Log Date: 12/15/95 Log Intro: It's late summer and drawing into autumn, when Rillwhisper and Strongbow arrive at Lostholt. The Willowholt chieftess has come to bring Strongbow back to his lifemate, but much to their dismay -- especially Strongbow's -- there is no sign of Moonshade at Lostholt, and those of the Lostholt tribe are equally startled to discover that the tanner has not accompanied her lifemate home. Strongbow fretfully intends to search for her, but he is forestalled as Rillwhisper privately sends and speaks first with Ynderra, then Leetah, and finally Cutter, informing the two healers and the other chief that Strongbow has not been himself ever since the resurrection of his memories of killing Tash, and the stress of his apparently shaky relationship with Moonshade has not aided in his comfort. Cutter promises to consider the matter with all haste, and as he ponders search plans, Rillwhisper remains with her archer-friend, providing what comfort she can by companionship, and a guarding presence in his dreams.... ---------- Strongbow dreams of hunt-time in a smaller world, a safer one. Borrowed, free of humans and human-hunting chiefs with too much glint in their eyes, or too many berries in their heads for sense. Hunt-companions with no fear of outsiders, no mistrust of other of their own kind, tender golden-green youth. Rillwhisper holds Strongbow to her, half-awake, half-asleep. In the den, she reflexively, rhythmically smooths his hair with her hand; in the dream, she lingers on the periphery of it, watching, ready to step in if invited or needed. Playing on the edges of dreams is not unfamiliar to her... and it's not difficult, even when she's sober, to slip into that state of awareness that lets her do so. Strongbow's dreams are thankfully free of the flames still in his memory or the pulse of waning life beneath his hands...almost too free. The refuge seems to do th archer good, though, for as he sleeps, the haggardness fades from his face. Rillwhisper smiles drowsily, in the den; in the dream, the Rillwhisper-presence shimmers a bit in satisfaction. Enough for now that he rests, she supposes, watching, an ethereal shadow on the border of the dream-wood. He'll need the strength for facing the memory, later. And at least for now, she takes pleasure in the secondhand vision of a younger archer, that knew only the carefree life of the Way, the hunt, the Howl. As the evening deepens and the holt stirs awake, the greendreams fade; the cub-archer lankens, leans, and fades as the last moments of dreamless sleep take over Strongbow's here-and-now mind. Rillwhisper, a little more wakeful, smiles to herself at the archer's quiet face. He looks younger in sleep; she can almost imagine it's the youth cradled into her side, rather than the elder many eights of eights of turns of the seasons her senior in age. The archer shifts slightly, nose twitching a tiny bit with near-waking scenting of familiar territory, trusted companion, summer evening air. In sleep still, but only barely, Strongbow reaches up to push a stray lock of hair from the corner of his eye. A moment later, his eyes open, and a breath after that, he seems aware, sending quiet, waking greeting to one he suspects has wakened ahead of himself. Rillwhisper's green gaze, a few inches away, is light and warm. She sends back acknowledgement, greeting of her own, neither of them put into words: only sensations. Sometime during the sleeping she must have lain down with you, for Rillwhisper lies on her back, with your head pillowed on her arm. Strongbow smiles slightly, more in the eyes than in the mouth. Brown gaze, for these moments, gentle and vulnerable, he nods once, almost internally. ** Good...rest. ** Rillwhisper doesn't move, not yet. A similar smile plays about her eyes and mouth, and she just sends unhurried approval and assent -- not observing that the archer sorely needed that protected sleep. He knows that, she thinks, and she knows better than to point out the obvious. But she does send, simply, ** I saw. ** Strongbow's eyes slowly gain their usual liquid glitter, and he rolls his shoulders, stretching containedly the muscles there. An undercurrent of gratitude comes to the surface of his send: ** I guessed. ** Rillwhisper smiles. She doesn't move even yet, but remains reclined, hair spilling in a bright puddle around her head. Just a bit, she nods, allowing herself to send