"A Most Unexpected Meeting"

Log Date:
	10/17/04

Log Cast:
	Ynderra, Doreel

Log Intro:
	For some turns of the seasons now, Ynderra of Lostholt has been
dwelling among the Cat Elves, looking for something she lost when she tried
to help her tribe heal the ancient elf Doreel. The experience nearly broke
her, for in the midst of his millennia-old grief and remorse, the Firstborn
very nearly drove Ynderra to invoke her own healing power to put him out of
his misery. Derra's healer's heart has taken this as a bad blow. And so, 
keenly feeling a lack of confidence in her magic's strength, feeling adrift
in a Holt that's always contained Leetah--a healer to daunt any healer--the
maiden has found herself yearning for missing family members and to recapture
a sense of _belonging_ in her life.
	Among the Cat Elves, she's found at least for a time a place where
she seems to be considered welcome and needed--but she's never been sure if
this is because of herself... or because of her power. And none of her lost
kin are there, anyway. And so at last, the young Wolfrider healer has set out
on her personal quest once more, trekking northward through the savannah.
	She doesn't yet know that she's about to find her quest going in a 
direction she could not possibly have foreseen, for there is another elf out
on the savannah looking for answers of his own. An elf who, far more than she
ever has, knows what it is to be alone. The elf who broke her sister's cub's
mind, who has captured tribesmates, who almost turned a maiden into a tree,
the elf who has left her own surety in her place in the world in pieces.
	Doreel.

----------
On The Savannah
You are surrounded by a sea of damp prairie. Endless waves of tall grasses 
  brush your knees and legs with the soft wetness of light rains. You can see 
  the distant peaks of the Spines north over the grass, while the deep green 
  of the jungles lies deep south. You can see the waterhole is swollen with 
  the new rains, bringing new life and greater hunting to the area. Cut 
  grasses show what might be a trail movoing to the south and to the north, 
  but you can see it's seldom used.
You can feel the very light touch of the rains. The skies are of the brightest 
  blues but you can smell the scent of rain. Animals seem to be scattered all 
  over the great area, which seems to be as far as the eye can see. And the 
  very waterhole is once again filled with the lifegiving waters.
         The light of day sifts down through the sheltering canopy, lighting 
  the grounds beneath with a gentle glow.
Contents:
Doreel
Obvious exits:
North <N>  South <S>

Really, she should have set out again long before this.
Derra keeps telling herself that even as she trudges northward out of the 
  jungle, hoping that if she keeps repeating it, the thought might lend her 
  feet extra speed. Myriel wasn't in the jungle. Neither was Kai or Jeela. But 
  yet, the Cat Elves seemed anxious to keep a healer around... and what could 
  she have done? Told them no?
It was... nice, feeling for once like she was _needed_, even if she didn't 
  really feel like she _belonged_.
But she hasn't forgotten her lost kinfolk. And so now the healer maiden of 
  Lostholt, armed with newly shaped arrows and a new bow as well as the more 
  valuable knowledge of how to traverse the savannah without getting herself 
  killed, sets off on a slow trek back to the northlands. She's alone. She's 
  on foot, stealing silently through the twilight coming over the 
  grasslands--after all these seasons of living among diurnal elves, her 
  wolf-blood is anxious for the soothing darkness of the night. And she's 
  aiming for one of the waterholes, for her thirst is just as anxious for 
  water.

Successful. Doreel'd managed to get himself free of Sorrow's End, what with 
  the distractions being quite helpful in such. So far, nobody's thought to 
  track him down - or cared to. Perhaps he's just not considered the threat he 
  once was. Packing up enough things to get himself by through the trip, he 
  carries it out across the savannah. Pale moonlight casts an ethereal light 
  on the elf travelling, an occassional glint of light above the tall grasses 
  able to be seen in the distance. The waterhole seems to be a common place 
  for both occupants of the darkened grasslands, and where Doreel is at the 
  moment - getting himself collected for the night of rest. He's flopped to a 
  daytime schedule of walking and travelling, and evenings for sleep and 
  relaxation on this trip from his days spend with Sorrow's sunlovers.

She scents him before she sees him--Ynderra may not be much of a huntress, 
  either by her own tribe's standards or those of the Cat Elves, but she has a 
  Wolfrider's nose. And the scent that reaches her on the wind prickles across 
  every single one of her nerves. Her conscious mind doesn't identify it at 
  first--but her subconscious goes on the alert. And when she gets close 
  enough to espy the figure at the waterhole, a cold shock of amazement spills 
  through her entire being. Him, _here_?! She throws herself down hard amidst 
  the grasses, her heart suddenly pounding within her chest as she wrestles 
  with two powerful urges--run? Or face the elf who almost ripped her soul in 
  half when he almost made her use her own power to kill?

Oblivious, at least for the moments of approach, Doreel is squatting down 
  beside the waterhole. Wearing clothes that are suiting the season, he's got 
  on an eclectic mix of leather and cloth - much like he wore when he was 
  resident in his grove. That, of course, is enough to make some that 
  recognize him to twitch at the sight of him. He might not have the instincts 
  that a wolfrider has, or the ability to scent like one has, but he does turn 
  his gaze in the direction the hidden Ynderra is in, the same manner as a 
  compass needle must point north. The difference in him is that his gaze 
  isn't quite as faraway looking as it once was - he's there, now, and looking 
  for the being in the grass that he must know is there. Standing slowly, he 
  clutches the waterskin he was filling as his gaze searches. Run, and he'll 
  see her - stay, and he'll find her. It's a hard decision to come by.

