"More Visitors to the Willows"

Log Date:
	2/26/99

Log Cast:
	Flashfire, Rillwhisper, Fallberry (emitted by Rillwhisper), 
Wayfound (emitted by Rillwhisper), Sela, Fhen, StreamWind, Journey

Log Intro:
	The Willowholt is playing host again to visitors from Lostholt, its
closest allied friends--and for the first time, the members of Rillwhisper's
tribe get a look at the magically altered Cutter. But Cutter's new shape 
has not damaged the Willowholt's camaraderie for him or his tribe, and 
Flashfire has made an especial impression on Dusk and Trollkiller, who are
far from accustomed to seeing other elves with fur. 
	In the meantime, another new development has come to the Holt: little
Wayfound, Rillwhisper's cubling, has suddenly and without warning begun to
talk. In long, coherent sentences, stunning the entire tribe with her grasp
of words and sending. And, as two more visitors come into Willowholt 
territory, the Preserver Fallberry--who has historically annoyed its share
of highthings with its chatter--is driven into uncharacteristic fleeing 
by a cub it wishes would shut up....

---------
Flashfire emerges from the willow tree.
Flashfire has arrived.

There's always _something_ to do in a Wolfrider Holt. Tonight, the Something 
  to Do is Rillwhisper working on redoing a snapped thong on her brightmetal 
  knife's leather sheath, while keeping a sharp eye out from her position on 
  the log on her little cubling. Wayfound, standing as straight and tall as 
  it's possible for a two-turn-old cub to stand, is currently staring in 
  consternation at the fluttering Preserver Fallberry, and cub and bug appear 
  to be having a strident argument.

/But, but, but Fallberry always have words, ever since belonging-time! Good 
  words! Sillystrange talkmuch highbaby!/ the Preserver shrills.

Wayfound looks undaunted, pointing out in tones only slightly less high and 
  piping, "But your words don't make any sense. Why don't you use the same 
  words we do?"

Flashfire wonders where everyone's gotten to as he climbs out of the Old 
  Willow, rubbing around an eye after napping. After that, a couple fingers 
  sift through the fur over an arm as he looks around, spotting Rillwhisper, 
  then Wayfound, and finally Fallberry. "High ones.." he murmurs to himself. A 
  preserver. Lots of things he's forgotten, but he may never forget his first 
  encounter with a Preserver. He offers a wordless greeting, via send.

Rillwhisper is watching the cubling with more than a little bemusement as she 
  works on that sheath of hers, but at Flashfire's sending, the chieftess 
  lifts her green gaze round in the young visitor's direction. "Hello there," 
  she calls over, sounding rather dry.

Flashfire eyes the bug warily, keeping his distance, even to the point of 
  walking towards the Willowholt chieftess in a bit of a circular path. 
  "How're things?" he wonders.

Fallberry waggles a tiny purple finger at the toddler elf, its brow crinkled 
  in visible consternation. /Talkmuch highbaby talk... talk sillymuch! 
  Wethings like wething words!/

Wayfound waggles a slightly less tiny finger right back, practicing the 
  gesture and then deciding she likes it, for emphasis. "My name is 
  _Wayfound_," she pronounces, "not talkmuch highbaby! I don't understand why 
  you just don't say Wayfound, because that is what Mother named me!"

Rillwhisper, her expression deadpan, informs Flashfire in droll tones, "It 
  seems my cub has decided she's going to talk now."

Flashfire eyes Wayfound for a moment, blinking. Since when did she learn how 
  to talk so well for her age? That's..impressive, to say the least. At 
  Rillwhisper's dry comments, he notes, "So I see..and it sounds like you're 
  not too..keen about it." His nose wrinkles a bit, just listening to 
  Fallberry.

As the little elfling and the Preserver continue to argue, the Preserver 
  getting increasingly agitated while Wayfound's ambergreen gaze never wavers, 
  Rillwhisper gives Flashfire a small crooked grin. "Not too keen...? I don't 
  think I'd put it that way, cousin -- more like, struck by skyfire. Cubs 
  don't _generally_ make that kind of noise when they're her size..." The 
  Wolfbringer shakes her red-golden head bemusedly, and then looks Flashfire 
  up and down. "Speaking of which -- whose cub are you? I don't think you were 
  at Lostholt last time I was there, but it's been long enough that I might 
  have missed a Recognition...?"

