From: owner-lostholt-l@murkworks.net on behalf of Wolf031877@aol.com Sent: Friday, December 25, 1998 8:38 PM To: lostholt-l@murkworks.net Subject: [lostholt-l] [Log] What Dreams May Come Synopsis: Flashfire dreams. And when he dreams, interesting things can happen. In this particular dream, the first Wolfrider, Timmorn Yellow-Eyes, pays Flashfire a visit of sorts. Players: Flashfire (logger), Treestump (dream emitter). Logged December 25, 1998. Merry Christmas! --------------------------------------------------------------------- Flashfire's Den The den here is layered with soft furs, comfortable for relaxing or sleeping on. There isn't much by way of personal belongings, aside from a quiver lying next to the exit, a gathering of arrows beside it, along with Flashfire's bow when it isn't being used. A cozy den, it has enough room to hold two or three elves comfortably. Obvious exits: Den Tree Daylight outside. However, inside his den, Flashfire sleeps, still somewhat troubled by the manner in which Suntop left Lostholt. It's not the easiest thing to deal with just yet. But that's not foremost in the mind of the curled up elf-wolf right now. Sleeping, he dreams. It is said that the Father Tree of Goodtree's Rest cradled the spirits of the Wolfriders' ancestors in their boughs. The wolfling's dream opens with those boughs, of spreading branches and leaves everywhere, drifting slowly to the ground in colors of red and gold, touched by autumn. There is no cold to herald in the soon-to-come whitecold; in fact, it might as well be newgreen for all the pleasant warmth in the air. Though it's early whitecold on the world of Two Moons, any season is possible in dreams. Flashfire's dream-self, furred like his true counterpart, stands up and stretches, rubbing his sides lightly as sleep begins to retreat. He heads over to the den's entrance and sniffs the air, taking in the scents and smells outside before deciding to step out fully and see what's to be seen. A gold-fringed leaf tickles Flashfire's ear as the wind brings it close for a moment, then dances away, vanishing into a nearby bush. The Holt seems quiet today, with the soft howl of wolves in this distance the only indication that there's anything alive about. The sky, seen through the upper canopy, is a watercolor of crimson, orange, and violet, with a handful of stars already scrambling to be seen. Not so early then, but... where is everyone? Flashfire waves a hand at the leaf, attempting to snatch it from the air as he shakes his head at the tickle. Too late though, for it does manage to evade his grasp. He rubs that ear as a sudden annoyance, like a bug buzzing nearby, comes and goes. The corners of his mouth curl into something of a grin at the howls in the distance, wonder over what the pack is up to crossing his mind, as well as wonder as to whether he'll ever be allowed to mingle with them. And the sky..so nice to look at, with all the colors and beauty of it. But the ground is rich eye candy as well, multi-colored leaves spread about between greenish grass and tree roots. Flashfire eventually climbs his way down from the branches of the tree, to pace about the empty area. The Holt clearing is deserted, not even the slightest trace of the wolfling's friends and tribemates anywhere. Even the wolves are gone, the only clue to their location being the distant howling, if that is indeed the Lostholt's wolves. Here and there, traces of the Tree's elfin residents can be found -- Moonshade's tanning board lies quietly and snugly by an upraised root, collecting cobwebs around the edges. Treestump's sharpstone is half-buried under leaves and dirt, forgotten. Skywise's lodestone hangs from a nearby tree, looped over a branch, as if waiting for its owner to come back and retrieve it. Strange. So very...strange, the way the holt seems so utterly deserted. Flashfire's amber eyes settle on the familiar objects belonging to certain members of the tribe, and he paces towards them for a closer look. The board - it looks as though it's been unused for turns! But why? The sharpstone - the same thing there, too. And the lodestone - Skywise never leaves it hanging, as if totally forgotten. The youth's hand extends to tap the lodestone with a finger, and he watches it sway back and forth before turning away from the objects again. Something's wrong, he thinks. Perhaps very wrong. "Hello..?" he speaks