"An Involuntary Visit to the Mountain"

Log Date:
	3/24, 3/27, 3/28/98

Log Cast:
	Tsoran, Rillwhisper, Fallberry (emitted by Rillwhisper), Winnowill

Log Intro:
	It hasn't been often at all that Rillwhisper, chieftess of the 
Willowholt, has journeyed alone--with neither lifemates nor tribes at her
side. But she has been driven to it by necessity, both for her tribe and
herself. Willowholt's wolves have not been breeding for many turns of
the seasons, and now the pack has died off, leaving the wolf-blooded elves
of the tribe without wolf-friends. And while Rillwhisper has never turned
away elves of other bloods from her tribe or shunned their ways, she is
still a Wolfrider. And as far as she is concerned, a tribe with Wolfriders
in it needs wolves.
	Moreover, she has personal reasons for travelling alone. Though 
she has borne it for a great many turns of the seasons, the strangeness of
the world into which she and her lifemates awoke from wrapstuff never has
entirely sat well with her. There are too many elves too prone to assault
others with their magics--or their weapons--in the world for her liking.
Too many mixings between different tribes, too many stresses, too much
turmoil have all surged together for her in an almost overwhelming wave,
and while she's learned a great many things about what it means to be an
elf while she's been Willowholt's chieftain, it's seemed sometimes to her
that she's lost hold of what it means to be a _Wolfrider_. What it means
to follow the Way.
	And so Rillwhisper hunts, not only for wolves for her tribe, but 
for a rekindling in her soul and in her blood of the old ways she still
recalls.
	But on this particular day, unfortunately, she's not the only one
on the hunt....

----------
A giant hawk soars overhead, swooping low over the ocean at intervals. The 
  reason becomes clear to any onlookers as the bird finally comes in for a 
  landing on an outcropping at the edge of the water: A tall elf glides off 
  its back, silver helmet reflecting sunlight as he puts a catch of several 
  fish aside on the ground and starts checking over his talonwhip.

The chieftess of the Willowholt has been searching the woods for days, 
  tracking signs of wild wolves, accompanied only by the small purple 
  Preserver riding sometimes on her shoulder and sometimes in her hair, and 
  sometimes winging merrily in her wake. She hasn't liked that her trail has 
  led her into the lands near Blue Mountain -- but Willowholt needs wolves, 
  and she has managed thus far to conceal her presence well. This day, though, 
  she's hidden, denned up in the nestling branches of a tree, as secure a 
  hiding place as she could find. And, wolf-napping, she's missed the shadow 
  of the hawk and its landing.

Tsoran finishes testing his talonwhip, and clean the fish with an expression 
  of distaste. He throws the guts to his bondbird, and kneels to clean his 
  hands in the water. Frowning at the effect of the salty water, he orders his 
  bird to stay, and heads inland in search of a source of fresher water. The 
  sound of the shoaltail river is unmistakeable, and he heads towards it. As 
  the foliage gets denser, he rises into the air, intending to glide past the 
  obstacles. And pauses, hovering in mid-air. An unexpected flash of color in 
  a nearby tree? He glides silently over to investigate.

Color, yes -- a dusky lavender purple, a hint of green that doesn't match the 
  surrounding leaves. Deep within the branches, almost out of sight.

Tsoran pulls aside a branch, with utmost care, and smiles slowly at the sight. 
  The local wolfriders have been an annoyance to him for too long, but too 
  clever by far at hiding or banding together. Here is one now, all alone and 
  defenseless. And... a preserver? That will require more delicate handling. 
  He considers his options, then slowly unhooks the talonwhip.

There's a glimpse of a small form curled up in the branches there, nestled 
  against the trunk of the tree -- a glimmer of red-gold hair -- green garb 
  making her inconspicuous. But the flash of purple is up atop her head, 
  fluttering slightly, beginning to move, tiny mutterings just barely audible. 
  /Fallberry keep good watch over sunnygreen highthing, yes... sunnygreen 
  highthing be safesnug stillquiet.../

Well, he had been meaning to practice his weapon on something even more 
  challenging than jumping fish. Tsoran concentrates intently, waiting for the 
  preserver to untangle from the wolfriders hair. As it moves, so does he, 
  letting the silver whip fly out to snap shut around the preserver. He yanks 
  it towards him swiftly, less it have time to wiggle free.

