"Fur-Father's Advice" Log Date: 4/4/2000 Log Cast: Trollkiller, Wayfound Log Intro: The destruction of the Willowholt has been a disaster that the surviving elves are still trying to work through--and unfortunately, the tribe as a whole has not survived. Not only have several of the Willowholters gone missing, there has been a schism among those who remain, with several of Glider blood electing to stay in Blue Mountain at the invitation of Winnowill. But those with more wolf-blood--especially Rillwhisper and her lifemates Trollkiller and Woodhawk-- have chosen instead to retreat to Lostholt, where the Willowholt's closest friends among all of the Wolfriders of the land reside, and since Cutter is the only chief to whom Rillwhisper can bring herself to yield her rank. The Lostholters have welcomed them with open arms, and treeshaper Redlance has gone out of his way to fashion them dens to sleep in. Still, though, it's not the same as a Holt they've all known for more turns of the seasons than most of them can count. Young Wayfound, the Wolfbringer's daughter, has had an especially hard time of the transition--for while her tribesmates were sheltering in the Mountain, she came into a stormy adolescence exacerbated by her agemate Midnight's relentless haranguing. Set off against that, she has grown increasingly drawn to her long-time friend Calmwind. He'd already won her heart by being the only elf in the tribe to encourage her to speak freely around him. But now, as she grows taller and less and less of a cub with each passing day, she is finding herself interested in Calmwind in different ways entirely, ways Calmwind is not entirely prepared to handle. And so Wayfound must seek the advice of an elder, and for this particular topic, she knows of none better than her own Fur-father, Trollkiller! ---------- Rillwhisper's Den Place appropriate desc here. Contents: Trollkiller(#3442PVc$g) Obvious exits: Out Trollkiller pads back and forth in the new den, sniffing at the smell of its new sap and new wood, and moves furs back and forth occasionally. It's a big den - which, really it needs to be, with all the elves living in it - and somehow seems both too small and too large at the same time, smaller than the mountain cavern in which he'd last stayed, but far too large for the small amount of salvage from the old... but there's something else wrong, too. Something missing. One thing that hasn't really been in this den much is Wayfound. The half-grown cub's arrival isn't particularly loud -- but then, over the last several turns of the seasons, very little of what this child has done has been loud. Still, though, there's a soft noise at the door-hole, and a soft voice saying, "Fur-father?" And there's Trollkiller's she-cub, paused there with one hand on the rim of the hole, fingertips stroking the living wood thoughtfully. Being Wayfound, she spares Redlance's shaping a brief critical glance, but only a brief one. Her ambergreen gaze swiftly flies back to her fur-father, and she proffers a crooked little smile of greeting. Trollkiller looks back at the sound, and then the speech, and smiles. ** Hi hi hi, cub... ** He notices as you touch 'round the working of the wood - it's not much like Sweetleaf's, really, but in ways that are difficult to say why. ** Come to sniff out... our new den, then? ** "That is my first purpose, yes." Wayfound considers, then crawls into the den and comes over to join you, settling down with one knee crooked up to her chst and an arm looped loosely about it -- a position she's learned from her mother. With her tousled fair hair and the green and brown leathers she favors, she looks not unlike her mother, especially now that Rillwhisper has taken down her chief's lock -- but the acutely measuring gaze she sweeps across the newly shaped den is entirely her own. "Redlance appears," she observes then, "to have considerable power, to have shaped a den this large this smoothly. But that would be in keeping with what I have observed about the other trees he has shaped here." Trollkiller shrugs. ** I suppose. It doesn't... feel at all the same, though. ** He touches it. ** There's something missing. ** Trollkiller shakes his head. ** But it's generous of them to have done it, regardless. Maybe it'll feel more... right... later. ** He fuzzles your headfur. You've gotten taller, he's noticed. Trollkiller looks at you for a moment. Wayfound(#10402Pcpg) This smallish creature appears to be a young she-elf, standing at somewhere between three and a half and four feet. She is possessed of a reed-slender, wiry form whose shape is beginning to blossom into the curves of