"Chieftess No More" Log Date: 3/30/00 (Though this log should be assumed to take place earlier IC than it was actually roleplayed; it takes place while Cutter and Strongbow are bringing the Willowholters out of Blue Mountain, to accept them into Lostholt) Log Cast: Rillwhisper, Cutter, Trollkiller Log Intro: Cutter and Strongbow have come to Blue Mountain in search of the rest of the Willowholters -- and to offer to them a place at Lostholt. Some have readily accepted the promise of a Holt older than theirs, with long-standing friends waiting to welcome them in as part of their own tribe... but some have not. Some of the more Glider-blooded members of the destroyed tribe have opted to stay in Blue Mountain instead. Those who have chosen to depart cannot say they're exactly surprised... but it is a death knell for the tribe they used to know and love. And the taste of it lingers in the backs of all their minds, even as they make the trek from Blue Mountain to the new Holt that awaits. It lingers particularly strongly in the mind of Rillwhisper, who is all too aware that the death of her tribe means that she is no longer a chief -- and if she and hers are to join Lostholt, the Way demands that this must be acknowledged, to the one who _is_ chief of the tribe who is taking them in.... ---------- It's not at all unfamiliar territory, though it's been some time since Rillwhisper and her lifemates and Rainfire have traversed it, en route to Lostholt or otherwise. After days of swinging deliberately far northward of where the Willowholt once stood -- for the Wolfbringer and her three tribesmates are less than inclined to inflict the sight of what's left of their Holt upon themselves, though none of them have really said or sent as much -- it's a relief to see forest that is, if not Home, at least familiar enough to be friendly. Still, though, as she's travelled, Rillwhisper has remained rather close-mouthed. Over the last couple of days in particular the Wolfbringer has said very little to her lifemates or her soul-brother, to Rainfire or to the tall chief that rides with them. And there's been an odd look lingering in her dark green eyes, one speaking of deep-seated thought, as the little party of elves settles down in the woods for one last day of rest before the ride that will bring them finally into Cutter's Holt. Cutter settles himself near the base of a wide-trunked tree as Rainrunner flops down beside him and butts his head against the Kinseeker's elbow. Bright, cerulean eyes shift to regard the wolf as Cutter smiles and reaches over to scratch behind the keen ears. Trollkiller has been uncharacteristically sober as well. Leaving the Mountain with so few of the tribe has driven home what floods and deaths couldn't; the Willowholt has died. And while, on several levels, he may already have known that, he hadn't really absorbed it - the crisis had allowed him that luxery. But with the crisis over, there's almost no more room for avoidance left. The sky is growing progressively lighter towards Sun-Goes-Down. Strongbow's picked a vantage point high in a nearby tree, keeping vigilant watch upon the woods immediately surrounding the little band of elves; Woodhawk and Rainfire have already made themselves as comfortable as journeying Wolfriders can with a shaper on hand to make a den, curling up with their wolves for warmth in the shelter of the glade that's been chosen as campsite. This leaves Rillwhisper, too restless yet to settle down for morning slumber, though she studies Woodhawk's drowsing form enviously for several long moments. At last, though, she swings a sharply searching gaze around to the figures of those still awake and not on watch, growing slightly more visible with the approach of the dawn but still wreathed in the dappled shadow of the branches overhead. ** Are you two going to sleep yet? ** she sends. Cutter's gaze shifts toward Rillwhisper and he gives his head a slight shake, **I thought I'd help Strongbow keep watch for a while.** he replies as his long, slender fingers continue to scratch behind Rainrunner's ears. He glances toward Trollkiller with an expression that seems to wait for the other elf's reply. Trollkiller looks up at Rillwhisper, and shakes his head. He's tired, but not yet sleepy. ** Maybe once the day's risen. ** Until then, he'll... sit here, he supposes. He plays a bit with the string 'round one of his pouches, looking ahead at not much of anything except the undergrowth around him. Blowing out a very soft breath, Rillwhisper nods a single time, flashing a glance from Trollkiller to Cutter and back again... and then once more to the lanky wolf-chief. Her gaze rests upon him for a long moment, and then she requests all at once, in a strangely subdued tone, ** If... you'd wait a moment, Cutter, I'd like to say something... ** Cutter's brows lift as his gaze shifts back to Rillwhisper. His expression is one of curiosity mixed with sudden concern at that subdued tone, **Of course... ** he replies with the curiosity carrying through in his send voice. Rainrunner, picking up on his bond's emotions, nudges Cutter's hand with his muzzle and paws a lanky leg as if asking him to tell him what's wrong. Trollkiller is curious, a bit, but doesn't show much of it. He's tired, but listening. Her entire body language broadcasts... well, not discomfort, exactly, but perhaps more the disquiet of an elf trying to put a foot forward on a branch she does not entirely trust to hold her weight. Very slowly, very deliberately, Rillwhisper forces herself to relax even as she turns her head slightly sideways, just enough to cast a glance towards Trollkiller. To him, she sends for just a moment... You locksend ** Tantin... come here a moment? Please? ** to Trollkiller. Trollkiller looks at Rillwhisper, nods, and pads over beside her, sitting back down. ** ? ** Gratitude flashes a moment in Rill's eyes, and with one