though, not meaning that he'll /go/ that way, just that he wishes to know. 
  ** You are estranged from purity, mixed, and changed. ** He assesses, his 
  gaze falling on her form in a manner that might even make her skin crawl 
  with the way he's looking at her. That's broken after a few moments, and his 
  gaze again lingers on the horizon. He's not about to change her this day, 
  he's not.

The look does sit uneasily upon the maiden, and her expression shows it--but 
  after a moment's hesitation, she meets that look and returns it long enough 
  to say, "That's why elves who are more like you don't tend to like elves 
  like me very much. They keep talking about how we Wolfriders are... impure, 
  or tainted, or whatever word you want to use, and you know what? It gets 
  really hurtful really fast." Now she does pull her gaze away, her features 
  turning stoic. "Especially when you consider that we are what we are because 
  Timmain had to make her great change, her great sacrifice, to let us _live_. 
  She _said_ so. My grandsire and granddam were there when she told my tribe." 
  Then she frowns, her brow crinkling, as it occurs to her that you might be 
  old enough to have _known_ Timmain, for all she knows. But she doesn't say 
  that. Perhaps because of the old hurt lurking in her eyes, now.

** It wouldn't be called a sacrifice, if it wasn't exchanging something 
  greater for something lesser. Would it? ** Doreel retorts, though he's not 
  quite being spiteful about it. He glances towards her, then back on the 
  horizon, there's no worry about him changing her without her knowledge - at 
  least not at this point. He believes it, or else he wouldn't be able to send 
  it, would he? He doesn't say anything else afterwards, however, no follow up 
  apology, also no offer to help rid her of the taint either.

Ynderra fiddles with her pendant more as she walks, but considers the answer, 
  and the manner in which it's given. A flush comes up under her tan--clearly, 
  this is a topic about which the maiden feels ardently--but she also seems to 
  have enough wisdom to keep from blurting out too impulsive an answer. And 
  she also reverts to sending. As she's said, hers is not the strongest of 
  sendings. But it's there, a small bird's cry against the greater sweeping 
  flight of the mind of the Firstborn. ** I don't think that's a fair 
  judgment, ** comes the she-elf's reply. ** And this is why--I don't think 
  that there's _anything_ greater than _life_. Which is what Timmain gave us. 
  Sure, we're little. But so are a lot of the other elves in the world, even 
  the ones who aren't Wolfriders. We all got little, except for the Gliders 
  and the Underworlders, really. Because it was easier for us to live that 
  way. And aye, I've got wolf-blood in my veins. But so what? I still send, I 
  dream, I feel, I _live_. And I like living. I'm glad Timmain did what she 
  did because it let me be here. **

Doreel slows in his steps, but there's no stopping. They've only been walking 
  a short while and there's not yet a real reason to stop. ** You're a healer, 
  you could make yourself whole, untainted, and still alive and more like me. 
  ** What's this? Does he think he's some sort of grander being than her? Or 
  does he simply long for someone to be more like him so he feels that he's 
  not alone. ** There's many of your kind? Not so many of mine? **

Derra sighs. As patiently as she can--and there is genuine patience interlaced 
  through her mind's voice, though there's frustration there as well--she 
  explains, ** But you see, Doreel, I _am_ whole. My wolf-blood's as much a 
  part of me as my magic is. It's all part of what makes _me_. Besides... ** 
  She blows out her cheeks in a long exhalation of air, and grimaces. ** I 
  _am_ a healer. And I'm... <Now, her sending wavers, just a little. There's 
  uncertainty there. A weakness in her confidence, perhaps.> I'm good. But I 
  don't know if I could do the whole make-a-tall-elf-out-of-myself thing. And 
  to be honest, I'm not sure I'd want to. Every time I've seen it happen to 
  someone, _every single time_, it hasn't been a happy experience. And it's 
  always been against the elf's will to start with, which doesn't help. **
Several more paces she walks; several more paces, she alternates between 
  scanning the horizon and the grasslands around her, and stoically glancing 
  at her feet. Her hand keeps fidgeting with her pendant, her small thumb 
  rubbing along the wood. ** And I guess that depends on what you mean by your 
  kind. If you're talking about tall elves, the Gliders and the Underworlders 
  are tall. They even have magic, a lot of 'em. ** Now, more emotion wells 
  across her sending--not disdain, necessarily. More like a profound wariness. 
  And she goes on bluntly, ** But like I said--they don't tend to like elves 
  like me very much. And they're the ones who have done all the shaping of 
  elves I know about... **
And then she trails off. And adds, her eyes very distant, ** Besides you. **