/EEEEEEEEE!/ the bug shrieks, at the top of its tiny lungs. /Nononono! 
  Sunnygreen highthing! Nastybad clawthng take Fallberry! Eeeee!/

And the Wolfrider surges awake, green eyes snapping open, hand flying to a 
  brightmetal dagger sheathed at her side. "What? Fallberry! Timmorn's 
  blood..."

Tsoran
Tsoran has the height, pale skin and slender build of a glider, and moves with 
  a deceptive lazy grace. His eyes are a shade of grey that from a distance 
  gives the illusion his eyes are white slits, almost luminous. He wears a 
  tightfitting uniform, similar to that of the Chosen with two exceptions: It 
  is made almost entirely in black, and there is a stylized silver rose 
  embroidered onto the chest.
He wears a bright silver talonwhip and helmet.

Tsoran closes his hand around the preserver and talonwhip alike, securing 
  Fallberry in a strong grip. He tells the wolfrider, satisfaction evident in 
  his voice though his expression remains as cool. ** A bad mistake, wandering 
  this far on your own. This will teach your chief a thing or two about 
  misplaced tribesmembers. ** With that mysterious remark, he whistles sharply 
  to summon his bird.

The Preserver starts spitting wrapstuff, trying to aim for the hunter's face, 
  even as the she-elf scowls darkly and calls out, "Get him, Fallberry!" She 
  doesn't bother to point out that she doesn't _have_ a chief, but sends 
  instead, low and rough and growling, ** Try and take me, Glider, and your 
  Lord will learn a thing or two about _causing_ misplaced tribesmembers! **

Tsoran shifts his grip to cover the preservers head around the claws of the 
  talonwhip. Let it clue his hand into place, all the easier to keep a hold. 
  His expression does change, though, lip pulling up into a wry smile. ** I am 
  certain my Lord will enjoy the lesson, wolfrider. She does find your kind so 
  very... educational. ** He floats backwards, slowly, and glances up at the 
  sky.

Muffled shrieks of protest come out of the hunter's hand, as Fallberry rages 
  ineffectually. The Wolfrider, in the meantime, has her knife out, and she 
  sends coldly, ** You think I'm coming with you? Think again. ** She's not 
  foolish enough to leap at the Glider, not when she's high in a tree and _he_ 
  can float. But her green gaze is unyielding, her delicate lips drawn back in 
  a snarl that bare sher teeth.

Tsoran sends smugly. ** I'd suggest you hold on to something. It's a long fall 
  down. ** A shadow falls over the tree as the giant hawk emerges above it.

The Wolfrider is still scowling, the growl rumbling huskily in her throat, 
  despite the relative highness of her voice. ** I'm not going anywhere. ** 
  Her green gaze rolls slightly upwards, just long enough to take in the 
  shadow of the hawk, before returning to its apparent bonded rider.

Tsoran motions to his bird. ** It will be an interesting test of strength. ** 
  DarkWing lowers himself, wings beating furiously, and closes mighty talons 
  on one of the branches leading to Rillwhisper. The branch shudders and 
  creaks.

Rillwhisper rears back on the branch that served before as her shelter, teeth 
  clenched, dodging as best she can as those big claws start ripping the tree. 
  Eyes turning hot, she slices out with her knife at that questing foot.

Tsoran meanwhile glides through the branches, circling Rillwhisper. He still 
  holds the struggling preserver. ** Those pinpricks will do nothing more than 
  anger him, wolfrider. Surrender now, and spare yourself some effort. **

DarkWing tears away a chunk of branch, making the whole tree shudder.

The Willowholt chieftess crouches, then abruptly swings herself down to a 
  lower branch -- Wolfriders are nothing if not at home in the trees, and it 
  is becoming readily apparent that her current location is not the haven 
  she'd hoped. ** I surrender, ** she snarls, ** to no one. **

Tsoran pushes away from a branch, launching himself on the wolfrider as she 
  moves on the assumption she can only concentrate on so many things at once. 
  Rather than attempt to grab hold of her, his aim is simply to knock her out 
  of the tree.

More muffled shriekings come from the entrapped Preserver, and Rillwhisper 
  tries not to think too much about her loyal little companion -- she'll do 
  Fallberry no good if she lets this arrogant bird-elf take her to Blue 
  Mountain, to an uncertain fate. She doesn't know what Winnowill did to get 
  hold of Cutter, and she doesn't _want_ to know! But as the Glider comes 
  zooming in, she cries out, losing her grasp on the branch she'd chosen, her 
  knife still clutched in her other hand.

