Log Date: 2/25/96 Log Intro: With the wrapstuffed form of Rayek in tow, Ekuar and Ember have left the sheltered valley where they have been staying for some seasons now. Moving southward, aiming for Ember's home Holt, the little group travels as quickly as it can, but the neccessity of transporting Rayek, as well as the onset of the Whitecold, slows them down. Already anxious to free his pupil before Lostholt is reached, Ekuar at last decides to do so, in the next shelter the trio takes.... ---------- Ekuar kneels quietly by the wrapstuff cocoon, his aged face set deep in thought. His single hand grips an old spear-head... not much on the hunt, but just right for a task such as this. He leans and begins to cut the wrapping with care, concerned eyes scanning for the first glimpse of his sleeping student. Petalwing lingers around Ekuar's ancient hairless head, and pipes tinily, /Is good, to take sharpdark highthing out of wrapstuff?/ Ekuar's lips quirk in a gentle smile, though his eyes are still fixed on his work. "I know you worked hard on it, little one," he says softly. "But I won't have my Brownskin a prisoner any longer than necessary." The delicate strands begin to part under the rockshaper's attentions; this was good work of Petalwing's, sturdy, and able to stand the rigor of Ember having dragged it this far out of the valley -- and occasionally, Ekuar himself floating it along on a sliding nest of rock. The Preserver, dismayed at first that its favorite highthing was wrapped when not good all over, now watches anxiously as Ekuar works at slicing the cocoon open. Petalwing advises Ekuar wisely, /Undo wrapstuff there first!/ and points a tiny hand where Rayek's face should be. Ekuar works steadily at the end with Rayek's head and shoulders, slicing the webbing with light, careful strokes. He begins to murmur as he concentrates, whether or not the quiescent elf can hear him: "Easy, now... Eh, there we are... Old Ekuar will have you free soon... Gently, gently..." The first sign that Rayek is regaining awareness -- or something like it, at any rate -- of his surroundings is a sending, blurred, fragmented with memory of ice and snow collapsing beneath him. Gradually, under the slow and careful work of Ekuar's single hand, the wrapstuff strands part, revealing the airwalker's brown, gaunt features. Ekuar pauses for a moment to stroke Rayek's cheek with his gnarled forefinger, peering into the dark face with concern almost palpable in the air around him. He opens his mind, embracing the confused sending with a sense of , , , the elder's mind meeting his friend's with soothing familiarity. Rayek's eyes open, slowly; unveiled, his amber gaze is without focus, and after a moment, it glitters with startlement and fear as he twitches in the wrapstuff and finds himself immobile. ** ....! ** Petalwing flits overhead, and offers brightly, /Sharpdark highthing take long nap in wrapstuff!/ Ekuar looks carefully into Rayek's eyes, trying to bring them to clear awareness on his face. "Easy, Brownskin," he breathes. "Please, lie still. I want to cut you free, and I don't want to slip and hurt you, eh?" Wrapstuff. Ekuar's voice. Heavily and with effort, Rayek blinks, then frowns, mouth drawn tight with renewed cognizance of a dull throb in his leg that threatens to soon blossom into pain. For now, though, he sends, muddled and wordless acknowledgement of Ekuar's presence. There's other thoughts tangled there, too, but Rayek's mind, dazed, slips again towards the grey fog that has filled it for some time. As pain flickers across the well-loved features, Ekuar half-turns and lays the spearhead aside for a moment. He turns back with some moss in his hand, bringing it slowly to Rayek's lips; the moss smells musty and spicy, with a hint of damp bitterness. "Good lad, open. This will help the pain. Eh? I used to chew it... long ago. Each time the Trolls would..." The rockshaper lets the memory trail away, giving a lopsided shrug. "Open, now, and chew. Let it ease some of the worst of it." Rayek, conscious of little else besides his mentor's soft and soothing words, tries to lift his head to obey him, to take and chew a fragment of the moss. The effort makes color drain from his cheeks, and the black-haired head sinks back again. Ekuar scoots closer, bending low over the invalid, bringing a pinch of the moss to Rayek's mouth between a pale thumb and forefinger. "Oh! There, now. Don't move. Easy, let me. Open, dear one, and I can feed you like a baby bird in the nest, hm?" Rayek scowls vaguely, swallows, and coughs. Petalwing taptaps Ekuar's head, and chitters curiously /What mossstuff do?