aloud, unease in his voice. The bushes nearby rustle as a breeze glides through them, unleashing a soft gust of red-yellow leaves and a scent that smells of the area around the wolfling. A scent that smells... old. Like Treestump's leathers or Cutter's sword; like Clearbrook's silvery tresses or Leetah's old dancing veils from the village. Worn and weathered, touched with the forest and the feel of dirt beneath your feet -- like time itself. Flashfire's head snaps towards that rustle. Perhaps it's Ember coming back from the hunt? No..just the wind. Leaves flit past him like star-cousins at night and he sniffs again, taking in the scents. But they're old..they're not supposed to be old like that. They should be fresh! What's happened here? he thinks, in confusion. Turning back to the lodestone on the branch, he takes it off, staring at it, turning it in his fingers as he sits down on a nearby root. A few red and gold leaves flutter, dancing through the air in minute spirals before gliding lazily in erratic patterns. They rise up like a whirlwind, drawing up some dust and greener leaves beneath them -- then, as quick as they appeared, they flit off, leaving a rustbrown wolf with streaks of gray through its coat in their wake. Flashfire's attention remains on Skywise's lodestone a couple moments longer, less of that attention paid to the surrounding area. Leaves blown around - that's nothing terribly new. But then, his peripheral vision detects the sudden presence of another..how'd he miss that? The 'stone rests in one hand as his head lifts to consider the newcomer. The wolf moves forward, its paws not even seeming to touch the leaf-littered ground, all but gliding towards the lad. A pair of strikingly amber eyes regard him once the lupine cousin pauses a few elfin strides away, its ears pricked forward and its tail lifted slightly. Not a sound, not even a grunt, issues forth from the wolf as he considers the elf in silence. Flashfire seems to not recognize this wolf..it's apparently not one he's seen from the pack. But the way he stares at him is somewhat unsettling. The elf- wolf stands slowly, setting the lodestone back on the branch. Blinking at the strange wolf, he asks quietly, "What do you want..?" ** The question is, little one, what do you want? ** Brows furrow and scrunch together at the unexpected, cryptic send. Flashfire certainly wasn't expecting that. "I..umm." He looks around the area quickly, pointing at the discarded objects of other elves. "I want to know what happened..where is everybody?" ** What happens and what does not... they are all lost in the song. ** The wolf closes its eyes, bowing his head as if to touch its nose to the ground, then an invisible wind ruffles its grey-steaked-brown fur. Flesh twists and molds; bones stretch to decidedly unlupine form; the wolf emits a shuddering hiss as he grows in height and form, shifting his weight to stand on two long legs, towering above Flashfire. ** Aye, but.. ** Flashfire's words cut off suddenly as the wolf's form changes. It shouldn't come as any great surprise by now, but it's rather hard to remain calm and collected when a wolf changes to an elf before one's very eyes. ** ... ** The much shorter elf steps back a pace, then another, before finding a seat on the same root again. ** You..you're him. You're Yellow- Eyes.. ** Yellow-Eyes. Yellow eyes as golden as the sun, and as amber as a lupine gaze. This is not the strong, courageous chief of memory, but the wolf in harmony with the elf, singing louder and stronger than the star-melody. ** "I was," ** the not-quite-a-sending voice disagrees quietly, rumbling softly. ** "Now I am Timmorn." ** Flashfire can't quite avoid the thought that he's become something similar to the one standing before him, despite the fact it shouldn't be possible for Timmorn to be here now. But of course, all is possible in dreams. ** But you're..I mean, you.. ** he send-stammers at first, missing something. ** We all die..you did, and I will too. Why did you come? ** It's not that he /minds/ - he just doesn't know what it's all about. The forefather of the Wolfriders studies the youth curiously, amber eyes slightly narrow. He tilts his head slightly to one side, a few gray-streaked hairs touching his shoulder lightly. ** "After death, the wolf can run where it will," ** he answers finally. Of course. ** ..it can set the spirit free to