Log of Wayfound's first words. Logged February 24, 1999. Characters: Trollkiller, Wayfound. Play areas: Clearing by the Old Willow, mostly. Sentry Branch(#179RJL) This wide, side branch of the Old Willow overlooks the main clearing of the Holt, as well as the pond just towards Sun-Goes-Up. Less massive than some of its immediate neighbors, this nook in the giant willow tree is well-shaded and shrouded by the ever-blowing willow fronds. But an elf here can see out into the more open portions of the Holt, and even across the pond.... You look down from the branch and see... 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. It is a clear, cold day. Sunlight reflects off the white snow, almost painfully bright. The sun is high in the chill winter skies. Just below, Wayfound follows the curve of the pond around to the northeast. On the north bank of the pond, Wayfound comes around the pond from the trees on its Sun-Goes-Down bank. On the north bank of the pond, Wayfound vanishes into the tall grasses and the thick tangle of trees, following the curve of the pond southwest... Just below, Wayfound comes round the curve of the pond from its Hubward bank. Just below, Wayfound heads off towards the clearing by the nearby Old Willow. In the clearing, Wayfound emerges from the trees by the nearby pond. Trollkiller watches Wayfound wander around. You locksend ** Hey, cub. ** to Wayfound. In the clearing, Wander? Not so random a verb can be applied to the actions of this tiny elfling. With quite determined strides, Wayfound goes about a purposeful task: acquiring and studying a variety of berries growing around the base of the mighty Old Willow. She does, however, lift her head at her fur-father's sending, staring up with solemn ambergreen eyes into the branches. You sense in a locksend, Wayfound sends, then, without words but with clear and forthright intent shining forth from her infant mind, a return greeting. Trollkiller beams down at Wayfound. ** Collecting things? ** In the clearing, By way of reply, the cub holds up a little sprig of dark red berries clutched in her right fist, and a sprig of near- black ones in her left. Trollkiller ooooooos. ** What're you going to do with them? ** He peers closer to make sure none of them are poisonous. In the clearing, They don't _appear_ to be poisonous... and likely aren't, given that Wayfound hasn't rambled too far away from the Old Willow... and poisonous things seem to have a habit of staying away from the heart of the Willowholt. Still, there's at least one slightly green-tinged berry on the black sprig, and considering the way green growing things tend to behave around the Holt, it's not surprising that berry ripeness could be a concern even with the coming of the Whitecold. Wayfound considers her berries, and then considers her fur-father, her miniscule brow crinkled in deep consternation. She doesn't answer him, at least not for a moment or two. In the clearing, Wayfound, however, then pipes out in high, fluting tones, "I am going to learn about them, Fur-father!" Trollkiller blinks. And sends, ** ! You talk now! ** Trollkiller locksends, ** Wayfound just talked! ** to Rillwhisper and Woodhawk. Trollkiller hops down, crouching in front of Wayfound and hugs her - and fuzzles his face into her chest, ticklishly. ** Smart cub! ** [look wayfound] This small creature is an elfin child, pale-skinned, with a fine soft crown of white-golden hair, and just barely big enough to toddle about on tiny determined legs. Her enormous eyes hold deep leaf- green and a bright amber-gold melded within their depths, and look out at their surroundings with an almost adult calculation. Green-amber eyes blink in startlement at Trollkiller's reaction; talking is odd? Why, when adults do it all the time...? Then, however, she realizes: the important word sent there is _now_. As her fur-father leaps down and comes over to hug and ticklenuzzle her, the cubling's generally solemn visage lightens noticeably. Carefully setting aside her berries as best she can, she stretches out her tiny arms to try to hug her younger sire's broad furry torso. And she explains earnestly, "Mother talks. Fire-father talks. I think I have learned how to talk now, but it makes my throat hurt!" Her brow crinkles again at this new data. Trollkiller giggles. ** Mine too. That's one reason I send. But being able to talk is important and good, too. ** And he nuzzles her again. Trollkiller senses in a locksend, Rillwhisper, wolf-napping up in her den, rouses sleepily. ** What's that, beloved? ** Trollkiller locksends ** Wayfound just spoke! Words, even. Actually, a whole sentence. ** to Rillwhisper. Wayfound gives her nearby berries a long and level look, but temporarily postpones her self-appointed studies in berry hue and taste in favor of the fascinating behavior Trollkiller is now showing her. Contentedly nestling against him, soft pale cheek against soft grey fur, she remarks, "It seems awfully useful. Do you like sending better than talking, Fire-father?" Trollkiller senses in a locksend, Rillwhisper's sleepiness immediately vanishes. ** What?! Well... well. What does our cubling have to say? ** Trollkiller locksends ** She's studying berries. And she's also wondering whether I like sending better than talking. And a bunch of other things. She's ... all at