Log Date: June 28, 1996 Log Cast (in order of appearance): Thicket Slate Silvermoon Lily Exile Log Intro: Slate has returned to the river-pool territory of the solitary elf Thicket, after a quest to locate his missing sister, Lily. Once returned, Slate has striven to resume his uneasy guardianship of the one-armed huntress; Thicket, up till now, has suffered his presence because of his continued willingness to provide her with meat and clothing, which she cannot get for herself in her crippled state. But this time, Slate seems to want to go farther; he shares details of his past with her, and tries to encourage her to do the same. But Thicket reacts badly to this attempt, particularly to Slate's efforts to get her to discuss her long-dead lifemate, Pacer. When she claims that Pacer is "there" in her territory, Slate, not sure whether she means that his spirit is actually there or whether she is a bit insane, asks if he can talk to Pacer -- and this infuriates Thicket, along with Slate's startling act of slitting his own palm with his knife and swearing a blood oath that he will never leave her. Thicket promptly storms off to her private horde of the mushrooms shaped for her by Sweetleaf, which enhance her ability to 'see' her lifemate. Slate, though, is undeterred. He comes after Thicket, and upon finding her comatose in a tree, carries her down and back to her den. But Slate is in for a shock of his own, for while Thicket is lost in Pacer-dreams, he meets and Recognizes a stranger named Silvermoon. A troubling enough occurrence on its own -- but, torn between his turns-long guardianship of Thicket and his new sudden bond with this younger elf, Slate hesitantly realizes he must tell Thicket of what has occurred.... ---------- Cave under the waterfall(#4243R) This tiny nook under the waterfall is constantly filled with the sound of rushing water - yet, surprisingly, seems always dry itself, protected by an overhanging ceiling of rock which prevents any spray from the plummeting water to dampen the cranny. That curtain of water casts ever-shifting, dappled shadows along the walls, and its constant murmur lulls the senses into dreaming. Contents: furs Obvious exits: Out Slate steps in from outside. Slate has arrived. Tracker has arrived. Tracker comes over and join Slate's side. Tracker has left. Slate calls at Tracker, who swiftly comes to his side. Thicket lies huddled in her furs, facing the wall. Slate sends openly ** Thicket? ** Slate walks over to her and kneels by the furs, checking the sleeping thicket... Thicket half-opens her eyes, and growls threadily. Slate Smiles down at her... Silvermoon steps in from outside. Silvermoon has arrived. Slate locksends ** ** Silvermoon blinks, looking at Thicket. Slate looks back at the entrance of the cave...then places a finger to his lips for her to be quiet... Silvermoon nods, and waks up, circleing Slate's waist with her arm/ Lily steps in from outside. Lily has arrived. Lily follows slowly. Thicket twitches, flicking a feral look up at the face over hers, then making another noise halfway between growl and whine. She scuttles up into something like a sitting position -- and stares balefully at the figures invading her den. Her growl deepens. Slate sends openly ** BAck away slowly.... ** Slate kneels at the edge of the furs and gazes at thicket... Silvermoon backs away, moveing just to the enterance of the cave Silvermoon The she-elf that is before you is very lovely. She wears a long cloak made from ravvit and bear skin, with the fur to the inside. Underneath it, she wears a longsleeved tunic and buck-skin breeches. Her spicy sent is mingled with wolf. Silvermoon's silver-blond waist length hair is pulled back at her neck with a leather strip. Intermingled in her hair are two feathers and some beads strung onto sections. Around her trim waist is a belt with a beautiful zigzag pattern on it. The belt has been beaded and seems to have a Plainsrunner look to it. On her feet are sturdy boots that are well made. The elf-maid's graceful hands are callused and strong from wielding her spear with deadly accuracy. Her face is friendly and her silvery eyes twinkle merrily. Carrying: Pouch Belt Knife Lily Pale amber eyes peer out from under a mop of bright red hair, looking about with wonder at her surroundings. The back-most part of her hair is tied back in a brown leather ring, with three feathers dangling from it. Rising up from her hair are two wing-like ears, on her left two silver hoops and her right is a golden hoop. Hugging the sides of her neck are two bones, not even bigger or longer wolf's paw, with five holes where leather cords string through, meeting a diamond shaped piece of slate, which she rarely takes off. Her shirt is made of soft, doe-skin pelt, with out any sleeves. Dyed on the fround is a orange lily, which holds the she-cub's secret.. Around her waist is a black doe-skin pelt, the right side a little taller then the left, and carrys on the right side, a dreamcatcher with three crow feathers hanging from it, and on the right is a flint