Log Date: 3/2/96, 3/10/96 Log Intro: It is the day after the Howl at Lostholt to celebrate the return of Strongbow and Moonshade to the Holt... but Rillwhisper, Willowholt chieftess, is restless with indefinite dreams. She has arisen during the daylight hours to find Dawnmist, another elf visiting Lostholt, and worried over her dreams to that elf, but the chieftess isn't comforted.... ---------- Lost Holt Clearing Contents: Strongbow Willowholt Camp(#6874AJae) Denning Tree Obvious exits: Path Hill Approach to the Father Tree As Dawnmist has loped off into the trees to give her some quiet space, Rillwhisper remains crouched at the small campfire she's built a short ways away from the Willowholt tents. Frowning to herself, Rillwhisper feeds the little flame bits of twig and dry bark, unconsciously mimicking Woodhawk's usual treatment of a campfire. Distant, becoming less so, the archer's thoughts reach out to yours, searching for wakefulness. He sends wordless greeting, and remains distant after that. Not a moment later, the archer slips from between the trees, his nose and sending having led him as well as common sense to the clearing where the willowholt camp remains. Rillwhisper automatically turns her head towards the archer as she senses him coming out of the trees; only then does she catch true sight of Strongbow, and she nods to him quietly. Rillwhisper turns her green gaze up to the lingering visitor, and half-chuckles. ** You not sleep well after the Howl either? ** A slight hint of a smile creeps through the glittering brown gaze. He acknoweledges the question with a slight nod, not really an answer either way. ** Didn't want to miss your going. ** Rillwhisper, expression slightly distant, rises. She casts a glance over to the sleeping forms of her tribesmates, and then back; restlessly, she nods. ** Soon. Eveningfall, maybe... ** She trails off, shifting from foot to foot. Strongbow steps softly forward, unshouldering his bow to let it lie in the snow. ** Something, ** he observes. Uneasily, slowly, Rillwhisper nods. ** Something, ** she agrees, brow furrowing. ** Again. I dreamed... ** Strongbow tucks his chin, gaze going shadowy. He drops to a crouch, still a few steps away. ** Dreamed. Not berries...not venom-memory...? ** The last words are almost swallowed in lock-send, a thought he'd rather not pass around to holtward ears. Rillwhisper doesn't quite grin. ** I've had enough berrydreams and shroomdreams to know them when I see them, and... this was neither... ** At the other offered possibility, she frowns. ** I... don't think so. ** But her tone is uncertain. Strongbow tosses his head, forelock falling forward again as soon as the archer is still. ** The dream...? ** Rillwhisper prods at the little fire with a twiglet; without looking up, she sends, ** Unclear. I... just woke up sure something's wrong... I've been... uneasy, ever since that stranger was here who talked about the healer-killing sickness, but now... ** Strongbow closes his eyes for a second, the tale not lost upon him. He is silent for a time, perhaps thoughtful; when his gaze settles levelly once more upon the fire-tender, he states, ** A chief knows her holt, there or not. ** Rillwhisper looks over, then, expression slightly dark, searching. ** The Holt... something's wrong. ** Then, slowly and absently, she sendmurmurs, ** I dreamed... the itchgrass circle had... ** Rillwhisper trails off, and rises, without knowing she does so. Strongbow questions in shadowing send, an echo, but keeps his crouched place, watching. Rillwhisper breathes, "The itchgrass... it's kept by... Sweetleaf!" Abruptly, her face drains of color, and just as abruptly, she whirls, sending to her mates, making Woodhawk and Trollkiller peer sleepily up from the snug furs under their shelters. The archer's brow furrows, and in a moment, his gaze darkens. Rising to slowly approach the chieftess, he almost sends, but thinks better of it, halting his stalk as well, waiting. Strongbow tilts his head aside, eyes on the Willowholt chieftess. If she's going to explain her thought, he thinks, she will. Patient, he paces back to lift his bow, shouldering it as if for comfort. As Woodhawk and Trollkiller stir, the other Willowholters are, one by one, disturbed into waking. Rillwhisper sends, shortly, urgently, something that makes her two mates exchange alarmed glances and quickly move to rouse the others completely into awareness. Only when her tribe is grabbing for weapons, shouldering pouches and rolling up sleepfurs does the chieftess finally, anxiously, looking back to the waiting archer. You locksend ** I have to go. Something's wrong with Sweetleaf -- we might not have much time -- we must ride out immediately. ** to Strongbow. The archer's eyes darken. Locksent, he replies, ** Go. ** It lingers, shadows of the usual 'good journey' behind its urgency. ** Send word. ** Strongbow paces a bit closer to the encampment, gaze flickering about at the activity before returning to the chieftess. Rillwhisper grabs at her cloak, and pauses only long enough, disconcerted, when she realizes she has nothing to grab -- as all her possessions were lost in the spider woods. As Dusk yawns and stretches and helps her mother wake up the