"The Cry in the Night" Log Date: 12/27/02 Log Cast: Peyote, Oriolle, Doreel, Skywise, Rillwhisper (emitted by Oriolle), Ynderra (emitted by Oriolle), Dusk, Djhala Log Intro: For many eights of days now, a party from Lostholt has been staying in the Sun Village--and while many elves may come to Sorrow's End for the legendary Festivals of Flood and Flower, these elves have a rather different purpose in mind. They have brought with them a strange shaped she-elf called Oriolle, and with her, the wrapstuffed form of no less than a Firstborn elf--Doreel, the insane shaper of a hidden, secret Grove, who has for many turns of the seasons held Oriolle as his captive and who even attempted to turn her into a tree with his power. The healing of Ree has been long and arduous, requiring the work of Leetah, Mender, Ynderra, and even Kiralee; slowly and surely, she has begun to return to something like sanity. But she has continued to exhibit a bizarre fascination for the still-wrapstuffed Firstborn, not to mention the small trees in the village. And despite the efforts that Djhala and Savah and Rillwhisper and Ynderra have gone to to keep Doreel as docile--and as QUIET--as possible, the bond that still ties him to Oriolle goes two ways. And is deep enough to rouse the Firstborn enough for half the village to hear him.... ---------- East Courtyard: Visitors' Residence(#668RJL$) This walled courtyard is paved with several sizes of circular tiles scattered in seemingly random patterns. Between the stones moss and thyme grow, creating a pleasing contrast with the cream and brown colored tiles. In the center of the court, a small live-oak grows, gracefully sheltering a small fountain and pool. Planters full of bright colored flowers alternate with wide stone benches along the edges of the courtyard. Clinging vines of grape and wisteria veil the walls and along the south edge of the court the covered arches of a shaded pavilion beckon you out of the sun. The village goes about its everyday business, villagers tending the fields and working at their crafts. Please check the '+lhelp' if you are new to this area. Child Moon's gibbous form soars high over the Mother Moon's low-hanging crescent in the chill winter skies. Contents: Peyote Doreel Nightfall's tent(#1645VYhs$) Blue's Tent Bearlancer's Tent Temp Guest Cottage Lilac Cottage (#9847AHJes) Obvious exits: Crossroad Late night. Why, in the High Ones name, would a villager be out and about in the middle of the night. Then, Peyote's never been consider on the straight and narrow as far as villagers are concerned, and so, here is she, moving into the area with a large collection basket on on hip, and a large jar of water on the other. It's night again... and Ree has emerged, ears pricking up at the sounds of the howls that waft down from the caves where the jackwolfriders make their dwellings. A good portion of the village is slumbering, but silver-haired Ree is wakeful, drawn to and yet repelled by the cottage where some of the elves of Lostholt have taken up residence until Savah and Djhala come to a decision on what to do about the wrapstuff cocoon they've brought with them. She's repelled to and drawn by, as well, the tree that grows not far from that cottage. Ree stalks barefooted around it now, rubbing thin hands up and down her own arms and frowning plaintively at the delicate branches. Peyote's eyes are not night-bright, but she's not addled-minded enough to miss an elf moving about the otherwise still area. With a pleasant smile despite the late hour, Peyote moves over, emiting an airy greeting as she goes, "Shade and very sweet water! Welcome to Sorrow's End!" Peyote Dark skin. Dark hair. Dark eyes. That's this elf-maiden. Her rich chocolate-brown eyes dance with mirth while her lips, always colored bright red by berry-stain, twist upward in a sly, coy grin. Her hair, a rich rich brown touched with hints of copper, is coiled up, only to fall in thick, lushous waves back to her shoulders. Gleaming from the locks are shimmering bits of shaped glass. Her figure is quite shapely, and this Peyote seems to flaunt. Her almost skin-tight halter top is a bright, brillant white, and cuts down in a v, exposing much more of her ample bustline than perhaps any respectable maiden should. Far below that, almost below her wide hips starts a belt, worked glass charms, which jingle and clank together with every step and motion. From this drops a skirt, multi-layered and mutli-colored. The rainbow of desert blooms. The lowest hem of which, is pulled up high, tucked into the belt, revealing her shapely, curving legs for all to see. On her feet are delicate golden sandles, topped with anklets that match the bangle bracelets at her wrists and the looping earrings that dangle from her pointy ears. Carrying: Peyote's Wardrobe Oriolle(#769POXce-0) Though she is starkly thin, each detail of an impossibly delicate bone structure clearly defined beneath her translucent