Log Date: 11/21/96 Log Cast: Thicket, Pacer/Evergreen, Silhouette, Hush Log Intro: A few moons have passed, now, since the strange return of her lifemate Pacer into Thicket's life. She has grown to accept his altered appearance, knowing that the soul she remembers is behind the strange grey eyes and silver hair. Thicket has remained slightly desperate, nevertheless, to keep Pacer in her company, and remains with him in every waking moment that she can manage. In the meantime, Slate and his mate and cub have remained camping near Thicket and Pacer, and Slate has been determined to try to accustom his little family to the elf he'd pledged to protect. Silvermoon has remained wary and nervous around the old she-elf, but the cub, Winterblessing, has greeted Thicket with a cubling's open innocence -- and Thicket has every so often watched the youngling with a wistful eye, when she thinks no one is looking. None of the little almost-pack know, however, that the elf they'd been calling Pacer is just as much another elf, Evergreen of the Needlebrook Tribe. And Needlebrook has been worried about Evergreen's extended absence. Now, the daughter of Evergreen's lifemate, and another member of the tribe as well, have caught up with their errant tribesmate... NOTE: This log was submitted by Evergreen's player. ---------- Headwaters of the Wandering River The air here is mountain-cool, pine-scent-sharp; tall trees along the sloping ground here add their individual tangs to the breeze, and pine and other kinds of evergreen needles blanket the forest floor. A waterfall bursts from the mountainside and plunges down along the incline into a wide pool; from that, the waters flow out and away, giving birth to the river known as the Wandering. Along the hillside and in between the tall conifers, random bushes weave in and out; a 'blackberry bush' catches your eye. The starry outlines of the Human Hunter begin to come out as the dimming red light of sunset fills the cool autumn skies. Contents: Thicket Starpaws Slate's Den Obvious exits: East Bank Pool West Bank Trail Crest Trail The season is mid-autumn. Voice echoing softly in countertime to the rumble and ripple of the water's flow, Pacer sits near the shore, singing to the tiny shards of reflections bouncing and swallowed again by the rushing river. Left idle in his hands, a strip of faintly blued leather lies, just beginning to be cut into many smaller strips of fringe. Work forgotten for the waking night and voice, he watches shadows grow and darken within the trees and water, hiding creatures and shimmer-scaled fish from all but scent and sound. It is unsurprising that Thicket huddles near, a gruff and silent shadow at your side. She's grown calmer in your presence over the past many moons... almost dearly familiar, recollecting her patterns of old. The urgency in her eyes when you've left her sight has diminished... aided, by the demonstration of your reliable return after you go, and by the constant touch of your mind. Words weave their way into his song, now and then, when he can gather them together at once: words of the wind of the chase in one's hair, of glimmering eyes caught on one's own gaze, of wolf-friends and good hunts and the scent of evening redly falling into night. Realizing with those notes that he's come to the moment, nightfall, he smirks into the water and then down at the leather in his lap. He smiles broadly at his own idleness and turns to gaze silverly at his mate. ** Mate, ** he murmurs, gently and warm, one of his favorite words to apply. ** Hunt tonight? ** Thicket's face lights, a bit, eyes glinting. ** Hunt. ** The single syllable contains agreement, eagerness -- and approval of being _with_ you. Pacer puts out a hand, smile reaching his eyes with glimmering starlight joy. His other hand gathers the little bit of leather and doubles it, then sets it aside. ** Yes. ** Thicket nods once, rising in a slow considering movement, and sniffing at the air. Something on the wind catches her attention, then, and she turns, stance tensing. [A short ways off...] Challenge> Little Mountain Spring Challenge> A bubbling spring leaps from the ground, fountaining slightly before spilling into a little pool, which in turn rolls off down the mountainside in a swift-running rivulet. There are bushes nearby, and a few trees stand quietly on the south edge of the little clearing. The rivulet tumbles south through the clearing before becoming lost in the underbrush. Challenge> It grows cold as evening falls. Dry leaves whisper in the wind. Challenge> Obvious exits: Challenge> Doreel's Grove