Noting the patience, as much as the frustration, Doreel falls unnaturally 
  silent. He'd been.. not exactly a chatterbox, but at least sociable until 
  this point. Chewing on what was said to him, perhaps, but either way he 
  walks in silence until she's finished sending to him. ** You seem uncertain. 
  ** He surmises, before adding, ** You worked hard trying to get me free, get 
  me whole. I can remember, at least pieces. Do you trust your abilities, your 
  magics? ** He asks, glancing at her with a levelling expression and then 
  back to the horizon that's so often captured his gaze. He doesn't send 
  anything after that for a while, continuing to walk with what could be 
  called a slightly less than brisk pace across the lands and hoping to get 
  further today than he did the day prior. ** I have dwelled.. many turns of 
  the seasons. A time before there was your kind, so small. Or, if there 
  were... ** He trails off, trying to figure out just exactly what he does 
  remember. There's no anger, or pity, not even self-pity in his mind voice. 
  Simply an attempt on trying to think, which draws silence over him. ** I 
  don't know. ** Foggy minded elf, this one, that much is apparent even 
  without the sending - his gaze seems somewhat distant.

Silence while walking isn't a bad thing. Ynderra can be a chatterbox--but 
  she's also grown an appreciation for the simple peace of nature and moving 
  through it. And so she doesn't rush her tall bright-haired companion. If 
  nothing else, she has to make a small face at what he's asked her. As the 
  two walk along the sun gains greater strength in the sky, and Ynderra has to 
  admit one thing--the clear blue beauty of the sky overhead, with sunlight 
  pouring through it, does lift her spirits. And so she's not even too 
  terribly embarrassed as she sends at last, ** Um. Usually I do. Trust in my 
  magic, that is. **

** You are much like me, in magics. ** Doreel comments, though if it is truely 
  to her or the ramblings of a idly distracted elder is difficult to tell. She 
  had said she was a healer, as well as a shaper - like him, even if it was 
  plants and nothing beyond that she could shape. Much alike, but still so 
  very different, these two. He remains walking in silence, quietude seeming 
  to take over his features. ** We will stop soon for a time, rest... So I can 
  walk more in the evening. Work towards your schedule. ** He suggests.

Derra smiles, sheepishly. ** Not like you, golden one, ** she corrects. ** I 
  _did_ see your grove. I couldn't do that all by myself if I tried. It almost 
  flattened me. ** Well, even aside from the dream-inducing flowers, but let's 
  not get into that, shall we? ** And sure, we can do that, if you wish. 
  Probably as the sun gets higher we'll want shade anyway. Doesn't get as hot 
  out here as it does on the Burning Waste, but still. But you probably know 
  that already. ** And that smile's still there, still a trifle sheepish... 
  but _there_.

Quirking a bit of a smile at the nickname she'd chosen for him, Doreel shakes 
  his head. ** I had much time there, young one. ** He decides on that for the 
  moment, since he feels somewhat infinite at the moment. There's something 
  that only time can do to an elf, and while not every year weighs heavily on 
  him the sheer amount of them do at times. ** It would be best, if we are to 
  turn to walking during the time that you prefer. ** He comments, glancing 
  ahead for a place to hunker down for more of the day. Something has changed 
  in him, there might be the vacant look from time to time, but for the most 
  part he's there, he's aware, and he's not mistaking elves for trees.

And as far as Ynderra is concerned, that's a distinct improvement. That, 
  almost more than the pure sunlight washing across the morning sky, raises 
  her spirits--for he begins to seem like an _elf_. An elf who can think and 
  live and send and dream as elves do. The weight of that immeasurable time 
  she senses, too, oh, she cannot help but see it. She doesn't even need to 
  hear it coloring his sending; her healer's heart and healer's eye spots it 
  clearly enough giving form to his expressions alone. ** Good thought, ** she 
  agrees, and she doesn't stint on letting approval warm her sending. Hey, 
  formerly insane, now thinking coherently! That needs to be encouraged. She 
  even throws in a bigger smile for good measure, her normally irrepressible 
  spirit bubbling up to fill the back of her mind with possibilities. _High 
  Ones... if he -can- truly live with elves again..._ She can't finish the 
  thought, but only because she has no words within her for the enormity of 
  that single idea. ** I have a little project I want to work on anyway and 
  it's easier to do that when I'm not walking. Would you like to pick our next 
  denning spot? **

Already looking for one such of those places, Doreel points off in the 
  distance at one more copse of trees out further. His intentions made clear, 
  he starts towards those which is just a little off the path from where they 
  were heading - but not so far so that it can't be made back in quick time. 
  Yes, he does seem far more coherent, more like an elf and not entirely 
  loopy. ** What project? ** He asks, glancing towards her and finding that 
  larger smile directed towards him. Of course, that illicits the response 
  from him to flash a bit larger of a smile - which does brighten his features 
  considerably. He seemed brooding otherwise, but with the smile crossing his 
  features there's more to him than some brooding oldster.