"How come she can talk so well?" Flashfire asks, as Wayfound and Fallberry 
  seem to be rather impervious to the attention paid to them. Sitting down a 
  few paces from the chieftess, he glances up at her after a moment. 
  "I..wasn't born there, actually." He pauses, not sure whether that's been 
  explained, or the next part. "But Cutter and Leetah took me in."

Rillwhisper's expression settles into one of approval. "I see. Was this before 
  or after Cutter got, well, uh, tall...?" Glancing sidelong over at the child 
  and the Preserver, deep in their argument, she adds wryly, "As for that, 
  lad, well, your guess is as good as mine. She just... started. Claimed to 
  her Fur-father that she'd been listening and practicing to herself since the 
  summertime, and she... ahem, er, seems to have gotten it down, I think."

Flashfire huhs at the explanation. Bright cub, that's for sure. "I'd have to 
  agree, you know." he comments, shaking his head. No way can he remember what 
  he was doing when he was half a hand old. Couldn't be anything close to what 
  Wayfound's doing, in any event. His attention returns to the chieftess 
  again, after a little bit is diverted by the arguing voices. "Father.." 
  That's still odd to hear from Flashfire, talking about Cutter. "He was like 
  that when I first met him."

Sela has connected.
Sela rustles some branches as she slips onto a nearby branch.

Indeed, Wayfound seems to have the hang of full, coherent, complete sentences, 
  as she advances on Fallberry, her wee face crinkled up in indignation that 
  she simply doesn't seem to be getting her point across. "But you see, it 
  would be just so much _easier_ if you used our words, because using one word 
  is better than four!"

With an agitated shriek, Fallberry escapes, flittering off into the nearest 
  bushes, chaettering as it goes, /Talkmuch highbaby make Fallberry's head 
  hurthurthurt! Eeeeeeee!/

Sela looks startled and covers her ears.

Rillwhisper coughs, glancing wryly at the child again, and then smiling that 
  crooked smileof hers to Flashfire. "Well, he seems to be set that way and no 
  mistake, so I guess my tribe'll get used to it eventually. It's just odd, 
  since last time I saw him, he wasn't much taller than me." Her smile widens 
  a bit, though, and she adds, "Cutter and Leetah are good elves, lad, and I'm 
  glad you've found a home with them."

Wayfound's infant face sets into a decided pout, and she turns and stomps over 
  to her mother, wrathfully. Rill, in the meantime, catching a whiff of Sela's 
  scent in the area, turns her head slightly and smiles up at the maiden, 
  before looking down at her daughter again.

Sela continues to stare in the direction of the little preserver, eyes wide.

Before Rillwhisper can address her, Wayfound lifts her distressed young gaze 
  to her and demands, "Mother, is it always so hard to talk to Preservers?"

Sela glides down to hover near the bush where the little insect disappeared. 
  She peers curiously into it.

Fhen emerges from the willow tree.
Fhen has arrived.
Fhen rubs his eyes as he comes out of the tree.

Sela looks over "What was that?" She points to the bush.

Fallberry, it seems, has vanished off into the undergrowth, while Rillwhisper 
  coughs again, and tells the infant before her gruffly, "Er. Yes, cub, yes it 
  is. They're all like that. It's probably impossible to try to talk any sense 
  into them."

Fhen sends openly ** What's goin' on? **

Wayfound apparently finds this notion rather distressing, stamping a little 
  foot and trying to glower as fiercely as a cubling of two turns old can 
  glower. "Fur-father is right. Preservers are _stupid_!"

Fhen giggles.

Rillwhisper looks up at Fhen's arrival, and smiles a slightly crooked grin of 
  a greeting at him. "My cubling," she says drolly, "has decided she's going 
  to talk now, but it seems Fallberry is, er, rather stupid."

Flashfire just remains quiet for a few long moments, watching the cub and 
  preserver, thinking about Rillwhisper's words. Finally, he answers her. 
  "Thanks. I'm really happy to be a part of Lostholt. It's great." He glances 
  towards Sela, then Fhen, waving.

"I still don't understand why it doesn't call me by my _name_," the cub 
  mutters.

Rillwhisper turns again where she sits on the log, and her expression warms. 
  "They're a good tribe, all of them. And all of them -- you included -- will 
  always be welcome at Willowholt. Have you met Fhen yet?" She gestures to the 
  newcomer.

Sela darts around the bush, trying to peek in and see the bug.