skin, there nevertheless lingers about this she-elf a hint of something like starlight. It glimmers across her features each time she moves, and lurks in the sheen of a mane of hair that shines despite being confined in a thick braid that swings clear down to her thighs. And yet, there is also a strange, exotic tinge of the faintest green about her face and form as well, as though the starlight that touches her is filtered down through a thick blanket of leaves. Green too are her eyes, enormous in the perfectly proportioned structure of her visage, prone to sad wistfulness one moment and a dreamful distraction the next. She stands taller than many younger elves would at roughly five feet, though there are many elves of older breeds who would surpass her height... and while there is an apparent inherent, unconscious grace in her every movement, she nevertheless makes those movements like one who is not accustomed to the body she wears. Her voice is a pure, crystalline soprano, at least when she chances to use it above a shy murmur, which seems to be how she speaks most often. Sendings escape her only seemingly when she is greatly agitated -- but when they do, they chime forth from her with the clarity of silver bells. One other detail may well also stand out to those who have the senses to perceive it: the memory of magic trails about her like a cloud. By someone with a powerful hand indeed, this maiden has been shaped. She is clad in a motley assortment of Wolfrider-style leathers, altered to fit her slender frame: a loose jacket of an ocher shade, held wrapped about her torso by a simple green belt, and fawn-colored leggings down to her knees, leaving twig-like ankles and wrists exposed to view. Only her shoes, soft ankle-high slip on boots of a leafy green, seem to have been truly made to fit her. Ree practically jumps three feet sideways at the call -- and she does whirl around in her shock and her haste, trembling a little, before she finally realizes that the shapely she-elf approaching must in fact have just addressed _her_. She has already realized in the days she's been staying in the village that there is sharp contrast between herself and most of the elves here -- even aside from the oddities within her head. They are dark and brightly clad and vibrant-voiced; she is a silver shadow, a wraith. And it is with a much softer, almost childlike voice that she manages to blurt out unsteadily, "Sh-shade..." At Ree's jump, Peyote gasps with the flare of a drama-queen, and moves quickly to settle basket and jar upon the ground by the tree, "Blessed sun! Did I startle! I do so apologize!" Peyote's own sun-warmed eyes study the tall glider-esque figure before her with curiousity. "I wonder, can I get you anything to make you feel more welcome? Food? Drink? a Blanket," she giggles at the last as she offers it, adding a quick explanation, "the nights are found cold by more than a handful." Ree stares down at the Sun Villager as if she's never quite seen anything like her... and as near as she can tell from the short list of memories she has gathered since she came back to herself with the healers' aid, she hasn't, at least not before setting foot in Sorrow's End. This is not the first dark-skinned elf to utter words of welcome at her... but they are strange, nevertheless. "I... um... hadn't... much noticed," she mumbles tinily. "Noticed the cold..." And considering the tangled wealth of silver hair that spills down clear to her feet, perhaps that's fair enough. With as much of a mane she's got, perhaps it gives her a bit of a veil against the desert night chill. Peyote smiles and nods to Ree, but little of her appeal escapes her notice. "Well, perhaps some better fitting clothes," the server asks, smoothing her own shirt, "Those look like they've seen a small elf." Ree blinks and looks down at herself, rubbing one hand fretfully over the leathers Moonshade had adjusted for her. "The, um... Wolfriders... Moonshade. She made them..." This is offered with guileless earnestness, and the silver-haired one plucks absently for a moment at her leathers, as if on some level wondering herself why she's got them. Peyote thinks, the action obvious on her fcace. "Moonshade... now why is /that/ name familiar...," she ponders aloud to herself. A moment passes, and so does the thought, and Peyote shrugs, "Yes, well, if you'd like something a bit more desert worthy, just let anyone here know. We'll be happy to make something for you with a bit more length." The notion that someone might actually want to give her something else makes Ree stare even harder at the villager, her sunburned brow crinkling considerably. It also appears to cause her a noticeable bafflement, and she hugs her arms to herself beneath the disheveled curtain of her hair, eyes a little wild, a little confused. "I-I don't think I need..." Those words are ragged ones though, and they trail off. Trial off, or cut off? Peyote cuts in