He is, indeed, more than enough to make Derra's hands shake even as she 
  agonizes over the decision at hand: confront him? Draw a weapon? Strongbow 
  would have his bow out already--but she is not made of the stern stuff of 
  the heart of the archer. Not quite so stern is Rillwhisper, the Wolfbringer. 
  And for all that she is keenly aware she can't match the long-gone 
  Rillwhisper's own confident bearing, it is her example Ynderra chooses to 
  follow as she makes herself straighten, her dark head coming into view over 
  the grasses. "I want to come to the waterhole," she calls out, aiming for 
  brash, but strain undercuts her tone. She makes no mention yet of having 
  recognized him. "I... mean no harm." Yet. But her hands tremble all the 
  harder with the effort to keep from whipping her bow off her shoulder right 
  there and then.

Having his staff with him, Doreel doesn't have it in the hand that he usually 
  does. Instead, it's left on the ground beside where he stands, and only the 
  waterskin is held in his slender fingers. The tension can be heard in her 
  voice, and he's not oblivious to that. Cutting quite the imposing figure 
  when he stands up straight, as he does now, he lets one hand drift from the 
  waterskin to point towards the waterhole in silent offerance. ** Come then. 
  ** He risks that brushing of sending towards her, and though the same 
  mind-voice of his is there, it lacks the taint of the insanity that once 
  held him. It does not appear that he's going to move from his spot, however, 
  if she was hoping that.

The sending feels just as familiar as she'd feared... and yet... not. Ynderra 
  swallows hard, then edges closer, wary as a little she-wolf. She keeps her 
  body turned towards the Firstborn as she draws near--and keeps a healthy 
  distance away from him, as well. Does he remember _her_? The question shoots 
  across her mind, but she doesn't dare pursue that line of thought. Better to 
  take her waterskins out of the leathern knapsack slung at her side, and to 
  get them filled as quickly as she can. And get moving again. Once she 
  reaches the water she crouches down on one knee, but even as she dips the 
  first of the pair of skins in, she keeps that dark curly head turned partway 
  towards the elf that towers over her.

His gaze lingers, as Doreel watches her advance upon the waterhole he'd so 
  kindly offered to share. There -is- something familiar about this one, 
  though in the haze of his memory he's having a little difficulty placing it. 
  Rather than trying to choose what memory she coincides with, he asks, ** Do 
  I know you? ** instead of assuming straight off. An advancement, for sure, 
  though he does bend down to pick up his staff to use as a leaning device. He 
  doesn't do so in a frighteningly quick manner, a slow stoop which brings him 
  back to a full standing posture with it in his hand.

Ynderra freezes there where she crouches, the waterskin in her dainty hand in 
  mid-lift out of the water. Then, slowly, she turns her head to look up at 
  him. Blue eyes in a face that might have been Wolfrider-pale if not for the 
  suntan it sports study the other elf uncertainly... and once more, the 
  maiden agonizes. But she was never raised to be a liar. "We've... 
  encountered one another before," she hedges then, the best answer she can 
  give to satisfy her own innate honesty, "but... I... can't say you really... 
  know me." She stands then, just as slowly as the other takes up his staff, 
  her entire frame veritably vibrating with alert tension.

It doesn't take an empath, or a wolfrider to scent the palpable tension coming 
  from her, and Doreel is a little more perceptive than he once was. His hand 
  clutches the staff, either to be prepared if she might come for him - not 
  that he truely expects it - or simply to better steady himself on his feet. 
  His gaze still rests on her, the blue of them highlighted by the moonlight 
  as it descends in the sky. ** I've done you some ill, have I? ** He asks, 
  it's an easy conclusion to come to with the way she's acting towards him.

Any Wolfrider that would have sprung at the old one on sight would already 
  have done so--and Ynderra is gentler than many Wolfriders. More vulnerable, 
  perhaps, as well. That vulnerability glimmers distinctly in her eyes as she 
  takes in the question, her eyes reaching his, moonlit blue to moonlit blue. 
  Her throat tightens... but she is out of the habit of sending, and she is 
  not at all sure whether she wants to open her mind to this one anyway, even 
  enough for conversation. But High Ones take her, she thinks desperately, if 
  she is going to break down! And so she pulls herself up to her fullest 
  height and lifts her chin, striving for what pride she can muster. "Our last 
  meeting wasn't... very pleasant," she admits, her voice roughening. But she 
  keeps it to that and that alone, without elaboration.

Taking a step forward, Doreel starts to close the distance between her and him 
  deliberately. His gaze never tears from hers, though not entrancing it holds 
  it's own mysticality. ** Remind me, for I have forgotten. Is there anything 
  I can do to atone for my wrongdoing? ** He asks, and while there is that 
  same tone that bespeaks 'Doreel', there is sincerity behind the words as 
  well as in his gaze. He doesn't suspect she'll allow him very close at all, 
  and perhaps even take equal steps backwards that he takes forwards, yet 
  again he takes another step.