Tsoran knocks Rillwhisper off the branch, entangled with her as both fall out 
  of the branches. Fortunately for the wolfrider, more slowly than gravity 
  would normally cause. No sooner are they out of the sheltering branches than 
  DarkWing swoops, mighty talons closing on the smaller elf.

The green-clad, red-gold-haired she-elf squirms, getting her breath back, but 
  her struggles growing more frenzied as the bird's claws seize her. A howl 
  lifts up out of her throat, born of fury and not a little fear.

Tsoran disentangles, and checks quickly that he still has the talonwhip and 
  preserver secure. He glides up alongside the rising bird, sending briefly to 
  his captive. ** Take a good look around, wolfling. This may well be your 
  last sight of the world Outside. ** With that, he mounts his bondbird, and 
  directs it towards Blue Mountain.
Tsoran climbs onto DarkWing's back and settles himself between the giant wings.
Tsoran has left.

West Sky
The brightness of noon fills the chill winter skies. 
You can fly to the Ocean, Briarholt, Ravenholt, the Mountain or the Grove.

You fly down.
Sky Above Blue Mountain(#415RLS)
The top of Blue Mountain is shrouded in clouds, the circling hawks mere 
  specks. Below are the meadows surrounding the Mountain, and a short distance 
  away the huts of the Hoan village.
The brightness of noon fills the chill winter skies.
Obvious exits:
Aerie <A>  Hoan Village <HV>  Field <D>  

You fly down to the Aerie.
Aerie
        At the very summit of the Mountain you find the clearest signs of the 
  transformation initiated by the Dreaming gliders at Winnowills bidding. The 
  rocky surface is still shaped in intricate loops and whirls, echoing the 
  wonder of the great Egg. Half familiar shapes can be sensed as much as felt 
  among the twisting and folding surfaces..some utterly alien, other of a 
  disturbing familiarity. 
        Pain cries from the walls, but so do joy, and wonder, and the dizzying 
  echoes of the long gone Dreams. The gargantuan latticework forms a dome to 
  crown the Mountain with shapes that from afar might seem to be the roots of 
  some twisted tree. Even here, the tiny cracks can be seen criss-crossing all 
  surfaces.
        The loops and folds open out to the open sky in unexpected places, and 
  ways. Though none of the openings are larger than the armspan of a glider, 
  and most much smaller, there are still few places left shadowed. The light 
  of the sun and the moons weaves intricate shadows, that changes in 
  fascinating ways as time passes.
        In some nooks and crevices there have been placed furs or pillows, 
  telltale traces of the gliders spending hours and days in dreamy 
  contemplation of the sky.
A winding stairway leads Down to the main parts of the Mountain.
Obvious exits:
Sky <U>  Hall of the Chosen Eight <8>  Nesting Ledge <NL>  Into The Catacombs 
  <E>  Stairs <D>  

Tsoran eyes the preserver as he dismounts. "Well, are you going to behave?"

The speed of the flight has left her dazed and breathless, but as the great 
  bird wings in to its home, Rillwhisper rouses again, frantically struggling, 
  her eyes wild and heated, jabbing at the imprisoning foot to make it release 
  her. And in the meantime, Fallberry, still half-trapped by talon whip and 
  webbing, pipes angrily, /NASTYBAD FLYHIGHTHING!/ and does its best to spit a 
  gob of wrapstuff at the hunter's face.

Tsoran wipes at a stray strand of wrapstuff with annoyance, and tells one of 
  the staring gliders in the aerie. "Fetch one of the shapers. I will require 
  a cage for this preserver. On second thought, bring the preserver there 
  while I finish with this one." He hands preserver and whip alike over to the 
  other glider, and turns to Rillwhisper, who is currently pinned down by a 
  rather angry DarkWing. He steps closer, and at seeing the damage her knife 
  has managed to do to DarkWings foot his eyes narrow with anger. ** You will 
  pay for this, barbarian. ** With that, he slips his knife from its sheath 
  and unceremoniously strikes Rillwhisper on the head with the handle with the 
  strength of cold fury.

Rillwhisper goes down in a crumpled heap, her knife clattering out of her 
  fingers.

Tsoran pick up the unconscious elf.
Tsoran moves down the stairs into the twilight below.
Tsoran has left.