as Ree's voice trails off, waving off any of Ree's opposite to the idea, "Of course yo do! You ca't honestly run around in borrowed, half-fitting clothing when there's more than enough cloth to make you something just for you! And in the meantime, I'm sure we can findsomeone willing to let you borrow something more your size." She's run around in less before-- Has she? Is that the memory of Ree, or the memory of Thicket? Still, she can recollect hunting clad in little more than a few memories of scraps of leathers, armed with her spear and determination-- But then again, she can also remember being clad in leaves. Ree's gaze shoots sideways, almost imploringly, to the tree; with an effort, though, she slams her eyes shut and mutters to herself, sounding shaken, "No... _no_, don't need--" Those words come out of her oddly gruffer, before her voice smooths out again and returns to more silver, clarion tones... though they're no less unsettled. "It's a good offer--" And abruptly, she looks up again, plaintively, and concludes, "Don't want to burden." Peyote watches the near bipolar actions of Ree as she sorts out some memories. Replying only to the last, Peyote turns slightly to collect her water jar, "Oh, it's not a bother to me. I'll ask, see if anyone's willing, if not, Mother might have some dresses long enough. She's a bit taller than I." Eyes that rival the leaves of that young tree for hue blink, startled anew, and then Ree's delicate features approach something resembling a scowl. "Cant wear that," she announces abruptly, once more in that gruffer tone she'd reached before, waving a bony hand disgruntledly at Peyote's attire in general. "Cub'd look foolish. Couldn't hunt. Doesn't need dresses -- needs meat." Jar perfectly settled on her hip, Peyote again looks at Ree like she's sun-crazy. "Meat. Meat I can do right now. Cooked or raw," Peyote asks moving to gather her basket. Doreel locksends ** Need. What is it to need? Animals have needs -- food, shelter, freedom. Plants have needs -- water, sunlight, freedom. Freedom. ** Ree's certainly sunburned enough that she's probably had more sun than is good for her -- though whether it's the Daystar that's caused her odd behavior is not immediately apparent. What _is_ apparent is that she begins to start, seemingly aghast at the notion that meat might actually be charred in a fire. "Ra--" she begins, and then she cuts herself off, her gaze flickering momentarily into the air, towards nothing. Peyote looks up at Ree does. Seeing nothing, Peyote returns her gaze to Ree and no matter how crazy she thinks this elf might be, she puts on a bright smile, "Raw it is. Shall I bring it to you?" You locksend ** ** to Doreel. Ree shivers -- well, the night is cold, but if she's sun-crazy, who knows what might have caused her to shudder? She rubs her gaunt knuckles across suddenly disoriented eyes, before whipping her tousled head back around at the determinedly perky Sun Villager. "Please," she whispers pleadingly... and even as she does, she stumbles unthinkingly over to drop heavily down onto her haunches beneath the young tree, her head bent forward, silver hair spilling loosely in a puddle all around her. Peyote watches the taller elf fall. Her expression fights a look of concern as she turns to move to her serving table in the dancing square. She's gone quite some time before she returns, a silvery tray n her hands ladden with raw meats of all sorts, some fruits an vegatables, and a goblet and serving jug. Doreel locksends ** Dreams ... Too many dreams, lately. Dreams of the Vale. Dreams of things coming into the Vale, things that take away the Returned, things that uproot ... remove ... Just dreams. Things do not come into the Vale. Elisel is still there, Returned, peaceful, enjoying ... resting in the Vale. And Doreel, Shaper, continues to make the Vale ready for those others who will Return. And Doreel and Elisel will be there, ready to greet them. These are all just dreams. Things do not come into the Vale. ** You locksend ** ** to Doreel. Oriolle hasn't much moved, except to lift her head to stare wide-eyed and transfixed at the tree. There's a strange tangle of emotions nakedly visible in her thin face: fear and repulsion just as powerful as longing. "Not Elisel," she mumbles, and it's practically a groan. "Not Elisel... healer showed us... we're not Elisel..." 