wolves, Rillwhisper turns, eyes glimmering, back to Strongbow. Rillwhisper asks, sending low and wistful, ** Tell your tribe? And Crystal's son, too... ** You sense in a locksend, Strongbow adds, a latent afterthought, ** Or I will come for word. ** The thought, unworded, that he will let his chieftain know of the camp's departure, follows it, and upon the heels of that, ** Be well. ** Strongbow tenses his jaw, nodding once, looking a bit more stern than necessary. None of the Willowholters look particularly surprised to see Strongbow lingering there, and a few tense but honest smiles are directed his way. But within minutes, the elves are packed, wolves are alert, and the camp only a memory under the leafless branches. Rillwhisper waves her tribe on out to the trail that leads towards Sun-Goes-Down... and, without voiced or sent word, steps to Strongbow and hugs him. Perhaps a bit startled, but without alarm, the archer encircles the chieftess in a fierce squeeze and, just as abruptly, loosens the grip, tilting his head back a bit to look down at her. You locksend ** ..... ** to Strongbow. The archer's eyes reflect the worry in the chieftess' sending, reinforced with dark firmness that, as chieftess, she'll know what to do. He nods down at her, once, a silent urge to go. Barely sent at all, he adds his own thanks -- flashes of memory, of being protected in a spider-surrounded grove and of being calmed in a pool-centered glade. Rillwhisper looks up at the silent archer, silent herself. The last thing she sends, before turning to join her waiting tribesmates, is a simple farewell; then, in quick strides, she runs to the others, and after a moment's thought she lets Rainfire swing her up onto Thornclaw, so they can ride double. The rest of the Willowholters incline their heads, or send, or wave, as is their way. And with flicks of lupine tails, the five wolves and the seven elves they carry hasten out of the Holt. [After days of hard riding, the Willowholt band returns home....] Clearing by the Old Willow(#123RHJ) Here in the heart of the Willowholt, the air is thick with the scents of the Newgreen -- regardless of season. Green growing things crowd the clearing, from the myriad bright 'mushrooms' hiding among tall shoots of grass, to dreamberry bushes sandwiched between the trees, to the mighty, massive 'Old Willow' that dominates everything in sight. A fallen 'log' under the Old Willow's branches provides a place to sit; a gurgling 'fountain' provides a constant song of water. Amidst the almost overwhelming weight of Newgreen scents, the air, to elfin senses, is alive with magic. Immediately to the northeast, overlooked by the mighty willow, lies a small pond; to the southeast, south, and west, paths to the Holt's more secluded parts; to the east, the distant marshes. All is quiet in the heat of the summer's day, as elves and wolves both keep to the cool shadows. The sun is high in the hot summer skies. Contents: NightDancer Sorrow(#4584PAJLUXce) Obvious exits: Branch Old Willow Hillside Path Starwillow Copse Marsh Pond Dawn makes her way out of the Willowholt Camp. Dawn has arrived. Trollkiller makes his way out of the Willowholt Camp. Trollkiller has arrived. NightDancer looks up, startled, and stands, expression concentrating on a send. Trollkiller looks around, looking up at the trees... As the long-gone Willowholters finally ride, exhaustedly, into the camp, Rillwhisper runs in on foot. The others of her party ride in on wolves after her; Rillwhisper's wolf Sunruff is notably absent. Rillwhisper skitters to a halt at the sight of the transformed Old Willow. Woodhawk makes his way out of the Willowholt Camp. Woodhawk has arrived. Dawn rides in on Littlefang, and her eyes go wide. Trollkiller looks around at all the ... everything ... growing. Woodhawk too is on foot; his ancient wolf Swiftrunner limps in, exhaustedly, and whines at the changed smells of the Holt. Sorrow looks up, standing in surprise as she see's the elves. NightDancer stands amidst this green growing place, expression unhappy. ** Chieftess. There is much you need to be told. ** Rillwhisper finally jerks her gaze down from the -- even huger than she remembered -- Old Willow, and blinkblinkblinks at NightDancer and Sorrow. As the tribe's oldest members turn to her, she focuses on NightDancer, and her expression suggests she already knows something bad has happened. Behind her, Woodhawk comes up, grave of eye. Dawn runs over to NightDancer, hugging him, her eyes wide as she looks all around. NightDancer catches his daughter in a tight hug, then leaves an arm around her shoulders as he sends, softly. ** It is good that you are home, Chieftess. All of you. We have had deaths here. ** Although Rillwhisper had noted the camps of other elves in the marshes, she does not ask whether the presence of the strangers is related. As Nightdancer speaks on, she goes very still of face. "My brother." It is not a question. NightDancer nods, once. Trollkiller sends, ** Doing... this? ** NightDancer sighs softly, and shakes his head. ** I do not ... think so. I think this happened because of his death. ** Woodhawk speaks up, now, as Rillwhisper simply stares at NightDancer and Sorrow. "How?" he asks, grimly. Dawn is alarmed. ** My