You start the long path down into the Mountain.
Landing Over The Southern Hall
     Spooling in around the pillars and arch that lead back down to the 
  Southern Hall, the stairs continue upwards, though the color shifts to a 
  murky, deep, rich blue. The Landing is nothing more than an artistic 
  thought, a breath, a pause in the continuity of the stairs, leading off to a 
  slender bridge to the east. Offering a vantage point to the hall below, 
  echoes resound in a blur of sound in this alcove, open more upwards than 
  down. The air is thick and musty, not touched by the down drafts that 
  freshen the Southern Hall. The Landing's oval walls are broken by the 
  octagonal staircase leading both upwards and down, as well as the bridge. 
  Stone vines rise over the edge around the staircase into a railing, 
  preventing accidental passage. The vines break at the bridge, sliding down 
  against the ground smoothly to prevent tripping, then climbing back over the 
  walls in thick, archaic designs.
Obvious exits:
Southern Hall <D>  Slender Bridge <E>  Aerie <U>  

You start the long path down into the Mountain.
Landing Over The Southern Hall
     Spooling in around the pillars and arch that lead back down to the 
  Southern Hall, the stairs continue upwards, though the color shifts to a 
  murky, deep, rich blue. The Landing is nothing more than an artistic 
  thought, a breath, a pause in the continuity of the stairs, leading off to a 
  slender bridge to the east. Offering a vantage point to the hall below, 
  echoes resound in a blur of sound in this alcove, open more upwards than 
  down. The air is thick and musty, not touched by the down drafts that 
  freshen the Southern Hall. The Landing's oval walls are broken by the 
  octagonal staircase leading both upwards and down, as well as the bridge. 
  Stone vines rise over the edge around the staircase into a railing, 
  preventing accidental passage. The vines break at the bridge, sliding down 
  against the ground smoothly to prevent tripping, then climbing back over the 
  walls in thick, archaic designs.
Contents:
Tsoran
Obvious exits:
Southern Hall <D>  Slender Bridge <E>  Aerie <U>  

Tsoran walks down the stairs to the south.
Tsoran has left.

You walk down the stair through the darkness.
Southern Hall(#280RJa)
        Sheer elegance of size unfolds before you. The Southern Hall, entrance 
  to Blue Mountain, expands upwards into a dark indigo, slowly falling back 
  down in lighter hues, mauve just overhead and a damp pink at foot. Carved 
  and shaped from the stone, hawks and falcons adorn the walls near the 
  entrance. Stone ivy, tainted with a vibrant green and brown of shaping 
  magic, slowly progresses towards the north, first intermingling with real 
  flora, then disappearing behind what could only be lush vegetation for a 
  cavern. 
        To the west, a staircase forms an octagon as it angles down in a 
  colorful and playful design of color. Although the bottom step shares the 
  same rich blue stone as the floor, each consecutive step shifts hues until 
  the last reaches a deep green, leading into the shadows of an arch. To the 
  southeast, another arch decends into a grotto, night-sky blue pillars 
  shouldering either side. 
        The air is fresh and clean, a breeze blowing through unseen places 
  high above. A rich sweetness of vegetation rolls in through the northern 
  arch. Overhead, shadowy bridges span the eastern and western walls, drawn 
  from the very stone. Although lit well enough to make out the distinct 
  details of the hall, the huge space echoes voices and footsteps several 
  times, contributing to the immenseness of Blue Mountain.
Obvious exits:
Stairway <W>  Grotto <SE>  Into the Air <AIR>  Blue Mountain Catacombs <S>  
  Main Hall <N>  

You begin the long, curving descent leading to the grotto.
Grotto(#564RL)
        Water cascades from the very heart of this cavern, from its spiralling 
  roof down over forms of stone to the uneven floor. In the center of the 
  room, dry, a number of circular basins nest, each within a larger one, 
  sinking in order into the floor and edged with shells shaped from the very 
  stone.
        Illuminated with the same far-off luminescence as the water and most 
  of the Mountain, two paths sinew off into the stone: one low-ceilinged 
  hallway, and a set of stairs descending into the floor.
Contents:
Tsoran
Treewee
Obvious exits:
Stairs <D>  South Hall <NW>  
        You may +view the fountain.

Tsoran slips into the shadows of a narrow, oval passage leading to Winnowill's 
  room.
Tsoran has left.