roam. ** Flashfire responds, looking up with as much curiosity in his own eyes as those of the taller Timmorn, if not moreso. Yet, he still doesn't understand why Yellow-Eyes has come here. Why now? And why for him? Timmorn looks away, expression pensive as his eyes seem to follow the path of the autumn leaves, singing softly through the air with the breeze. For a while, the wolf-elf seems silent, in no hurry to explain his presence. Then.. softly.. ** "Sometimes the song wanders." ** Flashfire reaches down to pick a few leaves up before standing again, watching them as they fall when he lets go. The fact remains the two furred forms seem to be the only ones present, one, the first Wolfrider, a good two times taller than the other. Flashfire is but one of many. ** Yes..and then what? ** he asks. ** "Sometimes... Sometimes..." ** The first chief frowns, delicate lupine features twisting in a decidedly elfin expression. ** "The song is too loud, sometimes. Sometimes... a new melody must be found." ** Flashfire stares up at the one he's always wondered about meeting despite believing there would be no way for it to ever happen. There seems a sense of..admiration in the younger one, despite the whole..mood of the encounter. ** A new melody? For whom, and how come? ** He continues to miss what might be obvious - that this is about him. Nothing is obvious with the dead. ** "From yourself. There is the Now, the Pack, the Hunt.. and the Self. When the other songs sing too loudly, the Self song must be found." ** Flashfire takes a few steps away from the root, letting out a few breaths in an attempt to relax to an extent. He admits, ** Sometimes it's been hard..I feel something pulling me different ways, and Cutter and the others try to help.. ** Wherever they are now, he doesn't know. ** But it's been slow. ** ** "When the other songs sing too loudly, the Self song must be found." ** Flashfire heard that the first time. ** Aye. But.. ** The thing is, the elf- wolf doesn't understand how. It results in a sense of being 'lost' at times. Lost to the winds. As if sensing the young one's confusion, the apparition considers him a moment, his fathomless eyes studying the wolfling quietly. Then, with a slight jerk of his head, Timmorn moves away. ** "Come." ** Flashfire continues to look back up at those deep golden orbs of Timmorn's, eyes unlike any he's had the opportunity to see before. Without a word, the youth's head bobs in a nod and he begins to follow the too-tall wolf-elf, taking double the steps Timmorn does, just to keep up. The elfin wolf (or wolfen elf?) walks for a while, winding a path through the forest that the wolfling had never set eyes upon before. He walks, then he drops to all fours, moving with a silent, elegant grace, comfortable on both two legs and four. Flashfire nearly did that once - walking on all fours, that is. But the pull wasn't quite strong enough. Oh, he's hunted on all fours before, but that was in part just to follow a scent along the ground, with Suntop or whoever was with him. He pauses, watching how easily the other one moves on hands and feet both, before remembering he's supposed to be following still. He jogs a bit to catch up, eyes glancing to and fro at the trees and such along the way. The wolf-chief walks, and time seems to blur. Somehow, between now and then, he changes again from wolfen elf to elfin wolf, a rustbrown companion at Flashfire's side, age marked by streaks of gray. And the lad, too, feels the pull at his arms, his legs. To run on all fours; to hunt and howl with his brothers; and to answer the Now rather than push it away. The Now...yes, accept it. Embrace it warmly, and live it. For that is the way of things, is it not? At first, Flashfire is unsure about the tugging he feels. He wasn't able to deal with it before. But..perhaps, maybe this will be different. Timmorn is someone he thinks he can..trust. A pause, then the lad gives in to the pull, letting himself lower closer to the ground to use all four limbs rather than just two. Like the wind straining at a curtain, threatening to break free and rush into a warm den and chill it, Flashfire changes in not so subtle ways. Suddenly he is the Wolf - not Timmorn, not Flashfire, but the Wolf - running the game trails, marking and claiming territory, snapping up food, fathering cubs. Suddenly there is no 'Why?' or 'How?' or 'What if?' There is only