dagger with a bone handle. She aslo wears a light brown pair of shorts, fringed at the bottom in a raggy way, and leaves her knees uncovered. Clinging to her legs are a pair of leggings of brown ravvit skin, keeping her legs warm in all weather. On her feet are sandals that wrap around her legs like strangleweed, but in a neat pattern of X's. She gives you a glance and cocks her head slightly, as if wondering.. Slate sends openly ** Thicket....This is Silvermoon...she and I have...recognised. ** Silvermoon looks down shyly. She seems like she wants to run, but stops herself. For Slate's sake. Lily sits near the enterance, silently watching. The growl rumbling out of the gaunt she-elf falters a step or two; perhaps that's understanding that flickers for a moment across her darkened gaze, perhaps not. But her regard snaps around the now-crowded cave long enough to register the stranger. Slate locksends ** We're going to have a cub, Thicket... ** Thicket stiffens. She stares at Slate, then, somewhat more sharply. And then barks: "Go!" Silvermoon crouches, wild eyed in the mouth of the cave. Her expression is a mix of fear and curiosity. Silvermoon heads towards Out Silvermoon has left. Lily tilts her head, and pauses. Thicket snarls more loudly, now, beginning to clamber to her feet. Silvermoon steps in from outside. Silvermoon has arrived. Slate gently holds thicket... Silvermoon :creeps back, and peers at Thicket before leaving to hide somewhere. Silvermoon heads towards Out Silvermoon has left. Thicket's left hand clenches, and she swings it at whatever part of Slate is nearest. ** ** Slate gets hit... Slate sends openly ** Thicket, I felt you needed to meet her... ** Thicket's eyes blaze in the water-dappled light in this place, and with as much strength as she can muster, she shoves at the younger elf trying to hold her. ** Making pack. _NOT WANT_. _GO!_ ** Thicket's sending is barely words, roughened and slurred as it is. Slate sends openly ** She's going as soon as the whitecold is over... ** Slate lets her batter him...**They will go, then it will only be us again, Thicket...** Thicket's teeth become visible as her lips curl back, and in her long face, it makes her look even more like a wolf. ** She go. _YOU_ go. Cub ** -- her hand jabs at Lily -- ** go! ** Slate sends openly ** no....I will not leave you alone again... ** Thicket, still snarling, glares. Then abruptly lunges, out through the water, abandoning the furs. You head towards the Headwaters of the Wandering River. Headwaters of the Wandering River(#1730RJ) 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 sun is high in the chill winter skies. Contents: Silvermoon Silvermoon and Slate's Tent(#8545Je) Obvious exits: East Bank Pool West Bank Trail Crest Trail Slate arrives from the Cave under the waterfall. Slate has arrived. Thicket comes sprinting out of the pool, sending icy splashes up in her wake. Slate chases after thicket... Lily arrives from the Cave under the waterfall. Lily has arrived. Silvermoon looks up at THicket, frightened. Starpaws stands infront to SIlvermoon Thicket, soaked by her passage through the waterfall, and still gutterally snarling, charges right past the new stranger. Her gaze is on the woods, and it's towards the woods that she bolts. Slate chases after her, calling out. **Thicket! Wait!** Antelope Valley More a wide open pasture than a valley, the location between the foothills and the deep forest isolates this western finger of the high plains. The prevailing winds bring more rain here than to the east and the grass stays plush and blue-green all year around. Deer and tree-horn and antelope frequent this place and from time to time, in the dryest part of summer, the plainsrunners will bring their horses here for grazing. The trees to the southwest shade a faint trail up the mountainside, while the steep trail heads to the mountaintops. It is a clear, cold day. Sunlight reflects off the white snow, almost painfully bright. Obvious exits: Human Village Steep Trail Foothills Trail Up Forest Edge Slate bursts from the foot of the steep trail, as though the coming down was faster than anticipated. A pine needle is stuck in his hair at a rakish angle. Slate has arrived. Thicket pounds barefootedly down the trail, slipping and skidding on patches of snow as she goes. Slate runs after her...finally catching her... Slate reaches out to grab her left arm and stop her flight. Thicket, overtaken, fights. Arm intercepted, she immediately resorts to what other weapons she has at her disposal: feet. And teeth. Slate avoids the kicking feet as best he can, only being hit in the sides and nowhere more vulnerable. the teeth...well, he is not so lucky with those. they sink into his right forearm... Yelp! Sweet blood trickles into thicket's mouth... Thicket's eyes glint wildly. Prey-blood. Hunt-blood. She lunges at her attacker, throwing her good shoulder at him as best she can, to knock him down. Her teeth are sharp, and she holds her grip as long as she can. Slate falls to the ground, suprised at the ferocity