You enter the narrow, oval passage way into Winnowill's room.
Winnowill's Room(#4542RJL)
     A pale golden light, just more than a flicker from a shadow, trickles 
  down from overhead. The room opens up to an ornate bathing tub, leading to a 
  series of hooks with Lord Winnowill's wardrobe. In the far corner, a large 
  bed appears to be formed out of the rock itself, canopied with a transparent 
  veil of dark gray silk. The floor has been smoothed over kept clean, almost 
  a softness of stone underfoot. The ceiling breaks off into stalactites that 
  crane down to form arches against the wall and pillars in the center of the 
  floor. A light musk smell hangs within the air, perfumed with a honeysuckle 
  sweetness radiating from several vines and plants that grow near the 
  entrance and the bed. Several piles of folded leather, dyed black and 
  streaked about the edges with a dark sky blue, lay near the tub and at the 
  foot of the bed.
Contents:
Tsoran
OOC The Rock
rattle
cradle
goblet(#8640C)
Obvious exits:
Archway <AR>  Grotto <OUT>  

Tsoran dumps the wolfrider ungently on the floor, and departs to report to his 
  Lord.
Tsoran has left.

[And shortly....]

Winnowill has arrived.
A silent figure emerges from a back wall, dark eyes scanning the room for the 
  other presence felt within.

There's a small, green-clad figure lying on the floor, red-gold hair fallen 
  out in a puddle of tumbled waves about her head; she is bound hand and foot 
  with wrapstuff, and her leathers are mussed along with her hair. From the 
  look of her, she is unconscious, and equally clearly, she is a Wolfrider. A 
  familiar one -- Rillwhisper, chieftess of the Willowholt.

A slight smile twitches at the lips of the one newly entered, followed by a 
  swift motion to scan for the possibly offensive bug. All the while, she 
  waits within the far entrance... as if to make certain the other is indeed 
  out cold.

There's no Preserver in sight, to be sure, Fallberry having been removed by 
  the Chosen who delivered the chieftess. Rillwhisper does not stir, though 
  she breathes, shallowly.

The Lord of Blue Mountain steps closer now, kneeling to the fallen WolfRider 
  and laying one hand on her arm. Healing magic snakes into the elf, 
  ascertaining for damage, illness, anything.

Not much in the way of damage; she seems to be sound enough, with only 
  superficial scratches and nicks, and the lump atop her skull where she'd 
  been struck. Her breathing goes slightly deeper as the magic sinks into her 
  flesh, the beginnings, perhaps, of a return to consciousness -- or at the 
  very least, something within her considering it.

Winnowill moves quickly now, magic holding the other just at the vague 
  awareness... almost offering a hazy sort of self-induced false awareness as 
  she effortlessly takes up the small body in her arms and moves quickly to 
  another room.
Winnowill vanishes into the darkness of the archway.
Winnowill has left.

Halfway down the 'tunnel', you reach a rockshaped wall. After a moment, a send 
  shimmers, and a before-unseen elf shapes the wall open for you.
Quiet Room(#5168RJ)
        The ceiling of this chamber is high, extremely so.
Contents:
Winnowill
Obvious exits:
Out <o>  

Setting the 'guest' on a silken cushion, the magic receeds, offering slightly 
  more... normal awareness.

Where... is she? What's going on? The Wolfrider's mind stirs groggily, though 
  her body has yet to move in her wrapstuff bindings. Green eyes come heavily 
  open, and as they do, Rillwhisper abruptly tries to sit up, instincts still 
  screaming 'danger!'

A startlingly soft hand settles on your shoulder, and a voice thick with 
  something as of yet unknown offers: "Quiet."

Rillwhisper snaps her gaze up, and mutters hoarsely, "Winnowill? _Winnowill_." 
  Her features tauten as she speaks, and her slender form starts twitching, as 
  she tugs her hands, trying to free them.

Fingers aid yours in the wrapstuff on your hands, oddly gentle and even 
  stranger, the elf beside you nods mutedly. "Yes. Winnowill. I'm... afraid my 
  Chosen mistook you for one of RavenHolt's raiders. He doesn't seem to have 
  done you harm... but to your pride, and no doubt annoyance." She seems 
  almost... /nice/.

Rillwhisper frowns as her hands are freed; the moment they are, she sits up, 
  going to work on her bound ankles, while peering with narrowly suspicious 
  eyes. "I'll live," she answers shortly, then goes on, "You won't be minding, 
  then, if I go on my way." It's not a question.

