"Something Lost, Something Gained" Log Date: 7/21, 7/24/02 Log Cast: Tefin, Wayfound, Fallberry (emitted by Wayfound) Log Intro: Slowly but surely the humans from Vrae and the elves and other humans that travel with them have made their way eastward along the Great River... and now, as the summer is high, they've come to a place which Wayfound once knew as Watertouch Point. Another juncture of rivers, just westward of the marshlands that lead ultimately towards the plains... and which, not so long ago, led southward to the Holt where Wayfound was born. She has not spoken of it. Not to Arnos, the Vraeyan word-giver who has become her closest friend among the humans... or to Tefin, the Go-Back utterly unlike any other Go-Back she has ever known. Or, for that matter, any other elf. She is not ready to voice the roil of emotions she keeps pent up within her, a roil which still has not ebbed entirely in the turns of the seasons which have elapsed since the Willowholt's destruction. Only to Fallberry, the Preserver who for ten years of wandering has been her loyal companion -- Fallberry, who lived in the Willowholt as well -- can Wayfound begin to let herself reminisce. But Tefin, for all that his intelligence is formidable, possesses wisdom and compassion as well... and he cannot avoid the lure of yet another question posed him by the she-elf he has dubbed his Riddle.... ---------- Among the Cypresses This small space among the cypress trees is mostly green-lit, with the starlight that falls down through the branches overhead. The murmur of water sounds off in many different directions; the ground underfoot is yielding, strewn with fallen leaves, green, yellow-green, orange, red... tall, feathery grasses bend slightly in passing breezes. The bright tangles of the Waterfall begin to come out as the dimming red light of sunset fills the hot summer skies. Contents: Tefin Obvious exits: Out to the Point It's been several days of moving along the streams and rivers of Abode. It's difficult work moving these wagons and the Vraeyans themselves upstream using hand-hewn tools, the designs of which have not been used in several generations. Still, when night falls and the rafts are pulled up, life still bustles along at a fairly sedate pace. Campfires have been lit, watches have been set, and food is being prepared for the night's meal. Weaving through the bustle of the camp is Tefin, arms full of firewood gathered from a nearby brush pile. "That should be enough to take care of you for this night, Arnos...remind me to never make a bet with you again!" This is said with a disdainful look, but a teasing tone that can't help but be seen as a joke. With a wave to the gathered humans, he steps out of the camp and heads off into the darkness surrounding the camp... Wayfound is already up and about, now that the camp is settling down for the night, conducting a quiet exploration of the immediate vicinity... and walking through the cypresses with a strange look upon her face. Ambergreen eyes periodically keep flashing to the south, and a little quirk keeps twisting her mouth. Fallberry, riding upon her shoulder and hugging what for the Preserver is a mighty armful of her white-golden hair, is the first sign of her presence in the gathering shadows as it pipes out softly, /Findaway highthing remembering hometrees?/ Now...where would Wayfound camp? (WwwC?) It's a game that Tefin has been playing with you for the past few evenings in his attempt to fathom the workings of a Wolfrider's sensibilities. Each night you go forth and choose the best campsite in the area, and then he finds you..or at least a sign of the campsite. Oddly enough, tonight is different. While gathering his things, he notices that Wayfound's belongings are right where she left them the night before...strange. Leaving his bits where they sit, Tefin makes his way out into the dark, listening for any sign of Wayfound. He's long given up trying to track her, but even a wolfrider can be found if a preserver is nearby. Over in the cypress, Fallberry can be heard, so off he goes. "You still remember the Holt, don't you, Fallberry?" /Fallberry remembers! Fallberry remembers willowhometrees and ripplewarm pondplace and many many beesweets made by bendtrees highthing!/ "I thought you would," Wayfound's voice whispers up in reply, as she leans against one of the cypresses, looking somberly off to the south. He can hear her voice carried on the breeze, just barely, and he stops to listen for a moment. Homesick? Wayfound? This is almost a shocking revelation to him. She's always been so calculating and had such a tight rein on her emotions....could it be that her shell is beginning to weaken? Of course he does understand how that can feel...after all, she hasn't seen her holt, or her home for 10 turns of the seasons. He stays where he is, listening and watching...for now. Lostholt, she hasn't seen for ten turns of the seasons and then some... but it's _Willowholt_ that Wayfound remembers now, as she slides down against the trunk of the tree and crosses her arms along her knees. Willowholt... where her mother was chieftess, and where her tribe might well have been bemused by her... but where she knew she was _Home_. "Tell me what else you remember, Fallberry?" she