'Yeah,' Peyote thinks to herself, 'this one's a little off the deepend.' But as she nears, her ever-pleasantly pilite smile returns, "Here you go... eh.. what did you say your name was?" Doreel locksends ** Insubstantial ... no. No, it cannot be. Elisel is -real-, she Returned, he saw her, touched her, reminded her of her true name. Teme. Teme. Elisel; Teme. Teme; Elisel. She -must- remember... she cannot forget who she is, for it would be terrible, even worse than if she had never Returned. For her to Return, then forget who she is... Elisel. Elisel. Elisel. ** Ree twitches visibly, rocking hard back and forth upon her haunches, arms closed tight about her fragile body. An audible whimper escapes her; then, her mouth shapes three wordless syllables, 'el-i-sel', before she shudders violently once more. Peyote's returning voice makes her scramble around where she's crouched, her stance almost that of a frightened she-wolf, and she turns eyes full of fright upon the dark-skinned maiden. "N-Name? My... our... name?" Peyote glances about Ree... "Yes your name, unless you've got a friend with you I haven't seen." You locksend ** ** to Doreel. Ree twitches visibly, rocking hard back and forth upon her haunches, arms closed tight about her fragile body. An audible whimper escapes her; then, her mouth shapes three wordless syllables, 'el-i-sel', before she shudders violently once more. Peyote's returning voice makes her scramble around where she's crouched, her stance almost that of a frightened she-wolf, and she turns eyes full of fright upon the dark-skinned maiden. "N-Name? My... our... name?" Peyote glances about Ree... "Yes your name, unless you've got a friend with you I haven't seen." Oriolle lets out a ragged little pant, her gaze still fell and fey, before something in Peyote's words seems to connect with her somehow. She does not get up. Instead she keeps rocking, though less violently now, while she murmurs distantly, "Just.. me... just us... not sure of names, that's the problem, in and out of the Dream, new name for every Shape..." Peyote seems confused at Oriolle's ranting, but with something akin to bedside manner, the villager server, out in the middle of the night, moves to kneel by the downed elf's side. "Just you, huh? Well, when you think of your name, let me know. In the meantime, food's here," Peyote says, her voice forced to be light and pleasant and carefree while at the last she moves the tray, covered in raw meat as it is, into Oriolle's vision. You sense in a locksend, Doreel sighs in his dream-self, reaching out to stroke your trunk, look up at your stretching branches, his resting Elisel, his Returned. **Elisel, Elisel ... these wolf-dreams, these nightmares ... why can they not be purged from you? An elf is not a wolf, and could never be a wolf. Could an elf be a Large One? No, of course not. Ah, my Elisel, my Elisel. Too long beyond the Grove have you been. But you are Returned, O Teme, my Elisel. The wolf-dream is behind you ... let it stay behind you.** Her stomach clenches with hunger... and yet, even as meat is set before her, Ree pauses strangely, shivering, staring at the sustenance that Peyote has brought her, For a fraction of an instant she looks almost... repulsed, all over again. And then her hand shoots forward, shakily, to hover first over the meat... and then over the fruits Peyote has also added to what she's brought. "My name is Ree...?" she mumbles, her voice going very high, uncertain, like that of a child who is dreaming. Her hand drops to the fruits. "I'm... I am..." Peyote tries to make light of it all, and not worry about what Ree is doing to her perfectly appealing looking food tray, "It's a pleasure to meet you Ree. I'm Peyote, the villager Server." You locksend ** 'I-I am... an elf?' Her voice rises up within your dream, plaintive, unsure, desperately seeking reassurance. 'Healers... they said...' As you hear her, her branches shimmer, turning ghost-like, smaller, almost like uplifted hands. 'Said I'm... an elf... I'm... Ree... I'm...' ** to Doreel. Ree's hands cradle the fruit she's picked up, and with a neat daintiness that might seem bizarre considering her wolf-like crouching, she slowly begins to nibble at it. A sending unrolls from her as she does, quite distinct and yet decidedly tilted, with a flavor to it that suggests she's not entirely sure of her own assertion: ** I'm... an elf... ** Even more than her voice, it conveys the powerful impression of someone dreaming, even if they're seemingly awake. Peyote smiles and aside from a slight wince, and a hands to rub at the tip of an ear, she doesn't seem to have gotten the psychic memo. Skywise is preceded by a smell that could only be described as revolting, though not strong it's enough to be even noticible by those not of more sensitive noses. Cloak pulled up over his shoulders, the pale elf's skin is covered in what looks to be a very nice burn from the daystar. He wafts past Peyote offering a smile, and skirts around the tray of food she carries, "Shade." He says in greeting to her, before noting Oriolle. Nodding, he mutters in her direction. "Of course you're an elf." Doreel locksends ** There is a sudden freeze as two competing concepts finally crash head-to-head against each other. Like the weather, such a clash results in a thunderstorm ... If you are Elisel-tree, then you will stay in the Grove, and lift your leaves to the rain and the sun, and grow and he will help you and tend you and care for you and Shape you and be pleased by you. But ... If you are Elisel-Returned, then you are Teme, and you cannot be a ... a tree ... and if you cannot be a tree, even though you _are_ a tree, (for he has helped you and tended you and cared for you and Shaped you and been pleased by your growth) then he has done something ... ... something ... ** Whether she is aware that her sending was heard, Ree gives no immediate sign. As one starving, she begins to eat the fruit faster... though even with increased speed, there is uncanny, incongruous grace to her movements. Skywise she does not immediately appear to notice; her hands drop down for a moment, though not completely, and her gaze remains locked into the air. "He knows my name," she breathes. There should be some sort of silence before this sort of thing, like a calm before the storm -- something to warn the elves around them that something of true and terrible portent is about to happen. But there isn't. The night simply erupts from within the mind, an unknown mind releasing a mental scream of horror and mental agony: ** NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! ** The night-chirpers continue to sound. You locksend ** ** to Doreel. Umm... mental... scream. That Peyote hears. With a cry of her own, but this one vocal, the server, for the first time since childhood, drops her tray. The meatl tray crashes tot he ground with a clatter, shattering the night silence, and Peyote ends up on her rump admist the scattered food. Ree jerks as if she's taken a spear to her gut, and then all at once leaps to her feet, tears springing up swiftly to streak in silver tracks down her face. ** ** A surge of wild, raw magic roils up around her, and as quickly as she'd risen she collapses to her knees, sobbing as though her heart has broken. The magic flares up for an instant into a visible aura, a pale and watery green that shoots a tendril at random towards the nearest growing thing: the tree by the fountain, whose branches nearest to Ree abruptly writhe and stretch farther outward by three more inches. A burst of movement sounds from the cottage where Rillwhisper and others of Lostholt have been keeping guard over their wrapstuffed captive -- and with it comes a snapped shouted command, Rillwhisper bellowing, "Get her away from him, 'Derra! _Now_!" A black-haired Wolfrider comes bursting out of the cottage: Ynderra, practically tripping over her own feet in her haste to make it out into the courtyard. "_Ree!_ Where--" Peyote blinks and looks up at the commotion. The frightened villager scuttles backward, her eyes like dinner-plates. Dusk arrives in the shaded courtyard from the crossroads. Dusk has arrived. It is with intermingled desperate relief that Ynderra, bursting out of the cottage, immediately realizes two things: one, there is a burst of magic that she recognizes all too swiftly rolling off of the sobbing Ree, and two, Skywise is closer than she is. Even as Tyleet's daughter comes pelting up, she shrieks, "TACKLE HER, SKYWISE! SHE'S GOT MAGIC!" Dusk more or less scrambles in, fingering an ear in discomfort as she homes in on the source of..something. ** What was /that?/ ** Peyote has scuttled her way to the base of said tree (which wasn't too far from them to begin with), and is pushing herself up as she tries to cower from the mad Ree and screaming elves running in! Poor peyote! She's too perfect to handlet his sort of thing! It all takes Skywise by surprise, first the shriek of a send scream which causes him to falter a few steps, then the sudden surge of shaping magic that he sees altering the tree. He stands struck, for a few moments until Ynderra's words cut through the air at him. Magic? Tackle her? Skywise does one better than that. He picks up Peyote's dropped serving tray and lifts it with intention on knocking the poor girl out. There's healers about, after all, and it will stop the immediate problem. At least, that's his line of thinking as he swings the tray towards Oriolle's crumpled form with well placed aim. Djhala arrives in the shaded courtyard from the crossroads. Djhala has arrived. It's already been observed more than once by various members of the Lostholt tribe that a gentle breeze could knock Ree over -- never mind a good stiff one. The clout from the tray snatched up by the stargazer is more than adequate to send the gawky she-elf sprawling into an untidy heap... and the moment she's down, the aura of magic surging out of her dwindles down to almost nothing. Trusting to her tribesmate to handle _that_ problem, Ynderra jumps to the tree, a far more controlled power rising from _her_ as she takes a quick look at it to make sure that Ree has not harmed it. She must not have, for 'Derra just as quickly turns now to the others. From behind her, Rillwhisper yells, "Is she down?" "She's down," 'Derra calls back. The Wolfbringer, small slender fair-haired Rillwhisper, appears at the cottage door, a brightmetal knife in her hand and grim determination in