Winnowill chuckles softly. "No... -I- wouldn't mind. But you see, RavenHolt 
  would. Any who are not on bird are in danger of being killed by thier 
  arrow-guard. I will not allow you to come to harm because you were brought 
  into this by no fault of your own. Indeed, it might be a... boon that you 
  have come."

Winnowill
        Regal and thin, this elf seems a strange juxtaposition of white and 
  black, both colours managing to remain seperate, even when they should 
  appear to mix. Pearl white skin sets off against hair as ebony as night's 
  sky, and brilliant near-iridescent eyes glimmer like two shining stars. 
  White flowers are caught within her hair, oddly striking against the normal 
  puristic appearance that this elf generally favours. She smiles faintly with 
  pale lips of an almost-imagined pink.
        Long white robes have replaced the black ones, and they shimmer with 
  silver hilights, giving her an almost glowing appearance.

Picking wrapstuff strands irritatedly off her boots, Rillwhisper stares up at 
  the tall white-robed elf, and snaps, "What quarrel does Ravenholt have that 
  would cause them to shoot _me_?" Her eyes, though, linger on the white robes 
  -- and the flowers in the ebon hair.

Winnowill switches to sends as she regards Rillwhisper. ** They have killed 
  Azeure of my Chosen Eight... and threatened others. I have not yet managed 
  to meet with a member of thier tribe since his death, but the two I touched 
  before had a new mind-sickness. If you come from within the Mountain, they 
  will shoot without sending. ** She pauses. ** Are you hungry? **

The small chieftess follows the switch readily enough, sitting up to as 
  chiefly a posture as her small height allows her. Her lips pursed into a 
  short line, she sends grudgingly, ** Your... Chosen woke me out of my day's 
  sleep. I haven't hunted. **

Winnowill nods, sending out briefly. ** Tsoran is new to being Chosen, and 
  means well... but is faulty to points. He will be... reminded... of his 
  station. Tell me, how fares WillowHolt? **

** Well enough, ** is Rillwhisper's short reply, her gaze still warily fixed 
  upon the Mountain's Lord.

She, contrary to what memory serves, has tried nothing to harm and seems 
  uninclined to do so. Indeed, she looks as once tales might have been told of 
  her. ** It has been long since I moved among your trees. **

Rill doesn't budge, not quite willing to accept this, not yet. ** Yes, ** she 
  agrees, still shortly. ** Many turns of the seasons. **

Myanna has arrived.

Myanna
        Long hair the colour of sunwashed gold cascades about this tall elf, 
  rippling like molten rock about the soft teal glider-spun cloth that seems 
  to almost coalesce around her like a cloud.
        Teal eyes look to you with strange curiosity, yet seem somehow to hide 
  the once bright and bubbly personality this elf has been known to have. She 
  smiles, albeit a bit faintly, and moves gracefully as she returns your 
  regard.

A glider of indeterminate age walks in, hands laden with trays of food. Her 
  send is bright and cheery. ** Xentree says that he hopes this is enough... 
  and reminds that if Tsoran doesn't start hunting food instead of accidental 
  guests, he'll have to start serving roots again. **

Rillwhisper's gaze flicks sidelong to this newcomer, her expression held in 
  neutral wariness -- little other choice, right now.

Winnowill nods to Myanna. ** Remind Xentree that his place is in the kitchens, 
  and that if he wishes to attempt Chosen, he is welcome to try. Just place 
  the trays aside and we'll choose what we want, thank you. **

Myanna smiles and nods happily, laying the trays on a silk - not directly the 
  floor. ** Just send when you're done, I'll come get them. Did you need those 
  clothes now... or later? **

Winnowill arches a brow to Rillwhisper. ** I assume you will wish to bathe? ** 
  A slender hand indicates a sunken watery pool towards the back of the room.

Rillwhisper's green gaze flicks from Winnowill to her -- subject? -- and back 
  again. Her temper still bristling at being called a 'barbarian', she 
  considers, then smiles narrowly and gets to her feet. ** As long as you're 
  offering, ** she answers coolly. She promptly goes to the pool, leaning over 
  to test it with a hand, peering critically into its depths.