a tendril of 'you're welcome', 'pleasure-to-aid'. Strongbow lies still for a time, gathering his thoughts. After a bit, he points out, ** Should eat. ** Part of it's directed at the red-gold-clouded face near him, a bit of a question. He knows they hunted only as they needed to on they way here, and knows that may have been part to accomodate his mindset. Now, though, he'd be glad for the distraction of food. ** Meat in stores below... ** Rillwhisper, if she takes note of the suggestion of only raiding the stores as opposed to going out to hunt fresh prey, gives no sign of it. She nods, unhurriedly, though. And smiles. "I feel a little empty-bellied, aye." Strongbow nods once, and unrushedly rises to a sit, scooting back a bit to lean against the wall. ** Branch-horn, maybe. Longear. ** He sends absently, gaze flickering slightly; a breath later, he frowns inwardly. Shaking it off, he turns to look down at the reclining chieftess, sending a tendril of query: is that acceptable, until he has his chief's word to hunt, at least? Rillwhisper smiles, fluidly rising, liquidly stretching. She might be made of water, the chieftess, as she sits up. "Of course," she says softly. Strongbow nods once and, almost reluctantly, gets to his feet. ** I'll bring some, or you'll come pick? ** Unusually verbal, and strangely interested in not making much of a decision himself, he looks at his bow among the furs, then shrugs at it. Rillwhisper offers, "Why don't I come with you? I'm supposed to be visiting, after all." Her smile is gentle. Strongbow chuckles softly in his throat, and nods once, leading to the entrance of the den. Rillwhisper rises, and follows, readily, smoothing the leathers she slept in, and muttering amusedly, "I should bathe, too. Lead on!" Strongbow has left. Up into the Tree(#774RA) You stand high up on a branch of the Father Tree, close to the trunk, listening to all the sounds of life that whisper quietly around you like the very breathing of the tree itself. Smoothly curved so that it is almost impossible to tell what was natural and what was changed by magic, the tree almost seems to shift around you as it adapts to the needs of those it houses. Tiny knotholes and larger openings that serve as doors are visible on rounded bulges here and there along the larger branches and the trunk itself. A long narrow limb, decorated now with colorful gold and red leaves, stretches out away from the main trunk in one direction, and a shaped set of steps leads down into a tunnel in the trunk itself, down towards the main entrance of the tree. It is a cool autumn night, perfect for a hunt or perhaps a howl. Contents: Strongbow Obvious exits: Down Type "DENS" to see who lives here. Up Strongbow has left. You sense in a locksend, Strongbow absentmindledly agrees with the bath idea, pondering the nearby river. Inside the Father Tree(#770RA) As your eyes adjust to the dim light, the room around you becomes visible. Steps formed in the wood itself lead up in several directions towards the upper branches of the tree, and it is obvious that this tree can house many elves and their wolf friends. The main opening to the south leads back outside. It is a cool autumn night, perfect for a hunt or perhaps a howl. Contents: Strongbow Obvious exits: Into the Roots Up Outside Rillwhisper slides gracefully down the tree behind you. Strongbow slips through the tree silently, for no apparent reason. The holt, well wakened by now, seems to have evacuated its dens in favor of hunt, howl, or play. Strongbow ducks under a giant root that leads into the lower storage room. Strongbow has left. You duck under a giant root that leads down into the lower storage room. Back Storage Room(#645RL) This is one of the small supply and storage dens in the Father Tree. Momentos and relics from before the flight occupy one end of the small den, while more practical supplies take up the majority of the room. A rough opening leads back out to one of the main branches, and you notice a small opening in the back wall that almost looks too tiny to crawl through without considerable effort, so you tend to ignore it. Shelves, shaped by Redlance, cover the walls, and are now full of dried meat and some greens, in preparation of the coming WhiteCold. It is a cool night..a faint breath of snow in the air. Contents: Strongbow Obvious exits: Type "DENS" to see who lives here. Small Opening Out Rillwhisper