** I'm trying to figure out how to make a flute, ** the maiden sends, and now 
  there's no other word to describe her mind's touch but _cheerful_. For now, 
  at least, her reserve seems to have allowed this glimmer of brighter spirit 
  to shine through. ** I've got some wood bits I'm going to play with that I 
  collected on the way out of the jungle. But I'm not sure if I can shape them
  since I took them off of trees some time ago. And I can't usually walk and 
  shape at the same time, so it's easier to do when I'm taking a break! ** She 
  adjusts her course to match yours willingly enough, and adds, ** By the way, 
  you should do that more often. **

** Do what, more often? ** Doreel asks, continuing along the path with 
  relative ease towards the designated copse of trees. Nothing terribly large, 
  just a few sparse trees that barely block the light of day - but it beats 
  the surprising lack of anything larger in the expanse. ** Do you mind if I 
  watch? Have you never shaped a flute before? ** He continues to ask his 
  questions, though they're still light hearted.

Now Ynderra actually grins. ** Not once, but I've seen one that got shaped 
  before, and I have at least an _idea_. Got to see if I actually have the ear 
  for the right notes, though. The tough part's going to be if I can shape 
  wood I've been carrying around a while. And hey, if you don't mind watching 
  a cub like me at work, be my guest. ** Her brows quirk up a bit, and she 
  cants her head for a moment, pondering that other question. Then she 
  explains, with rather more of that patience that glimmered in her send 
  before, ** Smile. It suits you. **

Making it to the copse in relatively fast time, Doreel glances around though 
  doesn't actually seem terribly interested in shaping at the moment. A 
  strange change, perhaps, but he looks for one of the more shady trees to 
  start putting his things down. ** I don't mind watching. ** He admits, then 
  arches a brow at the later send. He doesn't seem quite certain on how to 
  take it, so with a rather meek looking smile he nods and sits down so he's a 
  more managable height for her to take in - not the towering elf over her he 
  is when standing.

Gently, Ynderra notes as she scouts around the little copse herself, ** Tall 
  elves or short, we have that in common: smiles are good things. ** Her gaze 
  keeps darting this way and that, and if she isn't necessarily companionable 
  enough to sit down right beside the ancient quite yet, she's relaxed 
  considerably. Sane and reasonable behavior goes a long way to quelling 
  nervousness, after all--and she's committed to travelling with him now, so 
  she's determined to make the best of it. ** All right, well, maybe you can 
  help me out, too, if you think of any advice. ** Comfortably, she divests 
  herself of bag, bow, and quiver, laying the latter two within easy reach as 
  she ferrets through her little store of belongings. She draws out lengths of 
  wood not much longer than her own forearm, some thicker than others, the 
  largest a splintering remnant of branch. She's been walking along with that 
  bumping at her hip? Apparently! ** I'm not sure yet which of these'll 
  actually take best to making a flute, so I thought I'd experiment, you know? 
  Some of the jungle woods I've found I have a harder time shaping. Maybe 
  because they're different kinds of trees down here than the ones around the 
  Holt. **

Pulling his hair back once he sits down, Doreel seems intent on getting the 
  mass of it bundled up a bit. No braids, just making sure it's not splaying 
  out everywhere and getting itself tangled against trees and whatnot. Another 
  brief smile fleets across his features at the first send, and afterwards, he 
  pulls his legs up to wrap his arms around them comfortably. He's not 
  disturbed that she's not sitting closer to him - it's not like you can 
  expect someone to go from being shocked and disturbed to see you, to being 
  friendly and cozy, afterall. ** Advice? ** He asks, watching as the lengths 
  of wood get drawn out of the belongings. ** It is different wood than was in 
  my grove. ** He admits, looking to the pieces that were brought out.

Four of them, ranging from the thick splintering fragment of branch to a 
  slender section barely thicker than her delicate wrist. This last Ynderra 
  considers, and then thoughtfully stashes back into the bag. ** That's too 
  little, I think, ** she asserts, ** even if I like the wood. Maybe I'll make 
  something out of that later. ** She lines the three remaining up before her, 
  between herself and the elder, and thinks. Her dark curly head bobs 
  thoughtfully. ** Mm. Grandfather taught me about different woods feeling 
  different. They seem harder down here than the trees I grew up around. Still 
  _trees_, but they grew different. ** With that, her smile quirks up a bit 
  more. ** Like elves have grown different, all over the place. Little elves 
  where there isn't much food... or brown ones, in hot places like Sorrow's 
  End. **

Doreel looks between the remaining pieces of wood with his blue eyes, then 
  glances up towards her afterwards. He points out one of the middle pieces of 
  wood, one of the fairly dense ones that should make a fairly sturdy flute, 
  long enough as well. ** That one, I hazard. ** He doesn't even touch it, 
  just points to it and lets her decide if he's right or not. Afterwards, he 
  leans back against his backrest of a tree, and watches her silently - 
  unwrapping his arms from around his legs to do so. ** Is there not much food 
  where you are from, then? ** Small elf, little food. Right....