Winnowill looks to Myanna dismissively. ** I'll send when they are needed. **

Myanna nods once, flickering a glance to the smaller elf and escapes quickly 
  by foot.
Myanna has left.

Winnowill sends openly ** The water is clean, have little fear of that. **

Straightening up again, Rill pulls off first one travel-worn boot and then the 
  other, her tanner's eye briefly considering the need for redoing those 
  soles, though she keeps that to herself. Her breeches and tunic follow, and 
  the small chieftess makes a point of neatly folding her leathers rather than 
  just dropping them, before she steps into the water.

The Lord regards a tray of meats and bread idle before sending in rather 
  conversational tones: ** What were you doing so far from WillowHolt? **

Rill considers, then takes up a handful of water and splashes it down along 
  her slender form, rather than sit down in the pool itself. She repeats this 
  a few times, till she begins to glimmer with the droplets as they course 
  down her, dampening her arms and her hair and wherever else she can reach. 
  Green eyes flick back to her... host, then, and she replies shortly, ** It's 
  personal. **

Winnowill sends openly ** I see. So no-one was expecting you to be somewhere? 
  No-one will worry when you don't arrive? **
She takes a bit of meat and chews delicately on it.

Distrusting the question, Rillwhisper replies coolly, ** My tribe knows to 
  look for me after the time I've told them. **

Winnowill nods, still not looking towards the pool. ** Indeed. We simply 
  wouldn't wish to alarm anyone. If there were those expecting you, we should 
  inform them you are well. **

** Thank you, ** replies the chieftess, ducking down into the water now to 
  douse her hair, ** but you needn't stir yourself on my account. ** Her 
  sending is edged with just a touch of sarcasm.

Winnowill shrugs, finishing the meat. ** It is the least we can do. After 
  all... it is our fault you are involved. **

From the water comes Rillwhisper's sending: ** I'm not involved in anything, 
  Winnowill, and I intend to stay that way. And I'll be gone from here before 
  my tribe expects me home. **

Winnowill's send carries what ripples as truth. ** Like it as not, you are 
  involved. **

The chieftess stands up again, thoroughly wet now, red-gold locks dripping; 
  still, her chief's lock stands steady enough atop her head. ** Then if you 
  wish to aid me, I'll finish my bath, put my clothes back on, get my 
  Preserver and go. That'll do. **

Winnowill sends idly. ** I would rather you rested first. **

Rillwhisper smiles, unamiably. ** It's not needed. **

Winnowill sends openly ** At least stay for a while. I have no intentions of 
  harming you. I am certain you know that by now. If I had, you would have 
  been harmed by now. Indeed, I might find your... counsel useful. **

The Willowholt chieftain pauses, green eyes narrowed, standing there in the 
  water. ** You'd find the advice of a Wolfrider useful? ** she echoes, in 
  more than a little disbelief.

Winnowill doesn't turn so misses the action. Instead, she helps herself to 
  another bit of meat from the tray. ** I admit that I do not understand at 
  times. Therefore, it is... necessary to seek aid. Is this not the case with 
  Wolfriders? **

Rillwhisper crosses her dripping arms, staring in unfeigned amazement at the 
  taller elf. Both her expression and her sending broadcast that she can't 
  believe what she's hearing; green eyes wide under lifted brows, her mouth in 
  a slight upward quirk of astonishment, she sends, ** Yes, we look for advice 
  and aid, if that's what you're asking. When we need it. **

Still, the white-clad and tall Lord of Blue Mountain remains trustingly with 
  her back towards you, chewing the meat in thought. ** Then, yes. I believe I 
  would find your advice useful. **

** On what? ** is Rillwhisper's prompt, 'Okay, I'll bite', reply. She hasn't 
  moved out of the pool yet; if she notes the significance of Winnowill's back 
  to her, she gives no sign of it. She's unarmed, anyway, is this Wolfrider 
  she-elf.

** Many things, ** is the cryptic answer. ** The Mountain is old and seeks new 
  ways to renew itself both Inside and Out. **

Water splashes softly as Rillwhisper steps out of the pool, small bare feet 
  touching the smooth stone of the floor; Rill's nose crinkles at that floor, 
  though she makes no comment on it as she glances about for something to dry 
  herself with, resisting the urge to just shake herself dry like a wolf. ** 
  We'll trade, then. I'll advise you on something, and you tell me why you 
  shaped Cutter, ** she sends, bluntly.