Indeed, Derra can't help herself--she skitters back a pace or two, though she 
  does not yet reach for either her bow or the dagger that rides upon her hip. 
  And perhaps that sincerity in the sending is what keeps her from her 
  weaponry, for a sharp uncertainty breaks out across her expression. 
  "Sorrow's End," she blurts. "I-I was... one of the ones trying to heal you." 
  Her voice goes even rougher now, skittering up to a slightly higher 
  register, and her eyes turn suspiciously wet as she bursts out, "You're a 
  healer--so y-you should know how it feels. You almost--y-you almost made me 
  _kill_ y--" She can't quite finish; the last word comes out of her choked 
  off.

There's a glimmer more of recognition in his gaze, those blue orbs sparking 
  with such as he stops suddenly. Doreel lifts his chin, eyes raising to the 
  sky as if the stars themselves held the answers he was seeking. Leaning 
  against the staff for a moment, only after a short amount of time does his 
  gaze again fall on her - hopefully still there. ** Me? I almost made you 
  kill -me-? ** He asks incredulously, though, in the depth of the send there 
  is a knowledge that it is quite possible that he might have done such a 
  thing. ** I thought you seemed familiar.. **

She hasn't fled yet, anyway; that might be a good sign. But Ynderra is poised 
  as if she might bolt at any second. ** Yes, ** she sends then, a single, 
  stark syllable, one that escapes her with palpable reluctance, and which 
  holds as much strain as her voice. Perhaps more. For even in that one 
  syllable, the tale told by her stance and by the tears beginning to build in 
  her eyes is echoed: she's terrified. More than that sending, though, she 
  does not yet seem prepared to give.

Doreel continues to watch her, her reaction to him and the tears starting to 
  well up in her eyes at his advancement as well as his speaking to her. The 
  ressurection of memories is nearly completed, and the elder truely does have 
  a look of remorse upon his features. ** I was not myself, child. I have been 
  healed - by your, and other's efforts. ** He continues, though still makes 
  no movement towards her. The waterskin in his other hand is capped and 
  placed over his shoulder, to give him at least one hand free, which he holds 
  outstretched to her. ** Do you not see I am changed? **

She cannot claim sending strength anything like the healing gift her father 
  gave her--but nevertheless, Ynderra is not head-deaf. And the purity of the 
  elder's sending does wash over her and give her significant pause. He's 
  _here_, far away from the Sun Village... and she has to admit that his 
  thoughts do seem far clearer and brighter than they had the last time she'd 
  felt them. And would he even be here on his own, if Savah and her lifemate, 
  if Mender and Kiralee and the others watching over him among the Sun Folk, 
  had not deemed him whole? But her gaze drops away, for doubt that's been 
  gnawing away at her insides rises up in a fresh wave at these memories; she 
  cannot quite make herself believe that her own power had anything to do with 
  whatever clarity that has given back to Doreel. "I'm... glad you're... 
  feeling better," she whispers lamely, fleeing back out of the uncomfortable 
  closeness of sending. The proffered hand, she doesn't seem to register at 
  all.

Not withdrawing the proffered hand quite yet, Doreel takes another step - much 
  like luring a wild animal with a handful of something they desire. But, his 
  hand is empty, and eventually, after the next step it falls back to his 
  side. ** I am apologize.. For what I have done to you. ** He sends, which 
  leaves no room for lying, and with it there is a strong feeling of remorse 
  that he can't help but append to it. Remorse, not for that event solely, 
  however - it appears to be remorse for many things that he has done as it's 
  too grand to be simply for that one incident. ** Do you wish me to leave? ** 
  He asks afterwards, noting the same hesitance in her for all this time and 
  now wishing to cause her any further trauma.

It's the heavy remorse that draws Ynderra's gaze back up--and that makes her 
  remember that for all Strongbow's vehement insistence otherwise, Rillwhisper 
  was convinced that this fair-haired elder was not to be equated with the 
  likes of Winnowill or the Underworlders who have caused such havoc for her 
  own tribe and others. She stares at him, taken aback just by the impact of 
  that sent apology. "A-all right," she breathes then, shakily. An apology, 
  freely given, she cannot turn down; rattled though she may be, she is no 
  more capable of really holding a grudge than she is of lying. Even if she 
  feels as exposed as a hatchling fallen out of a nest in Doreel's presence. 
  Sucking in an unsteady breath, she scrubs a hand across her eyes to try to 
  swipe away the tears, and goes on huskily, "Um... no. You, um... if you're 
  travelling, you need water too. I just... need to get some more..."

His fury was one of uncontrollable insanity, where the others know very well 
  what they're doing and how it will impact them. Doreel thought, for all 
  intents and purposes, that he was doing those he'd taken 'favors', and 
  reclaiming his past. His gaze tears away from hers, and towards the pond as 
  it's mentioned, the shimmer of moonlight easily picking out the pale gold in 
  his hair that otherwise might appear silver in this light. ** I've gotten my 
  water. Which way are you going? ** He asks, as if it were any of his 
  business, and sounding as though he -might- have the intent of going along 
  with her if she's going in his direction - no matter how fearsome a thought 
  that might be. Only after the last word does his gaze return to her, 
  awaiting answer.