To the marshes West Trail Challenge> Silence comes into view between some gnarled trees to the south. Challenge> Silence has arrived. Challenge> Pacing, lanky yet and proud, Challenge -- more or less -- stalks through the brush, as if on the outskirts of a territory. Challenge> Shadows drift through the darkness, catching in bushes, pooling beneath shrubs, shifting as clouds blanket the moons. One of those shadows takes on the form of a sizable wolf. A distantly familiar wolf that now moves out of the underbrush. [Back at the waterfall:] Slowly, dark skies float over head, paving the way for the upcoming rain showers. Softly the trees rustle in the wind. An autumn shower, but something else rides along this storm. Pacer rises also, fluidly now, as if newly grown into an adult form, and paces to match you for direction. Aware on a skin-prickling level of his mate's tension, he also scents, nose atwitch for a moment. ** Wolf, ** he states, after a moment, as if shrugging it off to his oft-shadow. Thicket frowns, sniffing again at the air, sensing on it and sending shortly to you of coming rain. But she sends, too, of something else: ** New wolf. Stranger wolf. ** [Wolves:] Challenge> The lanky male whines softly, tinily, and follows, paws crushing so quietly through the leaves beginning to pile among the shrubs on the ground. Scenting, he pauses, then paces on, a shadow's lengthe behind the other. Challenge> The other pauses, one paw poised in mid-step, ears pricked to catch these sounds. But there isn't anything wrong here: in fact, everything is as it should be. He continues. [The waterfall:] He shakes his head a little, silver braid sliding over his shoulder to lay along his spine. He allows a moment's savor for the thought of hunt in a light rain, enough to dampen scent of predator to prey, and returns then to the sending at hand. ** Watcher too, ** he replies, not yet certain of anything unusual; but when the wind rises a little again, he nods agreement. ** Another. ** [Wolves:] Challenge> Challenge's path takes him a bit away from that of the other wolf, an arc complementary and almost paralell to the first. He matches every step, dropping his head to scent the ground as the other scents the air, raising his ruff when the other scouts the brush for motion. Challenge> The second wolf moves some distance ahead before pausing again, turning to look behind him expectantly. This time, though, something else moves in the shadows. This shadow too is familiar enough to be no cause for alarm. Challenge> Silhouette comes into view between some gnarled trees to the south. Challenge> Silhouette has arrived. Challenge> Challenge circles, widely, back. No alarm, but a low whuffed warning, and a slow whisper of a growl, hackles raised -- no alarm, no, but the wolf-word that something is amiss. Challenge> Reflexively an arrow is nocked and trained and held. Silence snorts, sending a puff of frosty breath skyward, at which the arrow is lowered. The shadow, now definatly an elf, frowns thoughtfully. [Challenge] Dark eyes gleam in the face of this dusky brown, extremely present wolf. Tall and slim, a young wolf, Challenge sports a bright silver patch stretching over his head and down his neck between his ears. He struts a little, proud, confident. [Silhouette] Silhouette has matured into a beautiful, younger version of her mother. She is olive skinned, with large, brilliant green eyes, slanted and darkly lashed, that emphasize her high cheekbones and oval face. Most of her raven's wing black has been caught into tiny braids that go up to the top of her head to to form a chief's knot, which then spills down her back in tight ringlets to just below her waist. One braid has been left out of that, one that falls down her right shoulder to her middle, where a hawk feather has been tucked through its end. She has opted to wear almost nothing but black. A form-hugging suit of soft, grey-black leather molds to her slender figure, its sleeves ending in half gloves and its legs lashed up their outer sides with leaf green and white cords but leaving open an inch or so of skin that they criss-cross over. A loose blouse of night black has been tugged over that, its sleeves short and full, its front left wide open, and its hem pulled through a dark green belt before flurrying out a bit into a mid-thigh length skirt. From that belt hangs a black stone bladed knife and a small pouch. Silhouette wears a band of dark green leather around her neck, ornamented with glossy black beads, red-golden hawk feathers, and two long swordfoot teeth that curve slightly together