adulthood, and a face whose underlying starkly lupine structure -- a face that can belong to no other kind of elf but a Wolfrider -- is still somewhat softened by the delicacy of youth. Pale features hers are, dominated by large wolfish eyes whose hue is a blending of amber and a light green. The tips of her pointed ears stick out through a mop of unkempt light golden hair that adds to her overall feral, wolfish look. But one thing jars against the wolf-like appearance: the thorough calculation with which she studies each and every thing and being in her world, and the unmistakable clarion intelligence with which she speaks and sends, like an elder many times her age. With the coming of Newgreen, she has clad herself in a short-sleeved, snug-fitting tunic of soft doeskin, dyed in a soft, pale green whose delicate hue is muted by the dappling of brown that blends with it, making it seem as though she stands in the shadow of a leafy branch even when she is beneath open sky. The heads of seven wolves, cut from a pale brown leather, ring her waist, and the tunic's neckline is trimmed in scraps of pale brown fur. Her breeches are brown as well, though laced up the sides with green thongs, and upon her feet she sports soft brown boots. Once again that small crooked smile curls the girl's mouth. "Yes," she agrees, "Cutter's tribe has been most generous to us." She can think of a number of things that would make the tree not feel entirely 'right' -- the absence of leathers that have been softened and shaped by countless turns of the seasons of elves cuddled within them, retaining the three lifemates' individual scents until they smell vividly of safety and home. The absence of the candles that had rested in the shaped nooks of the old den's walls. The absence of the familiar magic of Rillwhisper's brother soaked through the heart of the Old Willow. But Wayfound, along with growing taller, has grown familiar with the need to keep most of her observations to herself unless they're sought, and so she simply nods intently to your words, reaching over as she does to hug you. "Will we stay, do you think, Fur-father?" Trollkiller sighs, and looks at the blank wall opposite, then down at the fur on which he sits. ** I... ** He sighs. ** I ... don't know. ** He leans back against the wall nearest, and bites a little on his lower lip. ** I... ** It's hard for him to think about this - he doesn't want the thoughts. ** We... aren't a tribe anymore. I don't know what to do. ** There, he got it out - that's the hardest part. ** Even when it was just the three of us, back at the start, going back to where Redbear's holt had been, we were still... ** He shakes his head. Maybe it's just the time making it seem like more than it was. Maybe had there been someone to take them in, it would have been different. Maybe if there hadn't been the dead fresh and in front of them, rather than just a long abandonment in wrapstuffed sleep. Maybe. ** ...I don't know. I don't know what else to do. ** Listening to all of this, Wayfound scoots a bit closer to her fur-father, sliding an arm about his waist and studying him with those measuring ambergreen eyes of hers. This subject isn't exactly comfortable; you don't need the uncanny sharpness of wit with which she has been born to note that. The complicated question is, what can she do to ease the tension in her younger heart-sire? Shyly at first, but then with more assurance, she moves her hand up to massage the nearest of your shoulders and says as she does, "Mother appears tired, but I expect that the reprieve will be healthful for her. And for the rest of us. It is good... restful... to be among trees again. Moreover, the elves here are our friends. Yours and Mother's and Fire-father's, at any rate. I am given to understand that they are less well acquainted with Rainfire and Calmwind, and naturally I am mostly unknown to them." Trollkiller nuzzles Wayfound's hand, gently. ** They're friends, yes, ** he sends slowly - and smiles a little, wistfully, thinking of one just a little bit more than that. ** And we've long been allies - but that's changed, now, by there not being an "us" to be allied _with_ - we're... I don't know. ** He sighs again. ** But we are, yes, back amoungst the trees, as we've needed to be. ** A sidewise glance, and a tickle, ** You in particular. ** Trollkiller can't sustain it for more than a moment, though. ** I don't know how some of us could be happy in the Mountain, but some are... ** There is a very small group of elves with whom Wayfound is comfortable exchanging physical contact, and you are within that group. Thus, though the tickle's a