hand, she gestures upward for Trollkiller's benefit, towards her hair. You locksend ** Untie my chief's lock, beloved. ** to Trollkiller. Trollkiller uh? and looks confused, at Rillwhisper, like a wolfcub _told_ to annoy its dam. Trollkiller locksends ** ...what? Why? ** Cutter watches the exchange between the two of you with curiosity evident on his features but, he keeps to himself for the moment suspecting that all will be revealed in time. ** Please, lifemate. ** Again, though she sends aloud this time, Rillwhisper's tone is one of request rather than command. And now, too, she proffers an explanation. ** Our tribe is gone. And we're entering another chief's territory. ** Trollkiller says, "Oh." And a little pit curls up upon itself deep in his belly, as he stands almost preternaturally still, for a moment, then two, then three. After a collection of long moments, he sits down beside Rillwhisper, having _not_ done. He knows what it means, and he can't do it. Very faintly, he sends, ** ...I'm sorry... ** Cutter's brows furrow as he watches this exchange between the two of you. He pushes himself to his feet and moves to stand off to the side but, between you both, ** What is it? What's wrong..? ** he asks as Rainrunner pads over to his side and sits down to eye the both of you, almost mirroring his bond's confused expression. For another long moment, Rillwhisper stares down at her befurred younger mate. There is no recrimination in her eyes, and neither is there surprise; indeed, there's understanding there instead. Her attention moves to Woodhawk; the firestarter tends to sleep deeply, and now is no exception. Like Trollkiller, like Rillwhisper, he's been bearing the loss of the Willowholt with a grim stoicism and the exhaustion of recent months has etched itself into the lean structure of his features. She could send to wake him, the Wolfbringer knows... but she suspects Woodhawk would tell her no, too. When Cutter sends, however, she returns her attention to the other chief. His concerned blue gaze upon her crystallizes her resolve, and it is her own hand that lift up and untie the leather thong holding a thick gathering of red-golden curls up in the symbol of chieftaincy that has lasted almost as long as the Wolfriders themselves. All she sends is, ** You rank me, Cutter. ** Trollkiller looks down, eyes closed, towards the ground, and shudders at Rillwhisper's send. And that is all. Cutter's brows dip above the bridge of his nose as the send hits home. He doesn't want to argue with Rillwhisper knowing what torment it must be causing to take one's own chieflock down. Mutely, he nods and holds out his hand as if completing a ritual that is older than the trees standing sentinal. You sense in a locksend, Trollkiller is crying, silently. You'd might notice. She cannot remember the last time her scalp has not felt the ever so subtle tug of the chief's lock tied in place; for a fraction of an instant, Rillwhisper is seized with an urge to scratch herself there furiously. But for all that she might no longer be a chieftain, she is still Rillwhisper, still the Wolfbringer, and so with one hand she simply holds the thong she's undone. With the other, she reaches forth to clasp the hand Cutter's offered her. As she does, she tilts her head again, sideways, back, baring her delicate throat. You locksend to Trollkiller, Rillwhisper knows. Oh, aye, she knows. And for all that she has to answer the call of the Way first, she reaches out nevertheless to you with her heart and wraps her mind's touch around you. This is awkward... how awkward, perhaps, she is not permitting you to sense. Instead, she sends forth nothing but comfort and love. You sense in a locksend, Trollkiller clings to you in his head, crying, not at all useful, or even helping - it's just the last string snapped, the last branch broken, and ground as finally hit. Cutter watches this with what appears to be great impassivity, though it is really only a mask to keep from showing how torn he is about this situation. He knows how he would feel if he ever had to give up his chiefknot and it sets a knot to growing in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he gives Rillwhisper's hand a light, reassuring squeeze and nods his head once before letting his gaze shift away from her pale throat. Once more, no send comes from the Kinseeker as he steps back and drops Rillwhisper's hand, then looks toward the place where Strongbow perches. Trollkiller is externally silent, and still, tho' feeling much like dying, inside. Cutter stands silent and still for what seems like a small eternity before a send rife with barely checked emotions blooms forth from his mind, ** It pains me to see the Willowholt gone, Rillwhisper.. and even more to see you give up your chief's knot.. but, if this is the way you choose, I stand with you. ** He looks at the thong that so recently held Rillwhisper's hair in place and adds quietly, ** We will howl for them..** That sent, he turns and with Rainrunner at his side, moves out of the small clearing to do some thinking while helping Strongbow keep watch. Cutter locksends ** Try to sleep.. Strongbow and I will be keeping watch. <> ** She doesn't thank him; an alpha wolf deferring to a greater alpha does not, after all, offer thanks. Nor is Rillwhisper as close to the son of Bearclaw as she is to his archer, so she is not surprised that he offers no sending. With her hair down, with dawn peeking through the sheltering branches overhead and casting down the faintest glimmers of light upon her unbound hair, she might well be seen as somehow... smaller. More fragile. But the look in her eyes is still the same, and there's something almost wry tugging at one corner of her mouth as she returns that squeeze of her hand and then drops her own away. Deference given; deference accepted. It is the Way, and as much as she can be, Rillwhisper is content. [End log.]