"Words from the Willows"

Log Date:
	10/11/97

Log Cast:
	Rillwhisper, Calmwind

Log Intro:
	For some turns of the seasons now life has been comparatively
quiet in the Willowholt--which, for the most part, is exactly how most of
the Willowholt wants it. It makes for an introspective environment in which
a young cub can grow, though; with no others around of his own age to 
talk to, Calmwind, the cub of Tinyhowl and Jylien, must turn to the rocks
and trees and his own fertile little mind for his own amusement. But every
so often, one of the grownups in the Holt will remember what it was like to
be a solitary cub, for Wolfriders--as with many other elfin tribes--do not
make cubs all that often. 
	And one of the tribe who remembers is the chieftess, Rillwhisper....

----------
Summer again -- though as it's been for the past several turns of the seasons, 
  the Willowholt has hardly noticed the seasonal shifts, save perhaps that 
  during the summer, the green growing things run all the more riot with the 
  magic that infests them. Rillwhisper emerges from the Old Willow, pausing 
  there a moment to breathe in the thick smells of the night, green eyes 
  adjusting to the darkness.

Calmwind is playing with some stones on the ground near the great tree, tucked 
  up against a root. He glances up as the chief emerges and a quiet smile 
  crosses his face. ** Hi. **

Calmwind
Around 4 turns in age, Calmwind is making an attempt to live up to his name, 
  being a relatively quiet and easy-going cubling. His eyes are liquid green, 
  and his hair, falling straight around his face, is light brown, neither 
  color obviously from his parents. He wears a new tunic of a brown that 
  matches his hair, and small boots are on his feet.

The chieftess grins a faint lopsided grin, padding out on silent feet through 
  the curtain of willow fronds. "Hello, cubling. Up with the night?"

Calmwind nods and drops some stones against each other, making a plesant 
  clacking noise. He tilts his head and adjusts a few of them and does it 
  again, so the noise changes. "River," he says.

Rill quirks her dark golden head, and crouches down across from the youngling. 
  "Rocks from the river?" she inquires.

Calmwind glances up, shakes his head, one hand opening and gesturing at the 
  surrouning area. Then he drops the small rocks again. "It sounds like a 
  river. A little one."

Green eyes widen a touch at this correction, then Rillwhisper smiles, settling 
  herself comfortably down on the grass. "I see," she replies with equal 
  sobriety. "I should have guessed -- that's what I'm named for, after all."

Calmwind 's eyes widen back. "You are? Rillwhisper?"

"Aye," comes Rill's easy reply. "Though when I was your size, I was Runnel."

Calmwind chews on his lip. "Runnel. Like Zalen?"

Shaking her head gently, Rillwhisper confides, "A 'runnel' is a stream. A 
  little river. It's an old, old word... my mother got it from my father, a 
  long time ago."

Calmwind considers this seriously. "Do they make rillwhispers, too?" Then he 
  shakes his head. "Yours made you." He clacks two stones together 
  thoughtfully.

"Every rill I've ever followed makes a whisper," replies the chieftess. "I 
  like to listen to them."

Calmwind nods. "There are so many things to listen to." He glances up at the 
  old willow. "The willows whisper too." He lowers his voice to a whisper and 
  blows out through his teeth. "An' then they thalk thike this."

With a bit of effort, Rill manages to keep a straight face. "What do they say 
  to you, cub?" _Who knows,_ she thinks with a touch of dreamy amusement, 
  _perhaps Sweetleaf's soul touches him in the trees. And High Ones know the 
  streams talk to me enough..._

Calmwind listens for a moment, and then he shakes his head. "I don't know all 
  the words yet. But I keep learning new ones. Like runnel." He listens again. 
  "And rillllwhhhisssper." He does a fair imitation of the wind through leaves.

The chieftess is charmed, and she tilts her head slightly, considering this 
  cubling, this solitary child in the midst of a tangled and cubless Holt. 
  "What other words do you know?"

Clicking his tongue against his tiny mouth, Calmwind thinks. "Sometimes it 
  sounds like they say calllm and sometimes they say howwwl. And sometimes 
  it's not words I know, but they make me feel like I do when it rains, or 
  when it's cold and I'm in my furs, or when there's a howl." He stops, 
  breathless from so many words, and ducks his head.

Finding herself more than patient enough to wait for the spate of words to 
  subside -- perhaps it hasn't, Rill tells herself, been all that long since 
  No-fur was this size -- the chieftess listens, then nods gently. "If you 
  want to know more words, Calmwind, you need only to ask any of us."

Calmwind looks up brightly. "What words do you hear the willows say?"

Rillwhisper lifts green eyes to the canopy of branches overhead, and then 
  flashes a smile to her small listener. "Sometimes, when the willows talk, 
  especially the Old Willow here, I hear my brother Sweetleaf, who made them 
  grow."

Calmwind listens. "He died, didn't he?"

Inclining her head softly, Rill murmurs, "Some time ago. But his soul is still 
  here... and sometimes, I hear him in the branches. Singing me to sleep. Like 
  he did when I was your size."

Calmwind looks impressed. "Maybe I'll have a little... brother? like you some 
  day."

Rillwhisper smiles warmly. "Perhaps. You'll have a cousin, at any rate."

Calmwind registers surprised, and glances around, as if the cousin is hiding 
  under the grass. "I will?"

The chieftess gives a soft laugh, and nods again, murmuring gravely, "Simmel 
  and Springsong's cubling will be your cousin. Perhaps we can take you to 
  see, when the cub is born, in Wolfhaven. Would you like that?"

Calmwind nods excitedly. "Will it be soon? I'm getting bigger everyday!"

[This scene was never finished, but it's kept for posterity as it's one
 of the earliest logs with Calmwind in it!]