around an emerald green feather. Challenge> Challenge pads elfward, aware of the arrow's rise and drop, and indifferent to both. Hackles only a little high, a ridge of fur along his spine just a little spiky, he pauses, nose down, tail high, dark eyes staring up at the bow-weilding elf. Challenge> Leaf-coloured eyes meet dark ones, unafraid, but not completely unassuming. Her posture does not change, but remains guarded almost in anticipation. Challenge> Challenge harruffs softly, unthreatening, and turns, tail leveling for a moment, then lifting to a slight angle of pride. He pads forward a few steps, pausing as a paw crunches down on a leaf, and looks back, eyes aglimmer. Challenge> Silence circles the clearing once before snorting off another chilled puff of breath. The elf inclines her head faintly to the other wolf, then quirks an eyebrow. Shrugging, she makes to follow. Challenge> Challenge suddenly turns again, with a whuff of startlement, and pads forward, then halts again. [Waterfall:] Thicket glances at you, then, still frowning somewhat. Then, quite abruptly, she pads silently off towards the source of the scent, expression alert. Thicket heads for the rising ridge and Sun-Goes-Down. Thicket has left. [Pacer follows...] Little Mountain Spring [Desc snipped] Contents: Thicket Silhouette Silence Challenge Obvious exits: Doreel's Grove To the marshes West Trail Blinking, Pacer checks his shoulder for bow and his belt for knife, then follows on Thicket's heels into the wood. Barely a shadow among Shadows, Thicket creeps through the trees, tracking the scent of the stranger wolf she senses on the wind. One brow arched, Pacer follows, scenting silently. He takes more care than needs must his mate to stay in the shadows, the lack of moonlight streaking through the clouds leaving no way to hide his silver hair should he slip into the light. Step soft, he follows his mate, path not quite her own, paralell at times, but always letting her lead. You locksend to Thicket, Evergreen (Pacer) murmurs, a little hesitant to disturb the hunt, ** Just a wolf...? ** Silence pauses again, forepaw held once more held just so above the leaf covered ground. The elf standing in what might pass for the middle of the clearing frowns again to herself and readies an arrow. She glances back and forth between the wolves, waiting. A soft crack of thunder above, paves way to light water droplets. A soft mist of rain falls, as the wind from the south picks up a little brisker. Not quite knowing why she is tense -- perhaps it is the crackle of thunder in the air -- Thicket flicks a reflective leaf-and-earth-hued glance to the nearby shadow that she calls her mate. She sends, not quite assent, not quite acknowledgement, and sniffs the air again. The lanky 'watcher' wolf lowers in his tracks, belly nearing the ground. Eyes narrowing, he is suddenly perfectly quiet save for soft warm wolfish breath, waiting as low in the underbrush as he can get. Thicket tenses, then, further, at the sight of the stranger with the wolf, and melts backwards into the shadows..... Silhouette spares the sky a quick glance, scowling to herself as she send-mutters, ** He -had- to be right, didn't he.. ** She looks once more towards Challenge before looking around, biting on her lower lip. For no reason you can name, you who have believed yourself to be Pacer, that stranger in the clearing seizes and holds your attention. Almost, you can forget that your mate lurks at your side... And, you who walk by the wolves... something you cannot name either suddenly makes your skin crawl. Are you being watched, by more than wolves? At his mate's drawing back into the trees, Pacer halts, arm curling to flow the bow from his shoulder down into his hand. He pauses, though, again, that motion enough. He opens a hint of a send to his mate, but states nothing in it, and it, like his stalking, halts. Silence pads back to stand near Silhouette, shadow-coloured ruff bristling like a manyquill. He too watches, snorting softly at the rain beginning to run down his nose. Pacer's gaze catches on his mate, querying silently though her own gaze is elsewhere. Thicket scowls in shadow at the unfamiliar elf, unsurprised by seeing yet another stranger in the territory she's called hers. Impatient, she waits to see what this one will do... till Pacer sends, and she frowns again, glancing sideways at him. For you, Pacer, the stranger suddenly _tugs_ again, or seems to. You _MUST_ look at her.... And you, Silhouette... something in the trees Calls. Something nearby. Disturbingly so. Challenge shivers slightly