"I think I have, aye." Flashfire answers Rillwhisper, nodding again to Fhen. 
  "And thanks again. It's nice here, too. Different..but nice." He's learned a 
  few more things while here.

Fhen walks over and sits next to Rillwhisper. He smiles at Flashfire.

Wayfound's expression relaxes, slightly, as she pulls herself up to her full 
  (and admittedly still miniscule) height. "Hello, Fhen," she greets him 
  solemnly, in her piping clear voice.

"Different... aye, the Holt's always been a bit strange since my brother 
  died," says the chieftess, returning to working on that sheath of hers, 
  after ruffling her daughter's fine soft puffcloud of hair.

Fallberry, in the meantime, is apparently bent on hiding. /Noisybad talkmuch 
  highbaby,/ it can be heard to mutter.

Sela hovers, "Hello?" she offers curiously into the bushes.

Fhen smiles a little bit.

Well, Rillwhisper's probably right about things being different since her 
  brother died, not that he'd know. It's more the general openness of most 
  elves here. "I haven't eaten the bad mushrooms," he notes with a smile.

Fhen giggles.

"Wise, or else you might wind up thinking you're a tree for a turn of the 
  seasons, and I don't think your new tribesmates want to stay here that 
  long," says the chieftess. Wayfound, in the meantime, disgruntledly plops 
  down on her little rump, looking back and forth between the adults; THEY, at 
  least, aren't talking nonsense.

The primary source of spoken nonsense in the clearing, however, isn't budging 
  from its hiding place. It does, however, pipe grumpily at Sela, /What 
  flyhighthing want?/

Sela darts back, startled. She hovers a bit away, eyes wide.

Flashfire forgets the rest going on, staring at Rillwhisper. "A tree?"

Fhen nods. ** I've not been that bad, but I did get a bad 'shroom once. Once. 
  **

Rillwhisper says lightly to Flashfire, "Some of the shrooms around here have 
  very powerful visions in them, lad."
Rillwhisper adds, arching an eyebrow as Wayfound's infant features take on a 
  suspiciously speculative gleam, "And _you_ are not to touch them. Do you 
  understand that, cub?" Once more, a strong tinge of bemusement enters the 
  chieftess's face as she contemplates her offspring.

Wayfound bobs her head evenly. "I am not to touch the mushrooms that make you 
  think you're a tree," she states.

Fhen giggles at Wayfound.

Flashfire shakes his head slightly, having never encountered anything like a 
  bad 'shroom before. Most he's ever dealt with were dreamberries, and his 
  tolerance is low. "I'll still try to stay away from them.." But a bit of 
  curiosity lingers, as it is.

Fhen nods. ** Thought I was a wolf cub for about two hands of days. I was fine 
  after that, but I never could get my back scratched right. **

Flashfire can't help but perk a bit at Fhen. "Really?"

Fhen nods. ** It's been a long time, but I haven't gotten a bad 'shroom since 
  then. **

Flashfire used to exhibit quite a few wolfish characteristics when he'd been 
  having some..problems, so he's naturally curious at Fhen's explanation. But 
  he's probably not dumb enough to actually intentionally eat a mushroom. 
  "What was it like?"

Sela glides silently up to perch once again in the branches

Fhen sends openly ** Well, I walked around on all fours and wanted to hump 
  people's legs a lot, but other than that, I can't remember much. **

Sela draws her own legs up closer to her body upon that send. Ugh. Wolfbloods.

Flashfire holds back a cough, then snickers. "Ah.."

Wayfound, to this, frowns thoughtfully again, while her mother finishes off 
  stitching the repair into her knife sheath. Rill then rises, slipping the 
  sheath back into place around her thigh, tying its thongs snugly, and then 
  wandering off a few steps to do a few practice swipes of the brightmetal 
  blade, bringing it out of the sheath and slipping it home again, a few times 
  in rapid succession. Fascinated by this, distracted at last, Wayfound peers 
  at her mother and surmises, "You're doing that to make sure that the thongs 
  don't break, Mother?"

StreamWind appears from the nearby pathway.
StreamWind has arrived.

Journey appears from the nearby pathway.
Journey has arrived.

Flashfire watches Rillwhisper at work with the knife and such, glancing 
  towards Wayfound at the cub's question. "What other weapons do you use?"

"This knife's my usual," the chieftess replies, content with her repair work 
  on the sheath, putting the blade back where it belongs now and briefly 
  grinning down at the intent-eyed cub on the ground. "I'll do a bow and arrow 
  for hunting, usually. I'm more built for that than a spear."