entreats softly. /Fallberry remembers findaway highthing as highbaby,/ the Preserver offers. Destroyed by a horrible, horrible flood. Tefin remembers the tale from the first time that he and Wayfound met in the forest, almost a half a turn ago. He blinks for a moment...has it really been that long? He remains where he stands, leaning against the cypress tree, watching the daystar drift lower, almost silently urging Fallberry to go on with the stories it knows. In a moment, perhaps, he will make himself known, but for now, he is content to sit and listen. To be perfectly honest, he's quite suprised that Wayfound has not scented him yet...dumb luck on his part. The wind is with Tefin tonight; even the sharpest of Wolfrider noses can be foiled sometimes, if the breeze blows in the right direction. And tonight it blows in off the river over which Wayfound gazes now, past her and into the trees, carrying Tefin's scent directly away from her. One might think that where her nose fails her her ears might succeed... but tonight, she even seems to miss the small subtle noises of his presence within the trees. "Your memory in that regard is clearer than mine, my little friend," she can be heard to murmur. "I have but jumbled impressions, just prior to when I began to speak." /Fallberry remember findaway highbaby make muchtalk when little highbaby! Littlest highbaby in willowhometrees to talk! Fallberry remembers!/ This is an interesting sounding tale, to be sure. Tefin crouches behind his tree, listening to the piping tones of the preserver as it tells the tale of Wayfound's childhood. "I am aware that my ability to speak did develop unusually early," Wayfound points out, and at any rate it isn't exactly herself as a cub about which she wishes to hear, right now. "I was more interested in the others, if you remembered _them_--eh?" Some subtle tread of the Go-Back's foot upon the leaves? The pace of his breathing? What alerts her ears? Or is it a shifting in the wind that speaks of another's presence? Whatever gains her attention, the young Wolfrider abruptly starts, swiveling her head around while Fallberry flutters inquisitively. A soft, almost apologetic pulse of send wings it's way from behind one of the trees. Tefin steps out, very slowly, one hand on the cypress next to him. "Good evening, my Riddle." he says quietly. "I didn't mean to intrude..." /Hellohello busyhead snowhighthing!/ pipes the Preserver, first to speak even as Wayfound looks up at the smaller, older elf's approach and smiles crookedly, weakly. "Hello, Tefin," comes her answer. That is all she says, though her expression relays what her words do not. That shell of hers... weakening? Perhaps not. More like, perhaps, temporarily set aside. At least for now. "Hello there, Fallberry." He says softly, giving the preserver a little not before making his way as soundlessly as he can to where Wayfound sits, knees still pulled to her chest. "May I join you, Riddle? The sunset here is quite lovely, and it seems you could use some company?" "Of course." Fallberry flitters up to perch atop Wayfound's head now, even as the she-elf turns her attention back across the river. She does not pat the ground beside her... but then, perhaps she seems to believe that her assent, given words, is all the invitation needed? Or perhaps it's that the majority of her attention lies with whatever is southward across the river. Nothing else does Wayfound say for a few heartbeats, until almost as an afterthought she murmurs, "Willowholt was that way." Over the past few months, Tefin has learned to read Wayfound's slight nuances, and this is no different. Perhaps he is putting his observation skills into play? Who knows? Be that as it may, he lowers himself to the ground next to Wayfound and looks out over the river to the south. "I see." he whispers quietly, looking southward across the river and trying to imagine a bustling holt there, now gone, lost beneath the surface of the ever changing forest. "what are you feeling now, Riddle?" /Findaway highthing miss willowhometrees much,/ Fallberry sagaciously observes, and without batting an eye, Wayfound instructs it, "Fallberry, go play with Maerro." /But, but, but, Fallberry want stay with findaway highthing! Put softpretty beesweets in hair? Sing for findaway highthing? No snifflesad face for findaway hight--/ "I'll be fine, Fallberry. Go now." It does, reluctantly, and Wayfound doesn't shift a muscle or even blink until the Preserver is well on its way back to the camp. Only when she is fairly sure it is out of earshot does she close her eyes, let out a shaky breath, and whisper by way of reply, "A... great number of things, I suspect, but I have not attempted to untangle the various sentiments within me." "perhaps another voice will help untangle those sentiments? I am a very good listener, and the best place to begin is always the beginning." he makes a note to soothe Fallberry's bruised feelings later, but now, it's Wayfound...his dear Riddle; Time to be soothed. A strong arm drapes around your waist. She does not shy away from that offered arm, either, while her own comes around to seek her own side of the contact. Wayfound turns slightly as well, towards the smaller elf, as she hauls in a breath