The little she-elf _is_ unnerved by the question, but she's resolved to take 
  his apology--and to try to trust that the elders of Sorrow's End know what 
  they're doing, if they've let him back out to wander on his own. "Hubward," 
  she whispers as she crouches once again at the waterside. "M-maybe towards 
  Sun-Goes-Down after that."

Doreel could have snuck off though, as he did, and evaded attempts at 
  recapture. That much is a dull truth, even if he has a semblance of sanity 
  to him now where before he hadn't. ** Would you care for some company? ** 
  The dreadful question is asked, and with it comes a hint of the lonliness 
  that had crippled him for so long. It's not faded, and with him spending 
  this time out alone on the grasslands his desire to travel with someone has 
  grown. This one, who says she helped heal him, he seems to trust. Or.. is it 
  just another magnificent trap?

He couldn't have surprised her more if he'd slapped her upside the head with a 
  treebranch--not that Ynderra hadn't half-feared he'd do that very thing, the 
  lack of any tall trees nearby or no. Her jaw visibly drops. With an equally 
  visible effort, she pulls it back up. "I--" That's all she's able to manage 
  for a moment, as she stares at him wide-eyed. _Strongbow would have my 
  head..._ "I... don't like to travel alone, really," she allows, her thoughts 
  racing. If he _is_ whole, is there any harm in travelling with him? And if 
  he isn't...
A sense of responsibility stirs within her. She _is_ a healer. A good one, she 
  has to admit, even if she's not too confident with how she manages her own 
  power lately. If he still needs watching... and she's the only one around to 
  do it...
"Maybe for an eight of days or so," she blurts then. Oh High Ones, what is she 
  getting herself into?

** Wonderful. ** Doreel says, a sense of.. what is that, anyways? Happiness? 
  In his send. He does keep his distance none the less, so she doesn't think 
  he's going to whack her upside the head with his staff or anything foolish 
  like that. True, if he does lose his sanity again, a healer might be needed 
  - but could she heal the emotional breakage that cannot be bound to a wound? 
  He glances off towards the horizon, then back to her with consideration 
  following that. ** Did you need more water before we carry onwards? ** He 
  seems to have gotten his own supplies finished here, and also appears to be 
  able to go a fair distance before he gets truely tired. His gaze is clear 
  from the clouds that had obscured them for so long, and the world has 
  clarity it lacked before.

Shakily, Ynderra nods; shakily, she fills her other waterskin and thrusts it 
  back into the sack she carries slung off one of her slender shoulders. 
  "I'm--I don't need much--" The words tumble out of her now, though she 
  struggles for something resembling composure. She can't hang onto it long, 
  though. "This is one of the good things about being little and Timmorn's 
  Blood, why _are_ you out here?" On those last few words, her voice cracks.

Doreel also has a satchel tossed over his shoulder, remnants of items from 
  Sorrow's End peeking out of it. A couple ends of some mothcloth clothes seen 
  peering out, but other than that he's just got his waterskin and staff. ** 
  Atoning, trying to make good for the wrongs I've done in my madness. ** It's 
  good that he admits that he was not sane, and as well, he does have a tinge 
  of sorrow on those sent words that ring with truth.

Derra has to blink at that, for--"Aren't you... a little far Away-from-Hub?" 
  And then she grimaces, scrubbing a hand across her eyes again. "Stupid 
  question," she immediately lambasts herself. "I-I mean, you were in that 
  grove how long? Do you, um, even know where you're going?" Still skittish... 
  but at least she seems to be settling down a little. Maybe it's the sorrow 
  in the sending reaching her.

Again, Doreel's gaze goes to the horizon that no matter how many steps you 
  take towards it - it still keeps inching backwards. ** I don't exactly 
  recall where the grove is. ** He spent so much time in there he'd somehow 
  misplaced it in his mind where it was. He may always be a bit of a forgetful 
  one, though it may just be something that comes and goes when it pleases. ** 
  I had wanted to see what was left of it. ** He admits, looking to her 
  askance as though he expects her to fill him in on where it is. Oh, yes. 
  Please, bring him back to his grove.

Okay--Ynderra may be one of the most soft-hearted members of her tribe, part 
  and parcel of carrying so much healing power in her hands, and she's not 
  fierce as Wolfriders go. But that question raises her hackles nonetheless. 
  "That's... probably not a good idea," she says then, awkwardly, turning to 
  skirt the edge of the pond and retrace her steps back to the path she'd been 
  going to take in the first place. "You should stay out of there." There. 
  That came out with credible assurance. And it helps that she believes it, 
  too.

** But.. ** Doreel objects, sounding comparable to a child that was told he 
  shouldn't have any candy for the rest of the day after tasting one piece. ** 
  I have to see if my .. if. ** He stammers a bit in his sending, looking at 
  her with his blue eyes as he follows along behind her. A fair distance 
  behind her, though she might wish to make him take the lead if for no other 
  reason than to have an eye on him. ** My helpers, if there's any left. ** He 
  finishes, he does recall -that- much about his grove, and their lack of 
  presence around him.