With Fhen having slipped off, and the Preserver staunchly refusing to get 
  anywhere near Wayfound, the clearing has gotten somewhat quieter. More than 
  quiet enough for an inquisitive howl to waft up from somewhere near the 
  itchgrass circle -- a wolf's voice, calling challenge and query.

Flashfire's mouth opens to talk a bit about his own weapons of choice, but 
  before they come, the howl is heard. He sits up a little straighter, as if 
  trying to decipher the 'message,' if there's any.

Some ways back in the woods, StreamWind's head snaps up at the cry of the 
  wolf. He motions for his companion to climb a tree, while he himself does 
  the same. He places a finger against his lips as his eyes scan the forest 
  floor.

Journey, too, responds instantly to the howl. Following StreamWind's lead, 
  she scales easily up into the branches of a nearby tree. Noiselessly, she 
  unshoulders her bow. A precaution.
Journey nods.
She shoulders the bow again.

Within the Willowholt's heart, Rillwhisper straightens, recognizing the call 
  of the alpha male of the wolfpack immediately; she knows these wolves 
  intimately, and Grayshadow's howl is unmistakable. Little Wayfound's 
  expression sharpens, a far more intent look than ever should be on the face 
  of a cubling her size, but the child goes immediately still and silent at 
  her mother's shift in bearing. ** Strangers outside the itchgrass circle, ** 
  the Wolfbringer then sends to Flashfire and the cub, while the Preserver 
  hidden in the bushes peeks out inquiringly.

In spite of just being a guest of the Willowholt, Flashfire defers immediately 
  to Rillwhisper on this matter. ** Shall I grab my spear, or..? ** he begins, 
  not having been expecting more visitors. He doesn't know whether they'd be 
  friend or foe.

StreamWind moves along the branches, lifting his chin as he tries to sort out 
  the different scents in the woods. He casts another glance towards Journey 
  before moving along. ** You wanted adventure? <<amusement>> **

Journey smiles, moving noiselessly after him. Her eyes twinkle, but she says 
  nothing.

Scents, indeed, abound in this land that seems half marsh and half thickly 
  entangled forest. There are scents of green growing things and of animals, 
  but also, subtler, almost buried beneath the thick blanket of smells that 
  elfin senses can discern, are traces of other things. Traces of magic... and 
  the barest hints of the scents of elves.

Inside the Willowholt, Rillwhisper looks down at her daughter, and tiny, 
  two-turns-of-the-seasons-old Wayfound returns her mother's gaze with adult 
  calm, waiting just as steadily as Flashfire for instruction. At the sight of 
  her cub's unsettling ambergreen regard, the Wolfbringer pulls in a breath. 
  But then she is every inch the chieftess as she sends, low and clear, ** The 
  first rule of visitors, here, is to go and look. Let's see what Grayshadow 
  has spotted. Flashfire, come with me. Wayfound, you should stay here. **

Flashfire nods once and hops to his feet, falling into place next to 
  Rillwhisper. He's an obedient one, usually the sort to obey his elders, 
  especially one such as Cutter. ** Aye. **

Journey pauses, her ears alert. She peers carefully through the foliage.

StreamWind sticks his head out between some leaves. He frowns and nods to 
  Journey. ** Mayhaps drop down, show them we are friendly.. **

Journey nods and swings cautiously down onto the narrow trail.
Journey sends softly. ** The wolves are very close. **

StreamWind takes the ground with a soft thud. He nods and slowly rises, 
  standing just infront of Journey.

From within the deep tangle of greenery, a big brindled gray wolf appears, 
  melting out of the undergrowth as silently as a shadow. The creature's body 
  language is broadcasting purpose, his hackles raised, his ears pricked up, 
  as he advances on the stranger elves.

Wayfound's tiny face crinkles up in consternation, but she knows better than 
  to dispute her mother's word. The little elfling reluctantly holds her place 
  in the clearing, fidgeting anxiously, while the chieftess beckons silently 
  to Flashfire for him to follow her towards the itchgrass circle, bringing 
  his weapon with him, but kept held at a friendly stance for now.