and answers bleakly, "I... am really not entirely sure what has come over me... I... have been where Willowholt used to be, since I left Lostholt. Hunting for any sign of Sweetleaf's handiwork, to see if it still grows... but now, I...." He sits and listens, his arm strong around your waist, giving you what reassurance he can. "You were not able to find any sign at all, were you" he murmurs quietly, knowing the answer to be true. "Mushrooms and younger willows in plenty," Wayfound breathes, eyes closed, "but... whether they were ones that Sweetleaf shaped or children of them... impossible for me to tell. I... could not sense his spirit, not even when I found... what was left of the Old Willow itself. It... it was a shattered trunk. Covered in moss..." Sweetleaf the shaper. Tefin has heard of him in the few tales that Wayfound has shared. the one responsible for the Willowholt; the trees and the circle of itchgrass surrounding the entire holt. "Time has passes since that day, long ago, when the flood took the Willowholt. Did you return, hoping for some sign that he, Sweetleaf, was still around?" Wordlessly, the she-elf bobs her tousled head, thinking to herself that if she simply sits there arm in arm with Tefin and focuses upon the slow, steady rhythm of her own breathing... perhaps it will ease away the lump within her throat. When she speaks again, her voice has grown hoarser. "Yes... I... remember that I used to be able to... f-feel his presence, when I was small... but I-I-I could not find him...." You can't go home again. That much is certian. Perhaps a flanking motion instead of tackling this head on. "When you were a cub, was he always around? Could you sense him in every tree, every blade of grass, every moment of the day?" He can tell that tears may be coming soon....let them. Breathe. Breathe. "Not... always," Wayfound rasps. "I would... have to be extremely quiet and still before I could sense him... or else eat something that had... been brought to life by his magic. Even after he died... the Holt was full of his power..." Breathe, and breathe some more. The she-elf's arm about the Go-Back twitches once, before Wayfound seems to catch herself. Then, quite tentatively, she hugs Tefin a little closer... and turns her head so that she might lie it against his dark hair, inhaling the scent of it. And of him. Tefin's eyes close also, his breathing slowing a bit as she pulls him slightly closer. It's allright....his body language seems to say, his arm giving you a soft squeeze, the other hand rising to brush through your tousled hair. It's a good thing he took a bath recently. "And you tried both, my Riddle, the plants and the silence?" Contact like this... Wayfound has not experienced it since she left Lostholt. Friendly as the Vraeyans are, up to and including their gregarious Captain, they have certainly attempted to hug the she-elf more than once, and sometimes she has even let them. But to be hugged by a six-foot human is a different experience entirely than embracing an elf much closer to one's own size, even if one stands over him by several inches. Wayfound says nothing for a moment or two, just soaking in the feel of touching one of her own kind, until at last she says hoarsely, "Yes... I did. Once or twice... when I was last in the marshes... I _almost_ felt him, but couldn't quite reach him." This is a totally different experience for Tefin as well. Grimy hugs from young fawns and the friendly hugs of his tribesmates are nothing like this. Those were rough and fast and sometimes dirty. This is something different...relaxing, warm, and soft, and like nothing he has felt before. He may be small, but you wouldn't know that from his embrace. He's large enough for this. "our kind....they can feel the magics of those elves who shaped the world to their will. Perhaps Sweetleaf was so powerful that his magic echoed through time, and now that the willows are gone, nothing was left to hold him to that place." Almost tenderly, Tefin runs his fingers through your hair. "Perhaps he returned to the palace, where all souls go." Tension begins to drain slowly out of the young Wolfrider's body, and she cranes her head down a little bit more, the better to let Tefin's fingers sift through her tousled pale locks. "Perhaps," she whispers. "I... have thought sometimes about going to find the Palace, but I do not know where it is. Fallberry might. Mother has told me the Preservers seem to know how to find it... she has _seen_ it, you know...!" "I have heard of the palace, but I have never seen it myself. It would be a sight to see...perhaps that is where...we....can go next?" he murmurs quietly, scooting back a little against one of the Cypress trees so she does not have to crane her neck as much for him to brush his fingers through her hair. The sounds of nightfall slowly drift over the pair, the lapping of waves against the shore, the insistent chirr of crickets, the sound of wings flapping in the dusk, and Tefin is content to remain silent and simply enjoy the moment. "Maybe... maybe after I see the Vraeyans safely to somewhere they can call home..." Something that might be a chuckle ripples through Wayfound without quite escaping her and reaching full sound. "I do not think that the