The maiden glance back over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. That Doreel is 
  lagging behind does not escape her attention, and neither has his walking 
  stick. How old _is_ he, anyway? Maybe not as old as Timmain, but still an 
  immeasurable span of turns of the seasons, around which she can barely begin 
  to bend her thoughts. And she cannot help but recollect the frailty of his 
  form--her power had told her much of it, of how he had wasted away almost to 
  nothing, even more so than the she-elf called Oriolle that he'd locked 
  within a tree. And so she halts long enough to let him catch up. "If you 
  truly want to start setting things to rights," she says then, her voice 
  steadying out, "you should not go back there yet. It... wouldn't be healthy 
  for you. It nearly killed you as it was. Maybe not your body... but your 
  soul." More assurance. And though she sounds almost shy, a certain gravity 
  comes into her youthful eyes as she speaks.

Noticing that glance back at him, Doreel arches his own brow and asks, ** 
  Something on your mind? ** That, of course, is sent before he catches up 
  close enough to hear the later sentences, which cause a slight increase of 
  frown lines on his face. It's not something he wishes to hear, but then, 
  it's only a matter of time before he's shown to heed the warning or not. He 
  might fumble upon that grove again, after all. ** I still would like to. 
  Sometime. ** He admits, since he cannot lie in his sending. A forewarning of 
  things to come, this statement, though if it fortells good or bad, it is 
  impossible to tell now.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Derra asserts, still with that stark, solemn look 
  upon her face. "Not till you've gotten used to being around real elves 
  again. And eating something besides dreams and flowers and whatever else you 
  were eating in there." And oh yes, something's on her mind--but she's not 
  prepared to admit to the shudder through her nerves that the thought of the 
  she-elf Oriolle transformed to a tree in the grove's heart gives her. She 
  didn't see it... but she did see the twig-thin Ree clinging to the great 
  tree in the middle of that place, vines wreathing round her like lovemates. 
  Healer and shaper both, she almost can begin to understand what kind of 
  power must have warped that other maiden so... and it sends a chill 
  splashing right down her spine.

** I was in Sorrow's End.. ** Is the meek retort, Doreel's gaze affixed upon 
  her as he tries to keep up the pace. He is slower despite the length of his 
  legs, as it's not like he takes entire strides. The staff is a lean-to, 
  though not rested upon as though it is a crutch as much as a walking aid. 
  Somehow, the name of the place he came from, doesn't seem to have washed all 
  his sorrows away and caused them to come to an 'end'.

Ynderra looks him up and down, and for all the uneasiness that still sizzles 
  through her system, she cannot help but study him with a healer's eye. Still 
  frail, though not the wraith of an elf he used to be, she thinks. And some 
  of that frailty may yet remain more in his heart and soul than his body. 
  "It's a... start," she allows softly. "But you were alone for a very long 
  time. More than... I can begin to imagine. You should give yourself time to 
  heal properly... and learn about the real world out here..." She waves a 
  delicate hand about, encompassing the savannah, the darkening sky overhead, 
  the moon that's up and the moon beginning to peek over the horizon. "Before 
  you go back and look at the place where you lost your place in the world."

** I wasn't alone. I had my helpers, I had my plants. I had.. ** Doreel does 
  pause at that, unsure of what might come out. He had what, exactly? Oriolle? 
  His lovely tree of an elf? What, he doesn't say, he just continues onwards 
  and looks about the world that she motions to - that he should look at. It's 
  a brief glance though, before his gaze affixes on her again, her movements, 
  her form. ** It is now, that I am alone. **

She'd already decided--with great reluctance--to let this elf walk with her 
  across the savannah for a while. Now, though, Ynderra feels a greater 
  decision weighing upon her mind, and the responsibility learned from Leetah 
  about how to handle her power. She could say that if Doreel is alone, it's 
  his own fault for leaving the Sun Village... but that would accomplish 
  nothing, and in her heart of hearts she knows that. Instead, she falls into 
  step beside him, blows out a breath, and says without meeting his gaze, 
  "Well, I'm here. And it sounds to me like you need some help. I'm... not as 
  good as some of the healers in the tribes... but I can at least help you out 
  with getting healthy. And if you really want to make up for... what you've 
  done in the past, starting with me is as good a place as any." Of her own 
  turmoil she does not speak, but she does conclude with, "Do you remember who 
  Trouble is?"

And he would have countered with the fact that while there were others there, 
  Doreel didn't find what he was searching for there. His soul, is searching, 
  for something more than just a few elves to chat with. It always has been, 
  part of which assisted in driving him to madness. As she falls into step 
  with him, he knows he dare not try and touch her, lest he put ripples in the 
  calm the pond. ** Trouble? No. ** He answers, not mentioning anything of the 
  prior comments. Perhaps he thinks himself healed, or.. healthy, but he 
  doesn't say. ** Did she look like someone I knew? **

Dark brows crooking up, Ynderra ponders that question. "You tell me," she 
  counters, and then tentatively proffers forth an image: ** <A she-elf, more 
  lupine of face than Ynderra herself, but with something speaking of kinship 
  in her features nonetheless; green eyes, and a mop of multi-hued hair that's 
  mostly red, but with curious streaks of other colors as well--a she-elf who, 
  in the last turns of the seasons that Ynderra saw her, was thin and fragile 
  after moons in the grove. ** "That's Trouble," she says out loud, very 
  quietly. "My sister's daughter."