of his attacker...suprised that Thicket would attack him...he lands on his back, thicket on top of him... Thicket releases the grip of her teeth now, but only to backhand the other elf with her good hand, snarling all the while. Every inch of her bony frame's stance screams 'wolf', and although she's sending, it's reduced now to a red battering wave of rage. Lily bursts from the foot of the steep trail, as though the coming down was faster than anticipated. A pine needle is stuck in her hair at a rakish angle. Lily has arrived. Slate gets backhanded by the wild elf...he tries to flip her off of him and run back to the campsite...where his lifemate is leaving... Slate locksends ** ** Thicket crouches over Slate, her mouth still drawn back in a snarl, her teeth blooded. Shoved, she skitters back, then turns to bolt off in an entirely different direction. The dark trees are welcome after the openness of the valley. It takes only a moment for your eyes to adjust to the slightly dimmer light beneath the pines and ash. As you walk towards the distant hills, the trees thicken around you until you walk beneath a canopy of evergreens and ash. The long and winding road meanders through the forest for many miles, until it starts gently rising beneath you, as you approach the high point on the path coming from Silver lake. High Point on the Path The path here is well above the lake, which shimmers jewel-like in the earthern bowl below. One senses the spirit of choice here, with the lake path leading down to the southeast, the wild Upper Silver Run to the west and north, and a shallow path winding out of sight over the hill northeast of you. Which way will you chose? The wind whistles slightly through the bare trees, and the firs stand out in deep green patches against the snow. The frozen lake glitters in the pale winter light. The winding path to the distant valley is thick with snow, and the river lies uneasy beneath a patchy coat of ice. Obvious exits: Path Around Silver Lake Winding Woods Path River Crossing You locksend ** ** to Slate. Slate comes up the winding path, weary after the long journey. Slate has arrived. Slate runs in...his face covered in tears...his arm bleeding... He is enraged... Thicket scrabbles along the trail, wolfish, posture almost like a three-legged she-wolf as she charges with surprising speed through the trees. You step onto the well-worn path that will circle around the east side of Silver Lake. The path turns toward the east side of the lake, which rests in the bowl below like an egg in a comfortable nest. The forest around you is still and light, quiet sounds of little forest animal all around you. A falling nut nearly hits you as you walk under the trees; a stand of nut-trees grow here on the eastern hillside by Silver Lake. So far, the squirrels have allowed their prize to be shared by passing travelers... You leave the grove of nut-trees and walk out into a a small clearing by the lake shore, ringed with a semi-circle of pines. Looking out over the lake, you can see the top of the bluff away to your left. The mountains rise steadily to your right, and the blues of lake and sky are separated only by a thin stripe of fringed green. The path finally leads into the pines on the shore of Silver Lake. Pines by Silver Lake Shore The pines wander along the lake front of Silver Lake; you can see the water just on the other side of the scrub brush that grows where the earth slopes into the lake. It is a clear, cold day. Sunlight reflects off the white snow, almost painfully bright. Obvious exits: Towards River Crossing Slate has arrived. Slate runs after her at top speed...he had happiness. no longer. his lifemate and soon-to-be cub had left...because of thicket... Slate runs in and tries to tackle her into a snow bank... Slate stumbles at a send...the pain of his lifemate... Thicket, seemingly oblivious to the abuse her bare feet are taking, is briefly tackled, aye -- for her feet, growing numb in the cold, are slowly growing less willing to carry her. She flings snow, fallen twigs, anything she can grab at her attacker, and only when he falters is she able to seize the opportunity to flee once more. You leave the pines and step into the little meadow on the east shore of Silver Lake. A small bird startles at your arrival, and flutters into the air with a surprised chirp. The small clearing is ringed with a semi-circle of pines, the sounds of nature quiet, the woods still. Looking out over the lake, you can see the top of the bluff away to your right. The mountains rise steadily to your left, and the blues of lake and sky are separated only by a thin stripe of fringed green. You leave the meadow and walk into the stand of nut-trees on the eastern hillside by Silver Lake. A squirrel scolds from a nearby tree. The grove is soon left behind, and the path turns toward the east side of the lake, which rests in the bowl below like an egg in a comfortable nest: From there is only a few minutes to the the high point on the path leading from the river crossing on the north side of