murmurs, "This is a marvelous tree...." Strongbow shakes his head slightly. ** Seen more than it should ever have had to. ** He steps over to the freshest summer stores, looking over the meats remaining from the recent hunts. Rillwhisper waits patiently nearby, and notes, "All the more marvelous, for being reborn." Strongbow considers the stores, finally selecting a small slab of branch-horn meat, and turns. ** I didn't expect it to. ** His eyes glimmer a bit. ** Bearclaw should have seen Redlance work... ** He shakes his head, hair glinting in the light filtering through the roots, a slight smirk in his eyes. Gesturing with the meat, he quirks a brow. "Tell me about Bearclaw?" She glances at the archer's choice, sniffs a bit at it, and nods easily, content with the offering, and holding out her hand to take it when he's ready to hand it to her. Strongbow hands the chieftess the meat and absently palms a piece of longear as he sends, ** What part? ** Rillwhisper nibbles, leaning approvingly back against the tree and glancing up along it, almost as if she were a treeshaper herself and offering it a friendly hello. Then she smiles back at you. "What do you think of when you remember him?" A wry grin tugs at the corners of the archer's mouth. ** Reckless, foolhardy. ** Not a thought later, comes, ** Wise, if he chose to think. ** You say "And did he?" Rillwhisper suddenly giggles, huskily. "I've heard songs about him, you know. Bearclaw stories seem to be popular, making their way out from this place." Strongbow settles in near a strangely organized few shaped shelves of, apparently, random trinkets, many of which show the scars of fire. ** He did when he had to. Only then. ** Munching thoughtfully on the longear strip, he responds to the latter comment. ** About as popular as Mantricker's tales were when Bearclaw was chief. ** Strongbow's eyes twinkle gently. ** When your own tribe has another chief, they'll howl about you the same way. ** Rillwhisper laughs! "I'm sure they'll make a song about the summer I spent thinking I was a flower." Rillwhisper hmms, and hums, then sings cheerfully, "And in the center of the dream, she bloomed, and she bloomed...." Laughter. "Well, maybe not." Strongbow's cheeks color slightly. He drops his head, shadows of his hair drifting forward to hide his eyes; through a nibble at the longear meat, he chuckles faintly. Rillwhisper tilts her head back against the tree wall. And smiles affably. "And all the rest of the songs will be about me trying to figure out what the moons I'm doing with my hair up in a lock, hey?" Strongbow shakes his head, expression clearing. ** There's only one howl for how you come to be chief. ** The smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again as he wryly notes, ** If there was a song for every doubt about it, there'd be a howl every hunt for Cutter. ** Rillwhisper hehs. "From what you've told me of Bearclaw, he was quite the chief to follow." Strongbow shakes his head slightly, setting the rest of the strip of longear aside. ** He'll be remembered. ** The tone is somber, almost determined, though there's still humour in it. Rillwhisper watches you, and nods, easily. Strongbow's gaze wanders a bit, as his mind does, thinking: where's that chief gone to? Isn't he aware my mate is missing? He lifts the meat again, apparently for something to do, chewing on the strip. Rillwhisper, finished with hers, asks, "Do you want to go to the river? You sent about it..." Strongbow startles, as if suddenly remembering. He tears off the part of the meat he was chering on, stowing the rest in his belt for the moment. Nodding once, he sends affirmation, with a tendril of query: is that all right? Rillwhisper nods yet again, sending back that she's content to simply spend time with you, till Cutter says that chieftess and archer may leave to search. Rillwhisper leans over, a light touch of her fingers on your shoulder signaling her readiness to follow your suggestion. "You can show me your Holt again, hmm?" Rillwhisper inwardly frowns, but takes care to not let it reflect in her face or voice or sending. He's still rattled. Like an anxious cub trying to demonstrate competence to an elder. _I must encourage him to do what's familiar to him_, she resolves. _Keep him thinking for himself._ Strongbow nods once, and leads out of the tree, quiet. Rillwhisper follows after, step light, noiseless. [End log.]