** Niriah! ** Doreel proclaims with a start, though in the back of his mind he 
  knows better. It's a moment before that thought in the back catches up with 
  the immediate thought the visage brought up. He then corrects himself, ** 
  No, not Niriah... It couldn't be. It isn't. Why? ** With that, there's an 
  incredible resurgance of sorrow, and he doesn't look at Ynderra, just looks 
  out on the horizon.

The sorrow is not lost upon the she-elf, and she shoots Doreel a liquid glance 
  that betrays her sympathy even if she doesn't let it escape yet into her 
  voice. "Niriah was what you called Trouble when she was with you," she says. 
  "She's dead now. You didn't kill her--but she was never the same after. And 
  my tribe still hasn't forgiven you for that. Or for the spiders attacking 
  Rillwhisper and Strongbow and Dart. That's a big part of what I know you've 
  got held against you. But..." She sighs, and finishes, this time in sending, 
  ** If you truly seek to make amends, then make me believe it--and I'll tell 
  my tribe. **

** Will they believe you? ** Doreel asks, then something sinks in a little 
  further into his psyche. ** Nir.. Trouble, is dead? ** He didn't know this, 
  and does look to meet the lower gaze of the she-elf that he's walking 
  beside. He continues his languid pace, nothing too brisk, with the 
  assistance of the staff he carries. ** I remember some of the spiders. 
  Shaping them, creating them. ** Of course, the things everyone wants him to 
  recall, right? The names, however, evade him as he called them by other 
  names.

Derra nods once, a single time, at that question about her sister's cub. She 
  doesn't specify _what_ killed her; no real need to go there. Then she slants 
  her unexpected companion a thoughtful look, and requests, almost gently, 
  "Tell me what else you remember? If I'm to help you... I should know." She's 
  not in a hurry; she ambles along beside the ancient elf now, matching her 
  pace to his, content enough for the time being to be heading in more or less 
  the direction she wishes to go. And it's a peaceful enough night, one in 
  which her senses take a bit of pleasure even as she periodically sniffs at 
  the air and flicks glances around her surroundings, just to make sure the 
  two of them aren't about to stumble across a savannah predator unawares.
And for the time being, at least, she avoids the question of whether Lostholt 
  will believe her if she comes to them to say that Doreel has repented of his 
  past acts of wild magic. She'll cross that stream when she reaches it.

Doreel doesn't delve for more information either, at least, not yet. He ambles 
  along in such a manner that suggests he'll get wherever he's going on his 
  own time schedule. ** I remember... ** He pauses in the thought, sighing 
  with resignment before continuing, ** Shadows of memories. Things both 
  recent and long past that haunt my dreams. ** His gaze lowers to the ground 
  beneath them, the grasses that surround them, and then eventually back to 
  the shorter she-elf beside him.

Not quite the answer she was looking for, and Ynderra nibbles her lip as she 
  takes it in, scenting her way as cautiously through this maze of sending as 
  she might through an unfamilar thicket. She ponders. She walks in silence 
  for several heartbeats, and then finally she ventures, "You've got a lot of 
  Then behind you. There's a lot there to work out in dreams. And I guess... 
  you don't really know about the Now. You're not a Wolfrider. If it was one 
  of us... it might push us into the Now of Wolf-Thought till our soul could 
  bear the weight of that Then."

Obviously not one of wolfblood, this elder is too tall and too old. Doreel 
  walks quietly as well, the consistant tapping of the staff against the 
  ground along with the footfalls of his feet the only real noises beyond the 
  swishing of the grasses that he pays any real attention to for a time. ** I 
  am not a wolfrider, no. I have much past behind me, so much it is nearly 
  unbearable. ** Of course, it was for a time else he might not have cracked 
  so. He pauses in his steps for a moment, to look up at the stars above - the 
  glittering lights caught in the web of the dark sky. ** I am weary. I have 
  travelled the entirety of the day. ** He admits, looking to her afterwards 
  for her reaction to this news.

The maiden is slight indeed, but has more stamina than one might guess from 
  her dainty frame; she's alert and young and strong, and with the coming of 
  night has hours yet before she'll feel a need for slumber. She blows out 
  another sigh... but does nod. She did promise to let him travel with her. 
  And so she'll have to accommodate the pace he can maintain. "All right... 
  you should rest, then." Her gaze scans the terrain ahead, picking out small 
  clumps of the dwarfish trees that can't come close to the grandeur of the 
  one that Doreel had shaped in the grove, but trees nonetheless. "We can den 
  down there. One or the other of us will probably have to shape it to make 
  sure beasts can't get at us; if you've got energy enough, you can do that 
  while I hunt."

Casting his gaze towards the trees in the distance, Doreel nods at the 
  sentiment. ** I can shape it, energy enough for that. ** He sends, picking 
  out one of the small clumps of trees to start walking towards. He then 
  shifts his gaze towards her, then back in the direction they're walking 
  towards afterwards with the steady tapping of his staff. ** I will try and 
  get on a more appeasable schedule for you - I was sleeping evenings in 
  Sorrow's End. ** He mentions, knowing she's likely wanting to travel more at 
  night than during the day like he had been doing.