Silver Lake. High Point on the Path Obvious exits: Path Around Silver Lake Winding Woods Path River Crossing You step out onto the crossing-stones... River Crossing Large stones ramble across the river, indifferent to the rush of the water from the direction of the Cedar Mountain. When looking to north when the air is clear, you can see the mountain looming there, behind the thick Pine forests. A securely anchored rope provides a safe hand-hold for the crossing. Below the ice, the river thunders to itself. In places where it runs free, it is loud and self-important. Watch your step; sometimes the stones get slicked with ice... Obvious exits: River Path Lake Path Clearing Lake Path Slate arrives from the east, easily steping from stone to stone. Slate has arrived. Slate locksends ** Going to get you... ** Her tracks are growing more unsteady. Without boots -- indeed, with hardly sufficient furs to warm her frame -- the feral one is growing colder. Only her flight keeps her warmed... and that is slowed, as she tries to bolt across the icy river crossing. The new sending from the challenger makes her snap her head around, though, snarling once more. Another challenge? Fine. She will take orders from no wolf, and this upstart will _not_ impose his will on her. Slate growls lowly in his throat, glaring at Thicket with eyes as dark as the night. Slate locksends ** YOu DROVE HER OFF!!! MY CUB!! ** Her face holds no comprehension of anything save that she is being challenged; her eyes have turned hotly yellow in her cold-flushed face. Blunt, raw-edged, she sends her demand that the challenger show throat and leave. Her thoughts crackle with fury -- the anger of an alpha female. Alpha of a pack of one, but alpha nonethless. Slate will not show throat...he stalks toward her, growling lowly in his throat... Thicket's single working arm clenches. At some point during her flight the sling that held her right arm has been lost, and now that limb dangles dead at her side. But she ignores it, focused only on the Other. She springs... Slate tries to catch her... She crashes into him, sending both of them tumbling across the rocks. He fights to come out on top... Her strength is flagging. He's bigger, stronger, better-fed, better-clothed. She winds up slammed face-up across the ice-covered rocks, off-balance and struggling to throw him off with her one good arm. Slate tries to hold her shoulders to the cold rock, to get an opening when he can go for her throat if necessary... With only one functioning arm she's little she can do to block him, besides kick. But kick she does, with her knees flailing into his torso and sides as fiercely as she can make them. Her dead right shoulder keeps her pinned, though... The knees hurt...but he bends teeth bared...for her exposed throat. Teeth meet flesh... and she shrieks. In a frantic rush of panicked strength, she heaves at him... The surge suprises him and throws him off balance for a moment...he struggles to hold her down, to lock his jaw around her throat... Then he stops...the elf taking over the wolf in him... Thicket shoves. And wriggles free, but she slips on the frozen rocks, going down hard on one knee. Slate lunges for her...grabing for her leg. Thicket's one hand slips as her left arm trembles, but when she feels her leg reached for, she snarls raggedly and tries to clamber to her feet, to run. But again she slips... and this time, she falls too far off balance, over the edge of the rocks and into the water. Shallows of Silver Lake A hole is kept clear of ice all winter, but on the lake, one can walk quite a ways without fear of falling through. Obvious exits: Further out Beach Slate wades towards you from the shore. Slate has arrived. Slate follows her downstream...and onto the laker... Carried downstream by the icy current, Thicket's body can be spotted floating amidst ice-dotted wavelets, going under time and again. The elf has taken over....not the wolf. This is the person who he has helped for eight turns...and he's not going to let her die _Now_. he drops his heavy bearskin and dives into the lake. The cold water hits him like a fist, but he fights through it and swims as quickly as he can toward Thicket... She is not moving. She floats, limply, battered by the current when it slings her into ice. Reaches her, finally...and drags her to the ice floe...he climbs out and pulls her with him, running as fast as he can toward the shore with thicket in his arms, the bearskin wrapped around her... You wade back onto the sand of the shore. West Beach on the Shore of Silver Lake(#928RV) A beach of pale pink and grey sand worn down from the massive quartz and granite cliffs miles away in the Silver Mountains. The beach is small, but extends a fair distance out into the lake, providing a shallow area that warms significantly in clear weather and makes a pleasant place to swim or wade. The center of the lake is very deep however and its cold depths dark and mysterious. There is storm-drift here, a log washed downstream by spring flooding and several large boulders. A