Winnowill chuckles softly, taking a goblet of wine from the second tray. ** To 
  prove a point. That is all. **

** Last I checked, ** Rillwhisper retorts, brows winging down over her green 
  eyes, ** Wolfriders have been aware of your shaping power for some time. 
  What point could get proved by making Cutter as tall as a human? **

** There are things yet that he does not understand. Do you not agree that to 
  understand, one must see as others do? ** Winnowill sends calmly as she sips 
  the wine.

Taking up her travel-torn breeches and pulling them onto her slender legs, the 
  small chieftess eyes the other elf dubiously. ** And what is making him 
  stand head and shoulders over all his tribesmates supposed to make him see? 
  **

Winnowill sends openly ** He will see as new. He must learn to adapt to his 
  height and stature, yes? Therefore, he will perhaps learn advantages as well 
  as disadvantages. Should I wish, I could restore him. **

Rillwhisper considers this, scowling, certain that if Cutter, Blood of Ten 
  Chiefs, has any say in the matter, Winnowill's hands will never be touching 
  him again. Barely, just barely, she keeps herself from saying or sending 
  this, though her expression still holds the edge of the thought. She _does_ 
  send, however, ** How much do _his_ wishes mean in this, then? **

** I am certain he sees the need to learn. To understand his taller guests by 
  -being- taller himself. When he wishes to seek me out for aid again, he 
  will. ** She sets down the cup.

Rillwhisper's green tunic is lifted up, then, and Rill tugs it on over her 
  head while sending, ** My first advice, then. Don't go shaping elves who 
  haven't asked you to. **

** Very well, ** a chuckle, ** I'll take that under consideration. **

Red-gold curls come into view as the tunic is tugged into place, and Rill 
  lifts her hands to pull the rest of her hair free from the green leather. ** 
  I'll even give you that one free, ** she adds, shortly, ** since you haven't 
  told me yet what you could possibly want a Wolfrider's advice in. **

Winnowill chuckles faintly. ** Truly, little is known of your people and kind. 
  Voll hid you all from us early on... and further perpetuated the lie that 
  all Outside had perished. Tell me... how -did- you survive? I know of the 
  blood... ** she almost sends 'taint' but changes thoughts ** adaptations... 
  but what of the rest? **

Rillwhisper pauses in lacing her tunic, hands stopped along her breastbone. 
  Dark golden eyebrows rise, and she asks, ** You haven't managed to learn 
  anything of this, with all the Wolfriders I know have been here? **

The secretive smile laces her send, and is known even though Winnowill doesn't 
  turn. ** I never asked. **

There's an audible snort from the Wolfrider, as Rill tugs on her soft, worn 
  boots. She then starts tugging her fingers through her disheveled mop of 
  damp hair, getting tangles out, and, eyeing Winnowill measuringly, she 
  finally sends, ** You know what Timmain did, then? **

Winnowill nods slightly absently as she sips the wine once more. ** I know 
  what she did... and I know the tales of Cutter's tribe. But what of yours? **

Rillwhisper shrugs, slightly. ** Until the time of Freefoot, our tribes were 
  one. Redbear, son of Skyfire, as Freefoot was, fought with his brother... 
  eventually, he left. Some of us went with him. **

Winnowill nods, finally now looking over to check on you, eyes oddly readable 
  and thoughtful. Sme motions for you to sit and eat, sending, ** Do continue. 
  **

The chieftess's gaze flicks to the food, noting -- again -- that Winnowill has 
  been eating of it all this time. Rillwhisper then warily lopes over, if the 
  stride of someone as small as she can be called a lope. Her nostrils flare 
  briefly as she surveys the platters, and then, casually, she takes up a 
  fruit and sniffs at it, all the while considering the Mountain Lord. ** I 
  don't know what you're looking for. By Freefoot's time... the Way was in 
  place. When we hungered, we hunted. When we were cold, we put on our heavier 
  leathers, or huddled in the furs in our dens. When the Tall Ones threatened, 
  we drove them away, or sought out a new Holt away from their drums. When 
  Recognition called, we answered it, and had our cubs. **

Winnowill nods, picking up another bit of meat randomly and nibbling. ** The 
  food is untainted, eat. Tell me more of the Tall Ones? **
Winnowill contines idly. ** Our group worships us. Woulf that not have been 
  easy to echo? **

[This scene was never finished, unfortunately--but it is kept for posterity!
 End log.]