Ynderra almost smiles, to that. "That'd be kind of you. I've been living among 
  the Cat Elves, and they're day-dwellers, but I'm a Wolfrider. What can I 
  say. I like the night better." Once the tiny clump of trees is reached she 
  circles it slowly, sniffing it out to make sure nothing's about to be 
  dislodged out of an already established den, nothing that she'll have to 
  fight with. No scents of beasts reach her nose... just savannah plantlife. 
  With that, she plunks down her knapsack, keeping only her weapons. "It 
  smells safe enough. Shape us something we can den in for the night. I'm 
  going to hunt something. For me, at least." She thinks, then, to look him up 
  and down once more. "What have you been eating in Sorrow's End?"

Watching her curiously as she sniffs about the treed area, Doreel obviously 
  hasn't spent terribly much time with normal-acting wolfriders while he's 
  been coherently sane. His curiosity wanes after a while though, setting down 
  his own satchel of items to look around the area they've chosen to occupy 
  for the evening. ** Mostly fruits, prickle pears and the like. ** He admits, 
  and even likely has a few things in his sack along those lines. Once that's 
  done, he settles himself down admist the copse of trees, looking up at her - 
  in this position he's shorter, after all. ** It'll be done before you get 
  back. **

There are wolf-blooded hunters in Sorrow's End--and even full-blooded 
  Wolfriders. But a Wolfrider in the desert is a different thing than a 
  Wolfrider in the savannah, and neither place is her native element. "Fruit. 
  Got it," she answers, squaring her slender shoulders. "I'll see what I can 
  find to supplement your stores. I may be a while--depends on how fast I can 
  find something small. Try not to smell like prey to anything while I'm 
  gone." As for that last remark, well. She can't quite bring herself to smile 
  at that, either, and only after she turns and treks off through the tall 
  grasses does she let herself mutter under her breath, "Yeah... I'll bet it 
  will."
He is, after all, a shaper more powerful than any she's ever seen. Even her 
  grandsire. Or Sweetleaf, Rillwhisper's brother of the Willowholt that's no 
  more.

Doreel was looked upon with reservation in Sorrow's End, of course, as one as 
  mad as he was should be. It's even likely he'd kept to himself most of the 
  time he was there - once he was healed enough not to have to be forcefully 
  watched. If one doesn't touch, one doesn't look - one can't hurt and ache, 
  right? But, there's something pleasing about this one though, and he keeps 
  his gaze on her as she speaks, even quirking the slightest of smiles at the 
  quip about smelling of prey. That turns back into a rather solemn expression 
  as he considers what to do to this area to make it more livable - without 
  going overboard and starting a new grove. ** I'll send for you if I need 
  you. ** He assures, and only after she leaves does he start work on creating 
  a shelter that would keep them safer than they would be just on the plains. 
  Green-gold magic easily flows through the plants closest to him, grasses 
  turning lusher and more comfortable to sit in - as well as the trees 
  starting to huddle together and get more fledged with leaves to offer more 
  substantial shade for the daylight to come that his travel companion would 
  appreciate more. The area he sets up is only large enough for two, and those 
  two not having to sleep tightly together at that - he makes certain to leave 
  her a seperated space for herself, and one for him as well.

Shaping takes a while. But so does hunting. And as the moons draw further 
  along on their journey across the darkening sky, lustrous stars provide them 
  a twinkling sea through which to roam--not unlike the grasses upon the earth 
  through which the little Wolfrider now stalks. It's a relief to occupy 
  herself with something as prosaic as hunting; it grounds her, reminds her 
  that she is _Ynderra_, and well, even if that's the most terrifying elf 
  she's ever personally encountered back there shaping a place for her to 
  sleep in, there's something to be said for trying to solve a problem by 
  giving it food.
And so she hunts. Her sensitive nose twitches as she picks out traces of small 
  creatures gone to ground in their own dens for the night--and others who are 
  only just venturing out. A plump rodent's the first thing to catch her 
  attention, and with grim determination she sets herself to catching it as 
  swiftly as she can. It's almost too small for an arrow--at least for her 
  shooting. So she resorts to a sling instead. A stone stuns her prey. A 
  pounce and a quick thrust of her knife makes it dinner.
On the way back she remembers to keep her promise to find her companion 
  something _he_ can call dinner. Another lone tree, smaller than the copse at 
  which she'd left the elder, gives her two large fruits that to the questing 
  tendril of her magic hold the promise of succulent flesh within their rinds, 
  and possibly edible seeds as well. With these in hand along with her rodent, 
  she comes trudging back sometime later...
And as she draws nearer to the makeshift den, it occurs to her to wonder 
  exactly what Doreel might have done to it.

It's true, Doreel could have done some sinister magic - shaped himself some 
  plants to try and put this new 'companion' of his under a spell she couldn't 
  forsake. The trees have been dutifully shaped, creating a shelter and from 
  the lack of shine - the magic has ceased to be worked. However, he's behaved 
  himself this night, creating a shelter good enough for the both of them and 
  afterwards he'd pulled himself out a bit of the dried fruit he'd brought 
  this far out with him to eat while he relaxes. He's trying to build up the 
  relationship between him and this Ynderra, but to what end is it going to 
  be? Will he keep his distance, and behave, or will he find some lingering 
  calling - something he recognizes in her as someone else and try to shape 
  her into what he sees? For this night - he's behaving, laying out on the 
  plush grasses with his satchel propped up behind his head after the hard 
  things from within it have been removed.