firepit is in the shelter of one such boulder. It is a clear, cold day. Sunlight reflects off the white snow, almost painfully bright. Obvious exits: Campfire by the Boulder Lake Path Silver Lake Bluff Into the Water Slate wades to shore, dripping a bit. Slate has arrived. Thicket lies crumpled in the skin, her face deathly pale, her hair sopping wet. Slate looks around...A firepit! thank the high ones! he runs over, the water freezing on his clothes, and runs off to find wood...Luckily there is plenty washed onto shore. he gathers as much as he can and runs back to the firepit. hurredly he strikes a spark...and a fire blooms amid the cold. He turns to thicket now. Her soaking wet clothes, he strips off. his clothes he removes too. the bearskin becomes a lifesaver as he wraps it around them both, using hte little bodyheat he has left to warm them both...the fire helping a little. Still she does not move. Only the closest of inspections reveals that she is even breathing. He shivers against her, wraping his arms around the frail bundle, trying to warm her... He wraps his arms around the frail bundle, trying to warm her even a little...occasionally, he throws another log on the fire before holding thicket against him again... Gradually, something like color begins to return to her still face. But she never moves. Warm....that's all that matters now....can he keep her warm? he tenatevly sends to her...**Thicket?** to see if she is concious... Nothing there... no, not quite nothing; the dimmest of sparks signaling that a mind is still there. But it's a mind so deeply unconscious that it doesn't answer the sending. Mabye minutes pass...mabye hours...they sit there, Slate answering the occasional send from his lifemate who had fled because of thicket...he also sends to her, trying to rouse her... His arms are wrapped around the frail body...she is warming...' Slate walks to the large bolder at the north end of the beach, drawn by the friendly warmth. Slate has left. Slate returns from the fire circle. Slate has arrived. Silvermoon approaches the beach from the trail just west of here. Silvermoon has arrived. Silvermoon skids to a stop, ans slinks away Slate is sitting in front of a fire, cradling an unconcious thicket in his bearskin. Silvermoon growls to herself softly Silvermoon growls softly Slate tosses another log on the fire... Exile approaches the beach from the trail just west of here. Exile has arrived. Silvermoon growls at Exile Slate is still cradling an unconcious thicket in front of a fire. Exile frowns slightly at Silvermoon's reaction, scirting round towards Slate, studying the form he holds... Thicket lies, pale, unmoving, in the bearskin Slate's wrapped around her. Silvermoon gives Slate and Thicket a pained look Slate tosses another log onto the fire...he moves thicket and himself closer, warming her freezing-cold body with his. Slate looks around to see where the send came from... Silvermoon crouches down at the edge of the water, posed to fly if she has to, again. Exile looks at Silvermoon and sighs to himself, then moves over towards Slate ** How is? ** Exile A tall elf with long, silver hair, bound loosely at the back with a leather thong. His face is youthful-seeming, with high cheekbones and the narrow chin so typical of elvenkind, and he has a narrow beard tapering to a point, indicating his age. His eyes are a deep amber, flecked with gold, which seem to carry the weight of many years in them, despite the cheerful expression conveyed by the twinkle in them. His limbs are long and slender, but well-muscled, showing the faded white scars of many fights. He is dressed in old leathers, designed for traveling in, and which show the signs of much use (and abuse), being covered in many patches. He bears a longbow and a quiver full of stone-tipped arrows across his back, and a battered-looking bright-metal sword, which seems like it has seen better days. Slate sends openly ** Not good...she's warming...Slowly. ** Exile nods "Not good weather for a lake-fall" Slate sends openly ** No... ** Slate pulls his now-dry clothes back under the skin and dresses hurredly. When dressed, he gets up and starts searching for Silvermoon... Slate sends openly ** If she wakes up...tell her that I'll be back. ** Slate heads north, searching for his lifemate...his soul. Slate walks up the beach inland towards the path. Slate has left. Silvermoon walks up the beach inland towards the path. Silvermoon has left. Exile sighs and looks at the frozen elf Exile looks at you for a moment. Exile checks to see if the elf is warm enough in the furs, by the fire A gaunt thing, this creature, ragged of hair, weathered of skin. But at least that skin has gained some heat, with the fire's warmth. Exile makes sure she is well wrapped-up, and sleeping fine, and that nothing too is too 'blue'. He sits there, cradling the frail elf-maid in his lap, rubbing the furs gently to provide more heat, carefully stoking the fire and watching her with a familiarity borne of innumerable winters experience with cold. [End log.]