brief one, she keeps rubbing that shoulder. But she also glances away for a moment, her expression turning sheepish. "I was... frightened by that place, Fur-father," she admits gruffly. "I... regret that it is unlikely that I will have another opportunity to study the Egg, for it is truly magnificent, but I am not sorry that I am gone. I..." Her hand pauses, though it doesn't move, and that sheepish expression of hers now turns anxious as her gaze comes back to find yours. There was another purpose that brought her in here besides simply exploring the tree that Redlance has shaped, and it's nagging at her now. "I-I began to change while we were within the Mountain, Fur-father, and... that, by the High Ones, has been perplexing enough without the additional burdens of elves who are hostile to us because of what blood we happen to have within us" -- momentarily, her youthful face takes on a ferocious scowl; Wayfound's opinion of Glider prejudices is all too clear. But then the anxiety comes back as she abruptly concludes, "Fur-father, may I ask your advice?" Trollkiller looks a little confused at all that, and maybe a little concerned, but nods. ** Of course. ** Wayfound, to this, sits up a little straighter, something like relief easing her otherwise stoic features. "Each elf in a tribe has his or her place," she begins then, in her solemn tones. Not that you don't know this already, but. "His or her talent at which they excel. I have frequently observed that you are best among us at a matter which has quite... vehemently come to my attention these last few moons, and, thus..." As she speaks, what would normally be pontificating turns into an obvious attempt to channel anxiety into the familiar, formal structure of her words, for her speech grows a little over-swift, almost... shy. "Can you advise me as to how to tell when one is ready for..." And she clears her throat once before finishing, "Joining?" Trollkiller snorts and laughs, suddenly, when you finally get it out. ** I'm sorry... I'm not laughing at you, it's just... ** He giggles some more, sort of through this, and sort of around it, and sends, ** It's just one of those places where you really _should_ let down some of that dignity you carry around with you all the time, you know... ** That's probably not the best thing to send, but he sends it anyway, because it's what he thought, even though he thinks better of it a moment later, and nuzzles your ear. ** Um. Sorry. Well. Let me think. I was ready for joining... when I knew I was ready for joining. It just happened. ** He tilts his head to one side. ** No-fur was ready... ** and his send-voice breaks. Trollkiller clenches his fist and closes his eyes and struggles within himself. Not now. Not now. Trollkiller sends, ** ...and... ** He squeezes tears out of his eyes. Trollkiller shudders, then, briefly, and seems to contain himself. ** ...Dusk, Dusk was ready, um, later, but when... ** there's a gasping sort of grasp for air, and, ** ... when she was, she found by doing... ** Ah, High Ones. She hadn't come in here planning to try to distract you from your grief -- though the moment she'd sensed your tension, that became an immediate secondary goal. Wolves might have four feet, the sky might have two moons, and Wayfound might be able to talk your ear off, but it can never be said that the cub does not have a full heart. She comes to her knees, wrapping her young arms about your much bigger frame and hugging you close, firm, but not hard. The hug delivered, she listens as you attempt to finish your thoughts, both her hands moving to your shoulders now to rub there. She doesn't let you see the face she makes at that crack about her dignity, nor the sharp wince at the reminder that No-fur is one of the lost ones. You've lost a son... but she's lost a brother. Neither does she send -- giving comfort in touch is easier for her -- but her husky young voice does soften a trifle as she asks then, "Is the first time of joining difficult, Fur-father?" Trollkiller doesn't answer at first, still too torn up inside himself to answer too quickly, but after a minute, or what seems like a few, he sends, ** I... didn't find it so. I don't know many who have... except for a few who did it first through Recognition with... ** he searches for a phrase, and can only find ** ...the terminally unpleasant... ** Trollkiller doesn't think he likes the way that came out, but no matter. Wayfound's blood, to her, feels as though it's in a hurry; it seems as though she can't go five paces through the Holt without thoughts of Calmwind's arms around her distracting her, or draw an eight of breaths without