in the brush, then lets the droplets run from his fur to the ground. He scents, familiar scents all of them in one way or another, and is still, waiting. Silhouette scowls to herself, shaking her head. She selects a bush at random, training her arrow on it, and attempts to refuse to look. Something isn't right, and something has to be done about it. But as Thicket's glance meets his, Pacer's slides away, silver eyes following to see what his mate had been, for a moment, so grouchily intent on. An elf-shape, wolf-huntress, wet in the rain. He shivers a little, suddenly cold. You both must look. You both must find. For you, Silhouette, the wind suddenly changes. There are scents on the wind... and one of them is suddenly oddly familiar. And for you, Pacer... why does that stranger look familiar all at once? What is it about her green eyes, that make your pulse suddenly race? Inward, Pacer frowns. Another stranger in his mate's territory. Inward, he scowls: this won't please her at all. And inward, something blinks back, with a thought of -- tribe. Arrow fixed on the offending bush, Silhouette attempts to remain motionless, and above all, collected. She isn't entirely successful though, darting glances around the clearing almost nervously. Pacer shakes his head, braid tossing along his back, spraying a few droplets onto the leaves nearby. He takes a step forward, rustling in the brush, and waits there, sending. Thicket suddenly tenses... sensing... what? She doesn't know. Forgetting, now, the need to keep herself stealthily hidden, she sends a single pointed urgency at the other shadow beside her: ** ? ** [To Thicket] Pacer sends, locked -- although almost poorly, for all of the sense that something else is watching, or contributing? -- ** Stranger...? ** As if he might have forgotten someone of his packlet in the time-beyond-time of spirit-wandering. Look. See. You cannot stop, Pacer, the sudden conviction that you _know_ this maiden; frightening enough, that, but more frightening still is the sudden inability to breathe, the way your heart is racing. You haven't felt this way since the time of Eyes Meeting Eyes, with Thicket.... Arrowhead and leaf-green eyes move as one to find the rustling, locking there and waiting. Waiting for what? Not entirely sure of that, Silhouette bites on her lower lip, flinching as Silence moves forward to nuzzle her shoulder softly. Pacer... _are_ you Pacer? Why would Pacer know this maiden? Before you can fathom why, the Something drives you forward into the light. You must look into her eyes. ** ...? ** Pacer's send, locked to his mate, takes on a color of something else -- green eyes and silver ones, perhaps, and it gets away into the night, openly sent. He turns his head, as if to lock gaze on the shadow huntress he set out with, but his eyes remain trained on a different one, out in the tangled clearing. Thicket hisses sharply, aloud, and alarmed -- betraying her presence. Hush comes into view between some gnarled trees to the south. Hush has arrived. You, Silhouette... what _was_ that sending? Familiar and not, it tugs at you all at once and sharply draws your gaze towards a silver-glinted figure just on the edge of the shadows.. A step, another. The brush rustles on the heels of that hiss, and silver hair, wet, shimmers briefly within it. ** Mate... ** Pacer stumbles, unsure of whom he's sending to for a moment, and collects himself. ** Will tell stranger. Your territory. ** Another inward frown, at his sending this time, its disjointedness. Still the arrow remains trained on the section of brush that calls so, but Silhouette does not move. Not perceptibly, anyway, nothing but a catching of the breath and a slight tilt of the head, sending beads of rain cascading down already soaked leathers. Behind her, Silence curls his lips in a silent warning growl. Leather-clad and familiar, silver-braided and stormcloud-eyed, an elf-shape emerges from the leaves. One arm holds a shortbow as if it were a dead ravvit; his expression, glimmering rain-wet in the young night, is one of consternation, brows locked and lowered, unsure. Another clash of thunder is heard off in the distance, A dark form limps, searching. ** Silh! ** he sends, eyes and nose searching. Another crash of thunder, and the rain falls harder. Challenge shivers more rain from his fur, not bothering with quiet this time, and rises, stalking a circle around the silver-haired one. He pauses, eyes narrowing, hackles raising spikily, to look back at Silhouette, dark-eyed. Something surges within you, Pacer. Something from within you in a depth