Now - the blissful unawareness of time's passing, only the sensations and needs that cry out to be fulfilled. Flashfire might question these sensations, these instincts, these feelings, if he had reason to be concerned with any of them. But there is no reason for bothering with things like that now, when Now is all that is important. Indeed, it's something akin to breaking free of hidden bindings, like a new birth of sorts. Or a rebirth. But the only question that remains? Where does the elf factor into this mix? ** "The land sings to me.. Calling, crying... Sometimes too loud, asking too much... But not always. There is no Way, only what needs be done. Sometimes.. Sometimes..." ** The haunted voice trails into nothingness again as Flashfire's awareness fades from the Wolf. Soft voices echo around him in hushed tones. A pair of strong hands supports his head and bottom easily, keeping him from toppling over. The air is cold and chilling, very different from the warmth he was used to... until a pair of arms wrap around him, snuggling him safe, and Plantshaper's gentle, familiar voice soothes the worries from his infant mind. What was that about a rebirth? The words ring in Flashfire's head..the newborn's head, that is, as the dream continues on. There is something..right, something comforting about this current feeling. Parents - his true ones - holding him close, a new life to the world. But happiness is, as they say, transient. A forgotten life, pulled up from the dusty holes of -- what? Memory? But Wolfriders have no memory save in dreamberries, lost in the Now.. -- Plantshaper and Stonethrower, later Mother and Father, are comforting figures that are there for only so long. They disappear, replaced with nothing, then the wolfling is looking into Picture's sad, yet welcoming eyes and witnessing Stormbringer's friendly wit. Next comes two prominent figures: a gently burred voice and a soft, rumbling laugh, and a pair of thoughtful blue eyes and sunblonde hair Then darkness that swallows you, drowning you out in the emptiness of the Underworld. After that, the sunblonde hair and blue eyes again, accompanied by the coldness of Blue Mountain and the chill of the Lodge, as well as the uncertainty stricken by puzzlingly tall figures and a friend whose mood swings erratically. Life blurs by in a blink of an eye. ** "The skies sing to me as well... Two songs, not always in harmony... Torn, confused... Where do I go? Who am I?" ** Past events, all coming and going in rapid-fire succession, like arrows repeatedly strung and fired at some distant target. The memories, all Flashfire's. But why do they come to him? Why now? All he can do is simply go along for the 'ride' and see where this strange dream decides to take him. Who truly controls it? Flashfire? Timmorn? Nobody at all? Again, more words..haunting, yet understandable. That confusion, that sense of being torn two different ways at once. That question of "Who am I?" These have all been things Flashfire has been forced to deal with, ever since that fateful meal inside the mountain. ** "So many sing songs of their own around me/us/you. They sing so loudly I/we/you think that it is a song of my/our/your own. But self song.. Find it, somewhere there... Sing the song with others, but when they sing too loud, choose a melody of your own." ** Yes..it's true. All of it. Every single word. ** I...know. ** Flashfire sends - to the voice? To himself? Is the voice his own? No..Timmorn's. Isn't it? The only problem, it might be realized, is that Flashfire is unaware of where to look, or what to look for. It is difficult to find the unknown. Guidance. Help. A gentle (or not so gentle) nudge in the right direction. Perhaps he could use those things. In a sense some of that help is already being given. And on that note, the wolfling feels the gossamer touch of a ghost's hand on his shoulder before everything fades to blackness, accompanied by the gentle sensations that he will soon awake. "Huh?" Flashfire reacts with a moment of startlement at the touch, amber eyes snapping towards the unseen hand. He reaches out for it, trying to grasp it..but is apparently unsuccessful. He doesn't want to wake up just yet. He wants to learn more. But one cannot easily control a dream, and when awake- time comes, that's that. Perhaps this dream..this encounter with the long-dead first Wolfrider..will help him. [End Log]