** Well, usually there is. I mean, if you're Wolfrider-sized and your tribe 
  isn't too big. There've been tribes that had to split up because they were 
  getting too big for one Holt to support them. Sometimes, though, the food 
  gets scarce even now. There was a famine a few turns of the seasons back, in 
  our Holt. It happens sometimes. ** She considers the suggested piece, taking 
  it up in her small hands. For a moment she just holds it... and then, a pale 
  green-golden glow kindles around her fingers as she starts taking a 'look' 
  into the wood just to see what's there.

Doreel watches the piece of wood get checked out, blue eyes fixed on the 
  smaller elf's hands and himself leaning back against the tree. He seems 
  relaxed, comfortable, and intent on watching her without too much 
  distraction caused to her. He nods at what was sent, but other than that he 
  just watches with curiosity and a placid expression on his face. ** What do 
  you think? **

She considers, and without thinking about it, her features grow more at ease; 
  perhaps at least on some level she _does_ trust in her power, and in the 
  simple joy of letting it free. Once more tucking her lower lip beneath her 
  teeth, she considers. ** It's harder than pond reeds, ** she reports. ** 
  That's what Rillwhisper's flute was made out of. Shaping that one was 
  probably easy, though, because reeds already kind of grow in the right shape 
  and you just have to figure out what section to use and where to put the 
  holes. **

** It'll make a good flute, then. ** Doreel sends with a nod, once the 
  assessment is made. He does give her a smile, should she look at him, but 
  otherwise he just watches her quietly. Legs shifting to a comfortable 
  position, he taps his fingers on the staff beside him thoughtfully. ** It 
  might take longer to shape, but will be worth the effort. I can help, if you 
  need. **

Derra looks up, and takes in the smile and the offer as one. Oof. Another 
  tricky question? But well--she's already let him shape a den, so there can 
  surely be no harm in letting him shape some of something much smaller. 
  _Healthy_ use of magic, she muses, is a good thing too. ** I'd appreciate 
  the assistance, ** she sends agreeably, ** if this wood isn't too old to 
  shape by now, and if you know how to make flutes. ** With that, she quirks 
  her head again. ** Do you know how to _play_ them? I should warn you I 
  haven't ever tried to play one, either. ** Ah, and there's her sheepish 
  smile back. ** But I've been told I carry an adequate tune, anyway! **

Doreel considers for a long moment, going back in his memory and then forwards 
  again. ** If you just show me, I can. ** A mental picture, of course, of 
  what she's looking for. His lips thin out at the last question and a brief 
  shake of his head is given. ** If I knew how, I've forgotten. ** He admits, 
  though does offer a half smile at the last statement. ** I'd like to hear 
  sometime? **

Blue eyes blink, and Ynderra considers. No time like the present. There's a 
  ripple of assent from her thoughts; then, as she turns the segment of wood 
  about in her glowing palm, looking for just the right way to shape it down 
  to the proper length, she begins to sing. Her voice is not absolutely 
  perfect, but many of its notes are pure and true--and the song is one she 
  clearly knows by heart.
"Once we follow the starways, we children of light... the High Ones, yes they 
  knew the reason... now we run on the ground, and we hunt in the night... 
  uncaring, we follow the seasons. And we howl at the moons, and we run to the 
  kill, with companions of fur, and of cunning... we survive in the ruin and 
  take pride in our skill, and find freedom and joy in the running!"
With the high, sweetly sung words come a small flurry of images. A she-elf 
  older than Ynderra herself, with red-golden hair and green eyes and the 
  pond-reed flute in her hands, playing. A brown elf of the Sun Village, 
  playing a flute held vertically before him in the middle of the chaotic 
  cheer of the Festival of Flood and Flower. A secondhand image, handed down 
  from older members of the tribe: one of the Go-Backs with a flute carved out 
  of bone.

Looking down at the glowing palm, Doreel seems interested in the way she's 
  shaping the piece of wood - that is until she starts singing. His gaze is 
  uplifted then, looking at her though not exactly seeing, for the imaging 
  comes with the words and he is lost to it. There's nothing in it that 
  strikes him strangely, which is good - his sanity is safe for another day, 
  and a lightly pleasured look comes across his features. Not a smile, perse, 
  but one of enjoyment in listening. The tones are listened to more than the 
  words, perhaps, but then he's got little appreciation for the wants and 
  desires of the wolf-kin elves. Once the song is concluded, a larger smile 
  flourishes over his features providing one with a sample of what Doreel 
  could look like if he was truely happy, a fine featured, light colored, and 
  oddly -healthy- looking elder. The madness is lost from his gaze at this 
  moment, and all that remains are the clear skies of sanity in those blue 
  eyes of his. Quite the change, indeed.

[End log.]