you hadn't known existed -- but from behind the odd tightness you'd managed to ignore, these past seasons, in your thoughts. It makes you doubt, all at once, that you are Aron... for standing here before you, you realize, is Zyal. Silhouette moves now, taking a step back and finds a new target for her arrows. For a moment. Wickedly forked skyfire flashes overhead, illuminating the clearing for a heartbeat to noon's brilliance. As it darkens, so the arrow drops, falling with the rain onto drenched earth. As the silver-haired one steps out of the shadows, Silhouette, you realize three things. Here is the missing one you'd sought -- but something is wrong with him; there is an odd fullness to his head. And neither of these explains the sudden knowledge you have, resonating in your bones, that he is Kyrrl... >From behind the silver-haired one, a sudden harsh noise like a strangled cough sounds. Sending again, urgently, Thicket bolts towards the one she has known as her mate. In that flash, the silver gaze widens, as if blinded for a moment and refusing to reaccept sight thereafter. Nothing else registers for a moment, the silverhaired elf's thoughts swirled in his head without even his own comment, as if another voice shrieks within and the one without can't, or won't hear. He sends, in two voices twined and coming quickly apart, and is silent, still, an easy target at best. [To Thicket] ** Vess -- ** It tangles, falls, swirls in with a collection of syllables and thoughts and images and memories familiar and alien. It dwindles, and closes, in fear or horror or confusion in the storm. Hush eyes can the clearing at the brief flash, ** Silh? ** he sends, finding the one he seeks. He stops, suddenly aware of the other two elves in the clearing. Thicket whimpers, throwing herself at the stunned and shocked male with silver hair and eyes. Reaching him, she tugs urgently at his arms, fear beginning to flood her austerely lined face. Now that she, too, is in the light, she can be seen, a motley-garbed female with a tangle of dark hair, a frame as lean as a stick. Time starts again and Silhouette drops into something somewhere between a crouch and a curl, finding the nearest thing that isn't silver. In this case, that would be the ground. Silence growls again, however soundlessly. [To Silhouette] Hesitant, one voice, then two, then two apart, one dimming and one rising, comes images -- racing wolf-friend in the rain, hunt, lifemate at his side -- what lifemate? Black-haired and dark-skinned becomes tall and wolfish and leaves-on-earth-eyed. Tangled, the thoughts resolve into a word: ** ...Zyal...? ** And it dwindles, as if in pain. Thicket locksends ** ** Hush eyes snap to Silhouette, then too the two others. ** What are you doing to her? ** he sends angrily, as he stalks towards the two, eyes not registering who the silver haired male is. Shivering, skin slowly paling from cold and rain even beneath the soaked down of his skin, the silverhaired elf looks wide-eyed at the green-eyed shadow clumped on the ground. Then, slowly, his head turns, registering belatedly the clawing at his arms. He sends, with one voice -- a voice lost and bewlidered -- ** ? ** Thicket ignores the strangers, as she tugs anew at the silver one's muscled arm. Only when Hush is within close enough distance that his presence cannot be denied does the female's gaze snap to him. Audibly, she growls, moving to thrust the male with her behind her. Her sending, too, growls, with a single word making itself known within the snarl: ** _MINE_ ** [To Thicket] Silence, for too long after that open send, as if he hasn't registered the locksent fear and urgency until just now, and now knows not what to do with it. ** Thicket-mate? ** Even in sending it, he lets go, knowing it wrong -- it dwindles, untrue. The concept is perfect, and the soul behind it exactly wrong. Perhaps the icy rain running down her spine helps Silhouette come to some terms with herself, if nothing else. She straightens, reaching for the arrow, and glowers at it before looking up. The silverhaired elf stumbles and gathers his balance, standing now stunned a half-pace behind the other, she who just pushed him behind herself. ** ? ** he repeats, leaning his head aside to stare down at the elf once again moving on the ground. Violet eyes darken as Hush continues stalking forward, ** Leave her al.. ** his eyes widen, as he stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at Silhouette. Even as she snarls at the encroaching Hush, the female with the gaunt and lined face suddenly snaps her gaze back to her