cubs! ** Sorrow stands very quietly, eyes downcast. Trollkiller snugs Dusk closer, automatically. NightDancer, instantly, sends, ** The cubs are all fine, Dawn. ** NightDancer shakes his head, a trifle helplessly, at Woodhawk. ** There was illness. One of the Traders died, as well. His magic ... turned him to stone. ** NightDancer sends openly ** The healer Brightfire, Talek's mate, has died as well. Her magic touched the holt as well. ** Dawn breathes a sigh of relief, hugging NightDancer. Dusk is being veryvery wideeyed, too, and stays close to Trollkiller. Woodhawk lets out a slow hissing breath, and glances behind him, waiting for Rainfire and Silversong to catch up with them before he checks to see if Silversong has heard this yet.... Trollkiller shudders. ** Stone...? ** From the branch above, No-fur swings down off the branch to the clearing below. No-fur drops down from the branch above. No-fur has arrived. No-fur screetches! in delight, and *pounces* mom. Rillwhisper starts to speak, then oofs, and reels somewhat as her son tackles her. Trollkiller giggles, in spite of himself. ** Uh. Glad we're back? ** No-fur sighs just a tad. *Yes, I am.* Woodhawk half-grins, and turns back to the supplies dumped in the middle of the clearing. Letting his chieftess-mate focus on the discussion of what happened, he starts surreptitiously gathering things to take back to dens and put away. The wolves creep off, unnerved by the expressions of the elves, and restless at the plethora of new scents. Rillwhisper abruptly, and fiercely, hugs her son. Woodhawk comes over, a leather carrypouch slung in one hand, and hugs the tall young elf as well. Skitches whines a little, and leans up between Trollkiller and Dusk. Dusk skitches Skitches, looking a little apprehensive. Trollkiller fuzzles them both, and then joins Woodhawk and Rillwhisper in their embrace of No-fur. Sorrow quietly pads over to Woodhawk, offering to help. No-fur whispers quietly. *We've needed you.* Woodhawk inclines his head gravely to No-fur, then, as Sorrow ventures near, he murmurs his thanks and moves back to gather things to put away. Rillwhisper nods once, to No-fur, and then lifts her gaze once more to the transformed tree. "The sickness. It is gone, or does it yet linger?" NightDancer hesitates. ** I think no one else in the Holt has it. ** Sorrow helps Woodhawk make smaller piles, making it easier to decide what goes where. No-fur sighs, closing his eyes. "There might be one left... I think it has taken its victims, though." Trollkiller sends openly ** How did it all happen? ** Rillwhisper eyes the Old Willow, her face as of yet quite still. She then steps to the tree, touching a hand to its trunk. No-fur looks up at his father questioningly. "Hmmm?" Trollkiller sends openly ** I don't know... I... just what happened? ** Dawn sends openly ** Everything tingles. ** Woodhawk takes a few things of his and Rill's and Trollkiller's up into the branches. Woodhawk climbs up onto the overhanging sentry branch. Woodhawk has left. From the branch above, Woodhawk climbs up from the clearing below. Sorrow looks up slightly, sending softly, *Sweetleaf tried to help the trader...* From the branch above, Woodhawk climbs back down into the willow tree's heart. No-fur nods quietly. "And put all his energy into that instead of fighting this... thing.. himself." NightDancer tightens his arm around Dawn's shoulders again, nodding. Rillwhisper turns from the tree once more, and regards her son solemnly. "What more?" Dawn focuses on those present, after locksending elsewhere, and looks at NightDancer. ** I thought it would be the ones left behind who would be safe. ** No-fur thinks... "Umm.. Gerren is dead, too..." Rillwhisper blinks. "Gerren? The Glider?" Woodhawk emerges from the willow tree. Woodhawk has arrived. No-fur nods. "Yeah..." Woodhawk returns, and frowns, catching the tail end of the current talk. "Jasmael's lifemate," he murmurs. You say "Also by this... sickness?" No-fur nods quietly. NightDancer says "He was the one who turned to stone." Trollkiller uurfs, and hadn't made that connection before. No-fur ummms... "Brightfire..." Rillwhisper frowns. "Wait -- Gerren was with the traders?" She flashes a glance at Woodhawk, who has gone bleak of expression, himself. No-fur says "Yeah." Rillwhisper sighs, considering many questions. But it is Woodhawk who asks, "Has my cub returned to the Holt?" No-fur looks, just for the record, quite miserable. Sorrow glances at her mate, her eyes reflecting sadness. No-fur nods quietly. "Right before Geren died." Dawn looks uneasy, and hugs NightDancer again. Rillwhisper looks around from face to face, before asking grimly, "What has been done with his body?" No-fur says "Ummm...." No-fur says "Well, um..." NightDancer shakes his head. "I don't know, chieftess." No-fur says "Gerren is... um.. rock." Rillwhisper nods heavily to you all, and asks, "Has there been a Howl?" NightDancer shakes his head quietly. "Not for any of them, chieftess." "We must..." Only now does Rillwhisper's voice falter slightly. "Howl. For all of them..." Trollkiller runs his hand through Dusk's headfur, comfortingly. [And as Rillwhisper makes plans for a proper Howl for those that have died, we end the log...]