humans of the Olbar tribe would be very pleased to see us, and Raven and Quietharm... and nor can I really take Vardeus to Lostholt. But I will send Fallberry ahead when we are close enough, to talk to Cutter and my mother...!" A dropping of a shell, indeed. Wayfound's words are still somber as ever... but are beginning to come freely from her, in this sheltered, quiet, peaceful place, with assuring arms about her. "On that note, I do agree with you, Wayfound." he says after a time, his fingers stilling for just a moment. "It would be like choosing to fight a bear in it's den or outside of it. Either way, you're in for an unpleasant battle." Another gentle squeeze around your shoulders this time. "I would be interested in meeting your mother once the Vraeyans are safely to their new home." As he is sure she would enjoy seeing her mother again as well. To this, Wayfound actually smiles, though it's a tentative sort of expression; on the other hand, a sense of a smile does peek out from her in sending, too. "I would be most pleased to introduce you to Mother and Fur-father and Fire-father. We never met many Go-Backs in Willowholt... though we did even get a bit of Go-Back blood into our tribe. Summit's father was half a Go-Back himself." A smile is a smile, no matter how tenative it is, and the following send only confirms that that little quirk of her mouth was, in fact, a smile and not a trick of the light. "Then I look forward to that meeting, whenever it may come, but I'm not familiar with all of the members of your tribe. Summit?" "My other agemate," is the she-elf's clarification. "A bit younger than I. Son of Joy and Vale..." She blows out a very soft sigh, and then adds, "I have not seen him since we were in Blue Mountain; he and his mother did not come to Lostholt with us. Joy is half Glider... Winnowill has ever been interested in bringing Glider blood back to her, I think." A story branches into a tangent, and then into another, and then another. The moniker of 'Riddle' was well chosen, it seems. "May I ask why you decided to wander after the loss of your holt?" He turns a little toward you. "You do not seem to enjoy the solitary life." To this, Wayfound's expression comes out a bit less of a smile and a bit more of a smirk, though her eyes remain quite openly earnest. "Do not mistake me," she answers gravely, "I _do_ appreciate the company of others... but it was a choice to be made, between learning about the world... and living among tribesmates who, for all that they do love me as tribe... do not much understand me, I think. Even my dam and her mates." And now her white-golden brows arch up a bit. "You must surely understand the dilemma; did you not leave the Go-Backs for much the same reason?" Walked right into that one, didn't he? "Yes, that was the reason that I decided to leave the Go-backs; a search for knowledge was important as well as for understanding of this world that we call our home. But still....I believe that you and I have an understanding of each other that...fits a bit better, don't you think?" Strangely paralell lives between these two. Knowledge, unappreciated in their home tribes, left to seek and found another quite like itself. For a moment, to this, Wayfound simply gazes over steadily at her companion -- and as she does, her expression does not overtly change, but her gaze perceptibly softens. Eases. And perhaps even brightens, a trifle. "Yes," she murmurs then, simply, and nothing more than that save a succint addendum, "Yes, I do." For the moement after those words, under that gaze, Tefin finds the blood rushing to his ears, tinging them and his cheeks a pale shade of pink. He looks away briefly, toward the water and the moons rising through the trees, to try and hide his blush. Let's be honest, though...any wolfblooded elf, especially Wayfound, would notice this. And she does. It is impossible to miss, and it brings to the young Wolfrider a subtle quickening to her blood; not only can she sense his blush, but there are just as subtle changes to his scent that come to her nose as well. Patiently she waits for a moment or two... and then she offers, in utmost earnestness, "I do not mean to make you embarrassed, Tefin." His only visible reply is short shake of his head, but a soft touch on your mind tells a different tale. That touch, brief as it may be, shares the joy he feels at those words that you spoke, the feelings that you understand him as he understands you. Slowly, he turns back to face you, the blush still there, before leaning closer to hug you warmly. "I am glad that you feel...that way." For once, the verbose little go-back has nothing much to say. When words are hard to come by, many an elf all over the land will resort to sending. And Wayfound is no exception, more of her thoughts reaching out now to enfold Tefin just as her arms are doing. She _is_ out of practice; there isn't much call, after all, to send when you have been dwelling for moons among the Tall Ones. But the sending is there, full of a profound pleasure at Tefin's company, and at his contact as well -- a pleasure that she feels not only within her heart, but within the blood that stirs within her, as well. Her embrace is warm, and gentle; like being wrapped in a thick fur