companion, thunderstruck. Thicket locksends ** _Aron_?! ** Thicket begins visibly shaking. A flash of lightning briefly illumines her face, and in that instant, she can be seen to be starkly terrified. Under the scent of the rain, her own scent is thick with fear, and she grabs at the front of her companion's leathers, starting to shake _him_, too. Silence lowers his head to nuzzle his elf again, snorting in her ear. This apparently helps as well, as she reaches back to bat gently at him. You locksend to Thicket, Evergreen reels, as if with a blow, and shivers within, not sending. Somewhere behind the reeling one, unmoving to the touch, is yet something that takes the sending and soaks it in, naturally -- that is not the voice that sends back, though, the one cowering from the blow, that states, shakily, ** No... ** The silverhaired elf trembles, part in the shaking and part in the cold and part in something within. ** , ** he sends, wolfishly, and tears himself away, curling his head down into his hands, bow slipping from his arm into the wet leaves below. Challenge whines lowly, hackles raised. He utters a low harruff at the other wolf, pacing warily nearer. Thicket's hands drop, numbly. Then, releasing a loud and anguished growl, she springs for her companion, sending a wordless barrage of ** ** ** ! ** Tackled, the silverhaired elf stumbles forward, curling down farther, and whirls, shaking his hands off of his face in fists, beating ineffectively at attacker, air, rain, anything. ** ** Thicket shrieks hoarsely, "Give back! Give baaaaaaaaack!" Frenzied, now, she seizes Evergreen, trying to shake him, vehemently. Silence looks up and over at the first wolf, snorting in his direction too. He paws up a few leaves. Silhouette looks up again, something beyond her immediate vicinity finally registering. She tips her head to the other side, watching the strange elf and the suddenly terribly familiar one. ** Evergreen? ** the violet eyes turn to look at the familiar sending. Shaking his head, Hush turns around, seeing the lean one shaking Evergreen. Growling monotonously, he stalks towards them. Evergreen fights back, only poorly, face wet from more than rain now. Trembling and more or less letting himself be shaken but for a few blows along his attacker's arms, he sends, desperate, ** ... ** it fades into less sense than before, and he howls tinily, almost an elongated whine. As Evergreen's tenor sending sounds, Thicket snarls in a tangle of grief, despair, and blank terror, ** ** She pummels at the silver-haired one, her gaunt fists wet. Evergreen lifts his arms, curling them over his head, lowering his head down into them. ** Not-mate never-was-mate mate-stayed-here shroom-mate mind-friend forgot-me lost... ** He chokes on his stifled howl and whimpers, backing away from Thicket. Thicket first freezes, then drops arms suddenly gone heavy, numb. Silhouette growls, more at herself than anything else, and reaches up a hand to clear clinging tendrils of hair off her face. ** Stop it, ** sends she, quietly at first. Somewhat reassured by her own sending, her eyes narrow, and her mental voice sharpens. ** STOP IT! ** Hands reach out for the lean one, intent on pulling her off Evergreen, ** Leave him alone! ** he says angirly, not paying any attention to Silhouette. If she notices either Silhouette's demand or Hush's, Thicket gives no sign, as her face contorts through a flood of emotions. At last, features subsiding into a bleak look of pain that makes her look as though she's just been speared in the gut, the stick-lean she-elf wraps her arms slowly about herself, and sinks to her knees, staring mutely into the rain. Sobbing, choking on his breath, Evergreen folds himself down to a kneeling trembling mass of leathers and elf and silver-wet hair. He sends, words or even selective thoughts failing him, raw 'sorry' howling out in his mind's voice. Hands stop reaching for her, as she drops to the ground. He blinks confusingly between the fallen elf, and Evergreen. ** ? ** Scowling to herself, Silhouette slowly stands back up, furiously trying to remove a clinging wet leaf from her hand and not having getting very far, as it only sticks to the other hand. Involuntarily she looks toward the now crumpled Evergreen, biting hard once more on her lower lip. She does not think. She does not feel. All that she can comprehend is that her mate is Gone again. A centuries-old grief she'd thought healed over is suddenly ripped open again -- and it permits nothing except its domination of her consciousness. She remains kneeling, frozen, in the rain. [End log.]