/ Ekuar peers upward at the tapping. "It helps, a bit," he tells the Preserver. "It can take pain and muffle it, bring it, eh, downward where it can be dealt with." A small smile. "At least, it used to do so for me. When I-- eh-- used to have a great deal of pain." Petalwing doesn't quite grasp that, or doesn't seem to. It does grasp, though, that Rayek is hurt, and it flitters down to gently stroke rumpled black hair. Ekuar's eyes follow the Preserver back to Rayek's face, and his eyes crinkle pleasantly at the little creature's tenderness. Rayek sends again, without cohesiveness, but with a sense of urgency -- and shame -- nevertheless. Ekuar purses his lips, reaching for the spearhead again. "Hush, now. There's no need for that... and you know it, don't you, my dear. Let me cut a bit more of this away, free up your arms first. Hm?" He murmurs and clicks his tongue gently as he works on more of the wrapping, down across the chest and angular shoulders. Struggling with a memory of being bitterly cold, of his foot blazing with such an ache that it felt as if he stepped into a literal pool of pain, Rayek manages to keep his eyes only half-open, while he watches the Ekuar-shaped blur in his vision lean over him. ** Wh.... where...? ** Ekuar's mind moves smoothly and warmly around Rayek's own. ** Safe, Brownskin. You fell in a hole and got hurt. Ember and I brought you out. Your leg is broken, so I had the little Preserver wrap you up for a time. ** His thoughts are slow and simple, giving Rayek time to understand... and purposely not filling in the details of the dark elf fleeing, the pain and fright, the pursuit. Not now. Petalwing pats Rayek's forehead with a tiny green hand. /Sharpdark highthing all snugsafe,/ it assures, as if hearing Ekuar's own sent comfort. ** The.... ice. Broke. I remember.... ** Once more Rayek frowns, or almost does, as his black eyebrows draw together. Ekuar nods, his hand moving down from Rayek's chest toward his waist, slowly slicing through the webbing strand by strand with the most delicate care. ** Yes, ** he sends simply. ** It broke, and you fell. Thank the High Ones it wasn't worse, my boy, hm? ** Eventually, a hand of Rayek's is free, and his fingers quiver slowly as though trying to recall movement of their own accord. ** Foolish.... should have... kept floating. ** Rayek's eyes, still glazed, darken as he adds abashedly, ** Ember... ** Ekuar works his way down Rayek's other arm-- although his hand is maimed, it is deft. ** It was she who got you out... I was a bit of help, but I couldn't have done it without her. She's clever, the huntress. ** Rayek then trails off, and stares up at Ekuar, eyes tearing over. Aghast, he begins, ** I left... ** before the sending cuts off raggedly, choked back down into the airwalker's mind. Petalwing helpfully plucks bits of wrapstuff off Rayek's prone body, and carries them off one by one. Ekuar stops the careful cutting, his gaze moving to Rayek's face. There is no blame in his eyes, those deep and ancient eyes... only protectiveness, and loving worry. He sends the truth, but this truth bears no accusation. ** You did leave. And you mustn't ever do that again. Didn't I tell you I'd always follow you? ** The eyes twinkle, the comfort entwined with the ever-present gentle humor. Without the strength to do more than lift his head, and that only for a few moments, Rayek regards his ancient teacher, mute grief and shame in his expression. Tears glint a little more against his black lashes. Petalwing flits back to peer down at Rayek, and it awwws softly. Ekuar's face saddens at the wash of emotions in Rayek's eyes. He leans forward, dropping the spearhead, the single arm slipping around Rayek's shoulders to pull him gently close. "Oh!" he says aloud, his voice a little shaky. His mind continues: ** Brownskin, don't look like that. Please, you mustn't punish yourself so. Oh, my dear, I know why you did it. You had our best interests at heart. ** He pauses, and his send deepens, tinges of wry humor and a teacher's lesson twining around the thoughts. ** You just need to realize that what you think would be best isn't always what's best for me. That's all. There's no harm done. ** Rayek's one mostly free hand fumbles up around the fragile old elf's neck. He starts to send, but gets no farther than an initial mental touch before seeming to change his mind. Dimly aware that Ember is not present, for whatever reason, Rayek hides his face against Ekuar's chest. Ekuar bows his head against the tousled black hair, closing his eyes. ** That's my lad. Let it go. We're together, hm? I'm here for you, and there's nothing you could ever do to keep me away. Be easy. ** The thoughts are crystal-clear, bright with the vast depth of the ancient's purity and sincerity. The one elf he truly loves most in the world, his troubled and complex and powerful young student, is the focus of a seemingly bottomless well of love, protectiveness, and concern. You locksend ** ** to Ekuar. Ekuar accepts the darkness and pain willingly, shouldering as much as Rayek will release, the warmth of encouragement and forgiveness spreading like a blanket over the chill of self-anger and self-blame. It is no hollow or naive comfort, either... in the depths of the almost unimaginably ancient mind, there are layers upon layers of life. Of time. There were mistakes made in those millennia, mistakes that brought pain to self and others. But somehow the rockshaper has learned to forgive. Not just others, that seems to come easily and fairly early. But to learn to forgive -himself-... that skill took longer, and cost more dearly. It's an important part of the blinding compassion that radiates from him so often. Understanding the darkness, and loving nevertheless. Having revealed to you that his memory is whole -- if, indeed, the return of all these grief-giving memories can be called wholeness -- Rayek sends nothing else save a mental clinging to your presence. At least, some of it. The forgiveness he accepts only in part, only where it has to do with you, and even that comes with the sense that he feels himself undeserving. Ekuar sends gently, slipping upward through layers of powerful depth to find the words: ** Brownskin... trust old Ekuar. Trust me when I tell you that you don't always know what's best. And now-- ** The thin arm pulls tightly, comfortingly-- ** Now you think you aren't worth loving. And you're wrong in that. So wrong. Believe in me. ** No answer, either in sending or in voice, escapes him for several long minutes as Rayek huddles in his mentor's embrace. His breathing roughens, perhaps with simple physical pain. Ekuar carefully eases Rayek down, letting him go and reaching for another pinch of the moss. ** Open... chew this, ** he sends in gentle command. ** I'll cut the rest of this away, and then the Preserver and I will wrap your leg tight and straight, so it won't move, hm? That will help. My brave lad. ** Rayek sinks back onto the furs, face turned sallow under his tan. ** 'Lad.' You... make me feel as though I'm a child again... ** Trying for a light tone, he can nevertheless not quite conceal the despair lingering under the sent words. Ekuar lifts the spearhead, snipping at more of the entangling web. ** My dear. You're still young, though you try to take the world on your back like the oldest of us all. Give yourself some room to grow. You have so much time ahead... ** His own tone echoes a bit of the lightness, without the same despair: ** Just think, one day you'll be as old as me, lecturing some upstart little fellow of barely a few hundred eights, hm? ** Rayek sendwhispers, ** So much time... ** And under those words, a flutter of pain. Time, yes, but for what? Something clenches in him, trying to shy away from the idea of a measureless stretch of time in which to contemplate all he's done, all he's lost. Who he's lost. A thought forms, a vivid ache of a recollection of gentle dark hands, a flash of fire in green eyes; as if to either distract him, or to add to the ache, his partly-unwrapped leg flares with pain, and he groans. Ekuar bends to his task, unwrapping more quickly now. He has ideas about what Rayek might do with the time ahead... lessons to be learned, and perhaps an ability to love and forgive himself... but he puts these thoughts aside for the moment. Right now, his lad's pain is the important issue. ** I found some sticks, Brownskin. Hold fast... we'll clear this away, and then wrap the sticks along your leg. It won't move until we can get it healed properly. ** His mental voice is suffused with sympathetic pain, wishing futilely that he could take some of the agony upon himself. The mild elder got used to pain of the worst kind, once upon a time in dank, filthy holes below the ground. As Ekuar briskly unwraps the rest of Rayek's lean leatherclad form, the Preserver flitters about beside him, and Rayek himself slumps, senses reeling. He hisses, sharply, as the last of the wrapstuff is gently tugged out from under him -- and promptly shivers in air that, despite the hide Ember's put up to shelter the entry into this new rock refuge, is winter-cold. Ekuar turns to retrieve two branches, obviously selected and trimmed to match the length of Rayek's broken leg. With swift, gentle movements he aligns the wood along the injured limb, one on each side, then looks up to catch Rayek's eye. ** I'll have to move your leg, Brownskin. Just a bit. To get the bone perfectly straight, with the ends in line, so we wrap it right. You must make yourself ready. ** Rayek blearily meets Ekuar's gaze, and after a moment, clamps his eyes shut. His broken leg begins to rise, then, wreathed in faint sparkles of light. Petalwing ooooooo. /Sharpdark highthing do floatfires!/ Ekuar nods anxiously. "Petalwing, I'm going to straighten the leg, and then you've got to wrap it. Quickly. You understand, eh?" Petalwing bobs its tiny head. /Petalwing do!/ it promises decisively. Ekuar reaches out and puts his hand on Rayek's foot, pulling just enough to ease the broken ends of the bone into alignment. The branches lie close and straight, forming the outline of a frame. "Preserver, do!" The elder's voice is thin with sympathetic pain and anxiety. Rayek's right hand fumbles out and clutches, tightly, at the furs underneath him. But he remains poised, there, as if he is about to slide feet-first into the air. Petalwing zips in, and busily begins coating sharpdark highthing's leg in wrapstuff, from the arch of his now-bare brown foot on along up his calf. Ekuar's body is stiff, his eyes fixed on Rayek's face. He has never gotten used to causing pain-- especially to this one, and especially so directly. ** Hold on, dear one, hold on... ** The wounded leg doesn't dip once, though Rayek's face drains further of its color; this is, after all, the same elf who has floated the Palace of the High Ones. (So why, he thinks to himself sarcastically, is it so cursed hard to keep his own knee floating?) At last, Petalwing inspects the edge of the wrapstuff just above Rayek's knee, and beams. /Is good?/ Ekuar smiles gratefully at Petalwing, although his eyes remain where they are, taking in the drawn features of the dark elf. "Well done, little one. Well done." He leans forward, releasing Rayek's foot and instead gripping his hand. ** It's over now, Brownskin. Rest. You've done well. ** Rayek exhales, a long shuddering breath, not daring to relax his iron control until the newly-wrapped limb is back down on its cushion of furs. With that, as the few faint glimmers about him wink out, Rayek sighs. His head tilts slightly sideways, and he plummets into sleep. [End log.]