with the cold of the world raging outside; not having to move a muscle thanks to the warmth inside. She may be out of practice, but any practice is better than the woeful inexperience that Tefin can call his own. Being able to send words, not just feelings, would be a pleasure Tefin would hardly be able to fathom. He tries to echo that sending back as best he can; tries to share his feelings, his pleasure with her company and her warmth near him...but all that comes out is a soft ** .. ** Wayfound lifts her own hand, smoothing dark hair back from Tefin's face, and smiles in a way that somehow manages to be both tentative and hopeful. ** Do you hear me when I send? ** comes her query, just as open and earnest as her eyes, as something more of this wary, half-wild maiden comes out from beneath the shell of concealment she wears for almost all others. ** Do you feel this? ** He nods with his eyes closed, leaning into your touch. "I can hear you, my beautiful Riddle..." This is murmured softly as hazel eyes flick open and gaze into yours, as wide as if they were seeing you for the first time clearly. Layer upon layer is exposed to this simple go-back, warmth and affection washes over...through...him, warming him to the very core. "I can feel..." he is still. ** y...ou... ** He can feel you. Just don't ask him to send again. She doesn't, and indeed, her thoughts ring out quietly within Tefin's own, entreating, ** Don't hurt yourself, dear one. I just want to know that you can hear _me_. ** And with that, Wayfound draws the Go-Back closer to her, twisting her head around just enough that she might nuzzle, wolf-light, along his neck. A soft intake of breath at that nuzzle...a soft trembling in your arms, and then, slowly, he returns that soft nuzzle with one of his own, his skin soft against the smoothness of yours, his arms moving to encircle you. He can hear you. He can feel your mind near his, the soft sends and feelings and touches...the closeness. His fingers catch in the leather thong that holds your hair in it's braid, so slowly he tugs, freeing your mane from it's confinement, causing you to resemble the wary maiden of her send... She has periodically cut her tousled mane in front, just enough to keep it out of her eyes, should chance strands escape confinement. The braid, she's trimmed enough to keep it from catching in the branches of trees she might choose to climb. But still, there is more than enough white-gold hair there to spring free into a shining wavy cloud, when it is released from its thong. And Wayfound sends again, sharing her pleasure and delight at the very physical sense of hands in her hair, even as she runs her own hand through Tefin's much shorter locks... and draws the fingertips of her other hand along the lines of his features, as if wanting to take the time to acquaint herself by touch with a face she's known by sight for moons now. In the short time that Tefin has known Wayfound, many truths have been revealed, and this is another one of those truths. The sheer pleasure of contact with another, even something as simple as running fingers through hair, is a delight when the one that you are with cares for you as much as you care for them. His eyes close as her fingertips drift over brow and cheek, his lips closing playfully around the tip of one of her searching fingers for just a moment before his fingertips begin exploring the gentle wolfrider maiden's face. ** I am... not practiced at these things, Tefin... ** The sending comes more shyly than the others, but no less readily, earnestness and forthrightfulness and bashfulness all intertwined. ** But I think... that I should very much like to join with you. ** Wayfound's eyes echo her sending, the same sentiments that resonate through her thoughts reflected in eyes of amber and green. Her hands remain in motion even as she sends, the most active and surest part of the trinity of hand, head, and heart. A slight flush can be seen rising in Tefin's ears at that sending, and he nods once, gingerly, but then again, a bright smile flashing over his face. "I would be honored, my beautiful riddle, and I would very much like to join with you. I am...well...also inexperienced in these matters, but I believe that the experience will be...educational for both of us." His eyes, almost black in this light, glint with a warmth that mirrors your own, his hands moving of their own accord. Wayfound's smiles are infrequent things -- and most of the time, they are tentative as well. But not now. Now, her smile bursts out across her face like a beam from the Mother Moon, falling down into a forest glade, and it brightens her eyes till they shine like stars. And even as she smiles, her sending warms as well, rich and warm and flowing as she taps down into the heart of herself and draws upon mostly dormant strength to bring to that sending the pure clarity of her mind. With slow but steady hands, she tugs Tefin invitingly, down towards the carpet of cypress leaves that blanket the earth beneath them both. One last burst of words crystallize in the river of her thoughts, before she gives herself over entirely to the Now of what grows between them both: ** Then let us explore and learn this new thing, Tefin... together. ** [End log.]