once quite a talker... ** to Rillwhisper. Trollkiller giggles, for reasons which won't be immediately clear. ** Yes. I don't really _mind_ talking, but sending is easier and ... more free. You can say more kinds of things more easily, sending, than talking. << sense of warmth >> << sense of love >> << image and recollection of playing in the snow with Wayfound, last deathsleep >> Like that. ** Rillwhisper locksends ** I... Well. I wonder if I should come join this conversation. Are you telling her you've told us? ** Trollkiller locksends ** um. not really. but i can. ** to Rillwhisper. Trollkiller giggles. ** And you can also send off to other people without confusing a conversation. Like I sent off to Rillwhisper and Woodhawk that you'd talked at me. ** Her diction is not perfect; 'think' for Wayfound comes out as 'fink', and 'throat' came out of her as 'froat'. Some of her other consonants aren't flawless, either, like her R's, and she seems aware of this, her little brow crinkled at her own words. Still, her pronunication is incredibly clear for being delivered in a toddler's piping tones, and her countenance as grave as a bearded elder's declaring the bounty of the hunt this season, as she pronounces, "I think that talking is easier than sending but I will have to practice both of them." Wayfound bobs her pale puff-flower head, though, appending, "Mother and Fire-father should know that I am going to talk now." Trollkiller nodnods. ** Which is why I told them! In a send. I suspect they'll wander out soon. Very asleep. ** Trollkiller thinks they'll be pleased. ** How long have you been practicing? It seems like a long time. ** Rillwhisper locksends ** Well. Woodhawk's stirring but he's half-asleep. I'm not sure I can make him move, and he's lying on me! ** Wayfound's little mouth curls up on each end, a very small smile of approval at the pleasure of her trio of parents. "I have been listening a lot to Mother talking, and Fire-father, and the tribe. And the Preservers. Since the summertime!" Trollkiller laughs. ** I think the preservers are ... not the best teachers. But it seems to have worked. ** He looks up at a send. ** Agh, lazy. They're staying up in the den, too asleep to move. ** ** We should probably go jump up and down on them. But then again, we probably shouldn't. ** Wayfound's small nose wrinkles. "Fallberry is _noisy,_" she declares pointedly. Trollkiller nods. ** Indeed. And stupid. And _can't_ sing. ** This accord of opinion, this confirmation of her own observations, brings a slightly larger smile to the visage of the cubling. "I noticed that," she says with satisfaction, "but it's not time to learn about the Preservers yet so I didn't listen too much." Trollkiller sits down into a more comfortable position in the clearing, beside Wayfound. ** There's a time to learn about Preservers? ** Wayfound bobs her head up and down, somberly. "Preservers are bigger than berries so it's not their turn yet." Trollkiller suppresses a giggle. ** Ah, it's by size. Okay. ** He thinks for a minute, and wonders, ** What came before berries? ** "Bugs," is the child's prompt reply, "and then the pebbles next to the pond." Trollkiller nodnods. ** Did you learn anything interesting about bugs? ** Trollkiller giggles. ** All I know is "which bite" and "which bite but make honey." ** "There are bugs with six legs that make hills on the ground," Wayfound reports, craning her little head so that she can look straight up at her fur-father, "and there are long bugs with four wings that live by the marsh-water, and I found a bug that curls up into a ball when I poke it." Trollkiller leans back on the ground, and rests his head on his hand. ** I like the ones with four wings. They're pretty. ** Wayfound settles down upon her rump on the thickly-grassed and leaf- dotted turf under the willow fronds, sticking her little feet out in front of her. Her mother has made her tiny boots, and they're quite stained and dirty, as are her breeches. "There are the bugs with four wings that are pretty like the Preservers," she pipes, "but they aren't the same as the long bugs with four wings on the marsh. I saw those when Mother took me for a ride on Prowlfar. They bite and make buzzy noises. Like this." She demonstrates, emitting a 'zzzzzzzzz' noise, with her lips pressed together. Trollkiller sends, ** I still think the ones that go ZZZZZZZZZ are pretty. Even if they bite. They don't bite unless you bother them. Not like hornets, who bite you just 'cause they want. ** He sticks out his tongue at hornets. The cub's eyes widen on the word 'hornet'. New word! New bug! She scooches closer to her fur-father, her expression sharpening. "What are hornets, Fur-father?" Trollkiller sends, ** They mostly don't live around here, but you'll find them in the swamp if you go out looking for them. I don't remember how many wings they have... ** He thinks about it for a minute, trying to remember, and sends a picture of a hornet in flight - but since it's flying you can't see how many wings there are. ** They're cranky, and kind of territorial, except you can't tell what their territory is, so they'll just bite you for no good reason. They can't _really_ hurt you, but it stings a lot. ** [Play idled here because Wayfound's player left. Scene was scheudled to resume later but never did.]