No strange scents reach her nose--and that's at least a bit of a comfort. But 
  the shaping, ah, that's enough to prickle through senses that aren't 
  physical, and Ynderra sucks in a breath as she comes back into sight. Her 
  eyes are the first thing that signal her as she approaches, gleaming lupine, 
  pale, and blue in the gloom, and her hand's next, holding out one of the 
  fruits. "Here," she announces without preamble. "I don't know what it's 
  called, but it's fresh, and I think you can probably keep the seeds for 
  eating later once you've eaten the its center. I've got two of 'em."

It's a comfortable place, Doreel finds, to be laying beneath a canopy of his 
  own shaped leaves and laying on the plushness of the grasses he's created. 
  He's not quite startled when the eyes cut through the gloom, but he does 
  prop himself up on his elbows. Once the fruit it offered to him, he reaches 
  to take it with careful assurity not to brush his skin against hers - not 
  even his fingertips. He looks visably tired now, wearied from the shaping as 
  much as the travel - the combination of the two making for a fairly tired 
  elder. ** Thank you.. Your name, did you tell me? ** Has he become that 
  forgetful, to forget if it was told to him earlier?

Both fruits are handed over, and true to the maiden's word, they smell fresh 
  and lush and full of the promise of sustenance. That done, she steps back a 
  few paces and hunkers down to apply herself to the task of skinning the 
  rodent she's caught--placing herself deliberately downwind of the elder, and 
  only partly out of any consideration for a nose unused to the smell of newly 
  slain prey. That position lets _her_ scent _him_, after all. "Ynderra," she 
  says then, as she works. And after a beat, she adds in a tone that might 
  have come out gruff if her voice weren't a trifle too high and clear for 
  such roughness, "You're, uh, welcome."

Doreel doesn't watch the skinning of the animal, it's just not his thing - he 
  does however sit up so he can attend to this fruit he was given, peeling it 
  open to work at getting the juicy meat of another sort out of it. ** You 
  know my name, yes? ** He asks, a slight glance in her direction before his 
  gaze is adverted again. There's a slight tinge of weariness in his 
  mind-voice, but still he remains awake to attend to this fruit for the 
  moment and make some light chat with his traveling companion.

She could say that his name has been branded into her memory, after the number 
  of times it's been on the lips and in the thoughts of her tribesmates in 
  council--and after she's followed Rillwhisper on the quest that brought him 
  out of his grove and into a semblance of life. Derra could say that, but she 
  doesn't. Instead, as she skins her prey almost delicately and then uses her 
  knife to cut into the rodent's flesh rather than her teeth, she sends 
  awkwardly, ** Doreel. I know... as much as my tribe has learned of you, and 
  what I've... seen myself. **

Peeling and pulling at the outer layers of the fruit, Doreel pulls more of the 
  juicy meat out of it and eats it with a satisfaction that's apparent on his 
  pale features. He takes in a deep breath at the way the statement was sent, 
  closing his eyes a moment before asking, ** What have you seen? You.. I must 
  have tried to get you to .. you know, because I was horribly lonely. I've 
  overcome much of that. ** No, not all, but there's no real way to be alone 
  and not feel it.

Ynderra goes still at that question, barely tasting the sliver of meat she's 
  just placed upon her tongue. She chews and swallows without tasting, though 
  her body dutifully accepts the life-giving nourishment. Then her head 
  swivels around, and with bleak eyes, she considers the ancient elf. If she 
  herself has carried a burden of uncertainty ever since she contributed her 
  power to this one's healing, the burden _he_ has been carrying towers over 
  it like a mountain towers over a pebble, and all at once she feels very 
  small. ** I... saw that. You were sending it--to all of us trying to heal 
  you. I think you managed to reach the whole Sun Village with it at least 
  once, too, while you were still in wrapstuff. **

** I .. heard about that, before I left. ** Doreel admits, assuredly he'd been 
  told a time or two that he was quite the horrid patient for all of the 
  healers trying to attend to him. And Oriolle, also had her troubles after 
  him. That, will be a subject he'll bring up another time, however. The fruit 
  dwindles as he eats it, leaving only the seed and rind of it in his hand 
  which he tucks aside for the time being. He's had enough of food for himself 
  this evening, and lies back down on the makeshift bedding and pillow he'd 
  used to rest while she was away collecting food. ** I have more questions, 
  but, I will keep them until later. ** Forewarning of things to come, 
  perhaps, with a glance towards the maiden afterwards to see her reaction to 
  that.

Her reaction's much the same as any she's given so far--visibly ill at ease, 
  and yet, she's still _here_. Fear is as plain in her honest eyes as bark 
  upon a tree, but she is facing Doreel nevertheless. ** I'll answer 'em as 
  best I can, ** she promises, while she keeps her hands and blade and mouth 
  occupied with her catch. ** Go ahead and rest, old one. I'll be here when 
  you wake up. **

A little less imposing when he's laying down, Doreel just nods at her and 
  adverts his gaze away from her. ** That's all I can ask. ** He sends, 
  resigning himself to that fact and getting himself into a comfortable 
  position to get a bit of sleep after his long day. He has no worries about 
  her, but we'll see how she feels when he's awake and she's trying to sleep. 
  Sleep comes quickly for him, and dreams.

[End log.]