Flashfire does indeed carry his spear with him, just in case, but until it's 
  needed - /if/ it's even needed to begin with - it'll remain held in a 
  non-threatening manner. Good to be careful, though. He moves almost 
  silently, whether it's required or not. Good to practice, in any case. ** I 
  wonder who they are. **

** It's an alpha, lower your eyes ** StreamWind sends to Journey, probably 
  unescessarily so. Blue eyes averts to just below the wolf's snout as the elf 
  stands completely still, showing no fear nor threat.

Journey regards the wolf. She steps up beside StreamWind, careful to keep her 
  body language friendly and neutral. She sends carefully to the wolf ** <<no 
  threat>> ** She has always had an inate way with the wolves.

** There's no telling, not yet, let's find out. ** Rillwhisper approaches the 
  Sun-Goes-Up edge of the itchgrass circle, that tall tangle of grass and weds 
  and bracken interwoven with the trees and vines and bushes here on the 
  border between marsh and true forest. Not far away from the circle's inner 
  side, she swings up into one of the Holt's lesser trees, looking for some 
  sign of the strangers from her vantage point.

Flashfire stays grounded, trying to sniff the air in case it carries a scent 
  of the apparent visitors. Might not be there to catch, but it's possible. ** 
  See anything yet? ** he sends towards the chieftess.

StreamWind slowly moves towards the wolf, oh he is curious as to what is 
  behind the feral guard. ** <<friend/calm>> **

Journey glances to StreamWind, but stays near enough the wolf for him to 
  become accustomed to her scent and presence. ** Easy...<<caution>> **

The wolf Grayshadow warily edges towards these two visitors, sniffing, 
  intelligent eyes taking in their stances while his nose reports to him.... 
  kin. Friends. In the meantime, up in the branches, Rillwhisper locksends 
  down, ** I see two strangers. Wolfrider from the look of them, they're 
  behaving right around Grayshadow. I'm going to approach them. Watch my back, 
  lad, just in case. And if my cub comes after us, sit on her. **

Rillwhisper, with that, lithely clambers through the tree she occupies, taking 
  one of the routes she's worked out to carry her safely over the itchgrass. 
  With a soft 'wish' of movement she then drops down _behind_ the two 
  strangers, sending, ** That's my pack's chief wolf, yes. **

Journey 's ears twitch. She turns to glance over her shoulder at the stranger 
  behind her. She glances back to the wolf and, still carefully neutral for 
  his benefit, turns to the elf. A chief's knot, she notes. She nods 
  respectfully.

Flashfire blinks at Rillwhisper's 'command' to sit on Wayfound if necessary, 
  and before she goes to greet the visitors, he send-chuckles. ** Or I could 
  just hold her arm, maybe.. **
Flashfire, though, stays otherwise out of sight, around a tree or something.

StreamWind too turns, a grin coming to his face. He peers up in the trees, 
  trying to find the path of that sneaky elf. After a moment he just shrugs 
  and looks back to the she-elf. ** Heyla **

StreamWind
Long bangs of sandyblonde hair curls over the young adult's forhead and eyes. 
  Eyes which seem like the color of sapphires, a distant look to them. 
  Reaching way past his shoulders, he hasn't made an attempt to keep the locks 
  confined into any tails or braids, allowing it to flow down his back 
  instead. A small pert nose is set between high cheekbones, his lips and chin 
  hold the cut of one who is used to smiling, dimples showing if he does so. 
  His chin is soft, yet hold a stubborn set to them.
He carries himself with an aura of true wolfblood, graceful and feral. His 
  leathers seem to have seen better days, the knees of his leggings worn so 
  thing one can see his knee-caps clearly through. A vest hangs about his slim 
  upper body, it looks like to have been thrown together by several pieces of 
  leather scraps, strings dangling about. He carries a bow over his shoulder 
  and a dagger is set by his left boot. Boots which are too worn, the greens 
  of them slowly fading to give way to a tanned color.
Carrying:
Stream's travel tent(#9156Je)

Journey
Standing just under 4 feet tall, Journey has a long, wild mane of rich auburn 
  hair caught up in a band to keep it out of her intense grey-green eyes. She 
  wears a rust coloured tunic and deep brown breaches under her soft leather 
  boots. A bow hangs across her back and a quiver hangs at her side, filled 
  with grey fletched arrows. Across her shoulders is a short, grey fur cloak 
  against the cold.
Carrying:
Journey's Tent
Travel sack

** My name is Rillwhisper, ** says the she-elf in green and brown, her sending 
  low and clear and full, her green regard measuring. ** Sometimes called the 
  Wolfbringer. You two are passing through the marshes? **

Seeing the newcomer, Grayshadow settles down... reluctantly. He is chief wolf 
  of the Willowholt wolf pack, but it is apparent from his reaction to her 
  that this is his chief elf, or at the very least an elf he considers to rank 
  over him.