feeling an itch along her skin that seems simultaneously eased and aggravated by his contact. Even now, massaging her fur-father's shoulders, her blood drags her thoughts right back to the memory of lying curled with her long-time friend beneath the stars, and with stern determination she jerks her attention back to here and now. Her blood might be in a hurry, but she is determined not to be, for the talking and the companionship here are not something she wishes to rush. "What if... what if one with whom you wish to join... what if it is also _his_ first time...?" This question comes out of her rather more anxiously. Trollkiller sniffs and giggles a little through it. He can't think of the last time _that_ happened. ** Then, well... I've never heard of that before. It'll be an adventure for both of you, I suspect. ** He thinks a little. ** I'd probably ... hm. I'd probably have found someone to practice ... or, hm. I don't know. It would be _different_... but there aren't really any _wrong_ ways to join, except ones that hurt, and it's pretty obvious what hurts, so... ** Trollkiller blinks his eyes a bit more clear of water. ** You won't do any harm, but I suspect it'll be a bit more awkward. You've _seen_ it enough, but that's not the same as doing it, I suppose. ** "Indeed," Wayfound pronounces so straight-facedly that one might almost suspect her of humor, "I have observed it many times, and the entire business appears _most_ strange and awkward, but you and Fire-father and Mother certainly appear to gain great pleasure from it." With that, then, the youngling plops down again beside you, facing you this time, half-smiling and keeping one hand upon your shoulder. "I do not wish it to be awkward for Calmwind," she pronounces then, this time letting you see the face she makes. "He has _already_ become awkward around me, Fur-father!" Trollkiller half-smiles. Even though not himself lately, he's noticed that much. ** Well. You might ask... hm... ** So many _not_ here to practice with. And mustn't think of that. ** Rainfire, if you want to practice with someone first. Or perhaps Calmwind could look for someone... or both of you could... ** He sighs - this isn't normally difficult, but then again - everything seems difficult, now. ** If Calmwind wants to explore some with me, I'd be willing... happy, even... to let him play with me... ** Wayfound abruptly makes another face, and it seems to take her a moment before she manages to say without too much gruffness, "I do not believe that practicing joining with Rainfire is an option." Before you have an opportunity to ask her to elaborate upon the subject, she peers at you consideringly and adds, "It would not be... strange, for me to tell him such a thing?" Her brow crinkles up under her fine pale bangs, and at least as long as she is alone here in the strange new den with her fur-father, she lets peek through her stoic mask a glimpse of the anxious cub who has never really managed to figure out, along with all the bugs and rocks and grasses and trees and birds she has observed, the hearts and minds of her tribesfolk. And to some extent, her dam and her sires. Trollkiller thinks. ** I wouldn't find it so if I were asked. And I've done it for others who have asked me. But I don't know - I suspect they've mostly come to me on their own. ** Trollkiller considers a bit more. ** I'd just not worry so much about it and go ahead and see what feels good. ** All at once, Wayfound actually laughs. It's a rough, hoarse little laugh -- but it's laughter nevertheless. Her eyes brighten, and she once more throws her arms about you and hugs you. _Now_ comes her sending, swift and clear and sure, her thoughts conveying that while it might be good to be among trees, it is also very good to smell her fur-father and be with him. And this time there's no mistaking the humor lurking behind her eyes, for it flavors her mind's voice: ** I _told_ Calmwind that you would say that we should just do it! ** Trollkiller whumphs as he's half-tackled, and rolls backwards under his cub. ** Well. ** He nuzzles her face, and sends, ** Well, that's how _I'd_ look at it, too. ** The she-cub nuzzles her cheek against your own, and grins that crooked grin again. "I will have to consider it," she says then -- but quickly appends, before she can be reminded that yes, this is a matter that requires rather more _being_ than _thinking_, "But I will not think about it too long. I promise." Then, earnestly, ** Thank you, Fur-father. ** Trollkiller smiles and nuzzles Wayfound again. ** I think you'll figure it out. And he probably will, too. And you're welcome. ** [End log.]