Journey notes the gray one's reaction with a glance. ** Aye. ** she returns. 
  ** We are. I am called Journey. **

Flashfire tries to 'listen in' to the sendings, if he can, glancing back 
  towards the holt just in case Wayfound's to be found somewhere, defying her 
  mother's orders. He taps the blunt-end of his spear on the groud, quietly.

StreamWind gives a nod, a hand coming up to brush the bangs away. He is 
  careful not to make movements which the wolf might still misinterpet. ** I'm 
  called StreamWind ** He grins slightly again, ** Your bushes lingers with 
  magic.. Chieftess? ** He adds the last hesitantly.

The one called Rillwhisper -- or Wolfbringer -- puts forth a slight crooked 
  smile by way of acknowledgement. ** That'd be because some of the green 
  growing things round here have been shaped, ** she answers, 
  straightforwardly enough, though there might be a spark of wryness in her 
  eyes. ** Do you plan to hunt in the marshes, or stay long? Or are you 
  travelling? **

StreamWind's eyes shades over slightly, flickering towards--somewhere. ** Just 
  wandering ** He shifts the bow on his shoulder and looks to Journey, she can 
  answer for herself.

Journey raises her eyebrows slightly and purses her lips in consideration of 
  her response. ** I have well earned my name: Journey. I, too, am just 
  wandering. I will stay where I am welcomed and pass on where I am not. My 
  destination is not fixed, nor my time. I have food with me, although If I 
  stay overlong I may need to replenish it. **

Idly keeping an eye on things, Flashfire pauses to run a few fingers through 
  the furry coating over his body.

Rillwhisper considers this, taking in the answers from the two other elves, 
  and then finally sending in reply, ** My Holt is in these marshes. Respect 
  my tribe and pack's claim to hunt here first, and be peaceful, and you'll 
  then be welcome. ** There's no hostility in her words, just simple, 
  arrow-straight, tree-solid statement of authority -- a sending that feels 
  not at all unlike the body language of the big gray male wolf.

Journey nods. ** As you say, Chieftess. **

StreamWind gives a nod, eyes lowered away from the dominant. ** Of course ** 
  He crouches down, peering back up at the she-elf. ** How many of your Holt? 
  **

Flashfire paces in a semi-circle, waiting patiently. All must be well, at 
  least.

And indeed, the sending comes quietly to Flashfire, from the chieftess: ** All 
  is well, so far. These are Wolfrider; they smell so, and they know the ways 
  of wolves. Feel free to show yourself; is Wayfound still in the clearing? **

In the meantime, Rillwhisper smiles a bit more, perhaps in approval. ** Three 
  eights and four, ** she sends readily. Something in her stance ever so 
  subtly relaxes, something that makes her look a touch less wolfish, a touch 
  more like a simple she-elf in green and brown leathers, with bright 
  red-golden hair. ** We are the Willowholt. **

** Ah. More Wolfriders..good. ** Flashfire sends with a bit of relief. He does 
  prefer Wolfriders to Gliders, for the most part. ** She's still back there, 
  yes. ** he adds to the question of Wayfound's whereabouts. Then, he steps 
  into the sight of the visitors, perhaps an odd one at that, to them.

** Willowholt ** Journey repeats the name. She looks at StreamWind. ** A whole 
  holt of elves. ** Her half-smile betrays her odd sense of almost-wonder. ** 
  So, there are more of us in the world. **

A set of dimples appears in StreamWind's features as he smiles, eyes brighting 
  up some. ** I am of the Gathered.. ** He plants his hand on the ground. He 
  turns his head and regards the other elf, showing no surprise at the sight. 
  He chuckles and nods to Journey. ** Didnt I tell you? **

Journey smiles. ** You did. **

Wayfound is back there, but not for long. Her infant mind aflame with 
  curiosity, the cubling isn't about to stay put, not when her only lingering 
  companion is the Preserver who had decided it didn't like to talk to her, 
  and Preservers, she has concluded anyway, are Stupid. The little elf 
  scurries on dirty booted feet through the Holt, moving as nimbly as a 
  treewee, and in no short order catches up with Flashfire just as the lad 
  makes his way out through the foliage. All that can be seen of the cub, 
  however, are a pair of ambergreen eyes topped by a pale puff-flower cloud of 
  hair, as Wayfound peeks out from behind a tree.

Rillwhisper begins to laugh, very softly. ** I've heard of the Gathered ones. 
  Well. ** Her gaze flicks to take in the arrival of Flashfire, while 
  Grayshadow prowls restlessly nearby, lupine senses still partly occupied by 
  the strangers, but also aroused by the ongoing weaving of scents in the air 
  of the marshes.

If asked his opinion, Flashfire would probably also admit that he thinks 
  Preservers are Stupid. Especially since his first encounter with one 
  resulted in his being wrapstuffed. But he doesn't talk about that, nope. He 
  looks faintly relieved that the visitors don't seem startled by his 
  appearance - the Willowholt wasn't, but some others have been, here and 
  there. After he gets out a "Hullo, I'm Flashfire," his attention snaps back 
  to the following Wayfound. Oops.

Journey smiles, suddenly, inexplicably, almost as shy as the cub. She chuckles 
  as well.

StreamWind's face takes on a rather odd expression as he catches sight of the 
  cublings head. He turns away and looks back at Rillwhisper, tilting his 
  head. ** You have? ** He rests his arms on his knees, relaxing visibly.

** Aye, it's been a while -- but I've heard of them. ** _She_ catches the 
  changes in expressions... and then spies the cub. The chieftess's expression 
  alters noticeably, flares of surprise, and then of protectiveness, and then 
  of scolding, all crossing her face in rapid succession. She turns and steps 
  through the soft-earthed grasses to scoop the cub up into her arms, sending 
  pointedly just as the tiny elfling opens her mouth to begin to speak, ** 
  Quiet outside the Holt, cub. ** She then glances over at the others again, 
  and suggests, ** You might as well come with me; we've got a few extra 
  visitors right now anyway, and a couple more won't strain us. **

StreamWind stands from his position, turning to face the new-elves. ** Add our 
  bows to your hunt then, in gratitude ** He pointedly looks away from the 
  cub, instead turning to Journey, motioning for her to step ahead of him.

Flashfire was about to go retrieve Wayfound himself, but Rillwhisper takes 
  care of that. At the mixture of expressions on the Willowholt chieftess' 
  face, he can't help but think (mistakenly or not) that she might be upset 
  with him for taking his eyes off her cub to allow her to sneak into the 
  area. Stepping away from Rillwhisper when she nears, he takes care to give 
  her space, already readying himself to 'show throat,' if need be. ** Sorry.. 
  **

Journey smiles. ** Aye. Thank you. ** She turns to look beyond the grass 
  toward the holt and steps just ahead of StreamWind.

Rillwhisper flicks Flashfire a mild glance, sending to him an acceptance of 
  the apology while she flicks a finger at Wayfound, when the cub fidgets in 
  her arms. Wayfound, apparently, is just bursting with the need to say 
  something, but her mother's order keeps her silent. The Wolfbringer, in the 
  meantime, then glances at the others and advises, ** Follow me. Come 
  Sun-Goes-Down, and watch where you step. The itchgrass won't harm you... but 
  still, you don't want it in your boots. **

Journey nods and follows carefully.

StreamWind steps up behind Journey, taking in the new place with open 
  intrests. He grins slightly to himself, he likes the tingly feeling!

Flashfire is a bit relieved that his apology is accepted. He knows how 
  protective mothers can be, and of course, he wouldn't want to do anything to 
  get on Rillwhisper's bad side. ** I didn't notice her following after I 
  started keeping more of an eye on you. ** He waits to bring up the rear, 
  after the visitors pass.

In then, through that thick tangle of greenery, the chieftess leads. And once 
  Rillwhisper abruptly breaks through into a much more open space, just near a 
  glittering pond, Wayfound immediately and firmly pipes up, "It is not 
  Flashfire's fault, Mother! I just wanted to see the strangers!" Her voice is 
  incredibly high and piping, and her diction isn't perfect; several of her 
  consonants are improperly pronounced, and that more than anything hints at 
  her extremely tender age. But there's no sign of anything but adult 
  comprehension in her ambergreen eyes as she peers intently over her mother's 
  shoulder at the strangers. "Hello, strangers. My name is Wayfound."

"My cub," says Rillwhisper dryly, her speaking voice low and clear and full 
  like her sending, "decided she was going to start talking a few days ago."

Journey cocks an eyebrow at the nonetheless articulate cub. "I see." she says. 
  Then, she smiles at the cub. "I am Journey, Wayfound."

"Heyla Wayfound, I'm StreamWind" The elf's speaking voice is a soft one, one 
  suited for soothing and calming. He flicks his eyes towards Flashfire, this 
  way introducing himself to this elf as well.

Flashfire finds a slight smile at Wayfound's insistence that this wasn't 
  really his fault. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. He /was/ told to keep an 
  eye out for the cub..sort of. If being told to sit on her if she followed 
  counts. Heh. He nods back to StreamWind before flicking some hair from his 
  eyes.

In, then, through the Holt. There is a pond... but around it is rather more 
  open space than out in the marshy woods, a noticeable trail ringing that 
  pond and leading towards an impossibly tall and massively-trunked willow 
  tree. Towards this Rillwhisper goes, while Grayshadow melts through the 
  shadows nearby. Something odd about this place, too -- for all that it is 
  the Whitecold out in the marshes, within this barrier of foliage that 
  Rillwhisper has crossed, there are scents of Newgreen in the air. And the 
  Deathsleep. And summer. The gigantic willow sports leaves of a dozen 
  different shades of all times of the year, and buds and blooms as well.

Wayfound nods her approval at the introductions, but when her mother comes 
  into the clearing by the Old Willow, the little one starts squirming, 
  wanting to be put down. Rillwhisper indulges this. She also, however, squats 
  down and grabs her daughter by her tiny shoulder, sending firmly, ** I meant 
  it, cub. If you're old enough to talk the way you are, you're old enough to 
  understand this. If I tell you to stay put while I'm looking at strangers, 
  you stay put. Understand? **

StreamWind's eyes widens slightly, stopping dead in his tracks as he takes in 
  the sight of the willow and all that surrounds it.

Journey stops abruptly at the sight of the willow. Her eyes grow wide and her 
  mouth opens slightly in awe. ** that... That tree! ** She looks to 
  Rillwhisper. ** Your treeshaper must be... <<incredible>> **

Flashfire listens to the scolding Rillwhisper gives her daughter, and can't 
  help but smile very slightly, shuffling his bare feet on the ground a bit. 
  The words do make sense. ** It's a very nice place, here. **

Journey sends openly ** It's an <<incredible>> place, here! **

"I understand, Mother, but does this mean all strangers, or just Wolfrider 
  ones, or Glider ones, or--"

Rillwhisper's send turns pointed, just a bit of a growl within it, a mother 
  wolf chastising her overinquisitive offspring. ** _Do you understand?_ **

And Wayfound claps her little mouth shut, sensing the appropriateness of 
  silence, here. She bobs her head.

Satisfied, Rillwhisper eases her grasp on the cubling's shoulder, glancing up 
  and grinning crookedly at the newcomers' reactions. "Yes," she speaks up 
  gruffly, "our treeshaper was incredible."

StreamWind slowly walks into the clearing, he doesnt seem to even notice the 
  scolding the mother-wolf gives her cubling. Turning in one place he again 
  takes in the whole place. At the words 'was', he turns to look back to the 
  Chieftess of the Holt. He keeps his mouth shut this time, this wolfrider.

Flashfire wonders if he ever got scoldings for things like this. Indeed, his 
  is a Wolfrider's memory, as much as they can be. He's found the Now to be 
  much more preferable than anything else he knows. Over the scolding he 
  thought he'd get moments before, he approaches Rillwhisper and cub. "If she 
  needs or wants someone to play with..I don't mind."

Journey approaches the tree carefully -- reverently. She lays her hands on its 
  trunk to feel its bark and presses a cheek against it, as if listening for a 
  heartbeat. Then, she steps away, turning in a circle as she looks up through 
  its foliage. Her face reflects her sadness at the sense she gets of the 
  shaper's physical absence, but the tree itself is such evidence of his 
  continued, eternal?, presence that it far outweighs that passing regret. She 
  sits, unconsciously, at the roots -- not intending rudeness, but still 
  staring up at the branches.

[Due to the lateness of the hour, all involved parties agreed to pause RP
 here. It is assumed that Rill took Wayfound and went to alert the others in
 the Holt of the presence of new visitors--and that Journey, if she 
 communed with the Old Willow, had her magic feeling go off the scale. End
 log.]