her eyes. "Get her out of her," she orders to no one in particular and everyone at large. "She's disturbing him. Every time she gets near he starts waking up." Djhala comes pelting in at a dead run, his kilt ill-fastened about his hips, and promptly goes pitching head over heels as he trips over a set-aside pair of boxes. (There -are- bad things to be had when you're blind.) Nonetheless, he rolls out of the tumble, catching at the kilt before his, erm, pride can be -totally- wiped out, and comes to one knee just as he hears Rillwhisper's yell. "Blast and bake it, I thought she was up with the wolves!!" Peyote cowers by the tree, eyes wide, and turning from one elf to another. Dusk's eyes can only widen in confusion as she sees what appears to be magic going haywire and an elf suddenly dropped by the serving tray Skywise is wielding. If she looks like she's missed something, she has. A quick look at Oriolle causes her to stare, and that's saying something considering her own appearance. A powerful surge of grateful relief wells up in Ynderra's blue eyes at Djhala's arrival, even as Lostholt's junior healer kneels by the fallen Ree and puts a dainty hand to her brow. Again 'Derra's power shines, this time more gold than green, as she makes absolutely certain that Ree is well and thoroughly asleep before she looks up again and reports anxiously, "We didn't know she was out here till we heard voices--" Her hand gestures now at Peyote and Ree both. At the former, she proffers a tentative smile, trying to assure the poor frightened villager by letting her know somebody at least is aware of her consternation. "Thank you for trying to feed her, we have a time of it just keeping her away from the cocoon...!" Back to Djhala, she finishes, "And... um, then _he_ sent...!" Skywise achieves the result he'd gone for, though Peyote's serving tray does bear a mark on it from the impacts with Oriolle's form. No, he didn't hurl it at her as though trying to crack her skull, but he knows it takes a fair knock on the head to really zonk someone out. He grimaces at the crumpled form that lay not far from where he stands, while Ynderra works on her. He then strolls over to Peyote to hand her the serving tray. Peyote makes a quick, subconconscious tally. Skywise is coming near. Derra's working on the fallen Ree, and Djhala's busy. No one's really paying much attention to her, and so... Peyote, the perfect little villager and always having to be at the center of attention, cowers until Skywise draws near, then, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead, seems to faint dead away! Oh woe is Peyote that her favorite tray has a dent, her perfectly selected and presented foods are laying scattered in the dust, and her jar of clear crisp spring water has all but soaked into the dry desert ground! Woe, indeed! Dusk takes a few steps closer while trying to sort things out. Think, think..oh, yes. ** It's Doreel, isn't it? Even wrapped? ** It's enough to make the normally cheerful, carefree elf in fur frown. Somewhere is a memory of that one dating all the way back to her days as a cub. ** Nothing but trouble, that one. ** Djhala groans quietly, rubbing his face with his hands. "Scar the High Ones." Digging his fingers through his hair, he scrubs at his scalp before muttering, "This whole healing thing is taking too sun-cracking long. Savah and Kiralee had better get moving on it..." He begins to limp forward towards Oriolle's crumpled form, favoring the foot he'd banged into the boxes, while re-settling his kilt about his hips. "Yes, it's Doreel," Djhala gruffly answers Dusk. "And Oriolle. And this -tree-." He scowls at the latter, then turns his sightless head to give an uncanny illusion of looking directly at Rillwhisper. "Move him. Tonight. She associates him with the tree, and the tree with him; move him to the south side of the village. It'll keep her wondering for a few days, and maybe I can persuade Savah that she's dithered around on him long enough." Rillwhisper inclines her head sharply, sheathing her knife and then beckoning at Ynderra to get the young healer's aid. Doreel isn't exactly bulky... but he _is_ tall, and it will take more than one Wolfrider to carry the cocoon that conceals him. "We'll keep him asleep," the Wolfbringer pronounces curtly, "through 'Derra's means or mine. But somebody needs to keep _her_ distracted. He's drawing her, somehow. She's only stayed away from the cocoon when we chase her off, or when Kiralee's come to mend her." "There was something else besides treeshaping in that magic I felt off her," Ynderra adds, uncertainly. "He might still have a hold on her." ** I'll help, if you need. ** Dusk volunteers as she pads softly over towards Rillwhisper and Ynderra. Wrapped, Doreel shouldn't pose much of a threat, yet...look at what's just happened. ** Can't someone keep her shut in someplace until this is done with? ** she wonders, gesturing towards the downed Oriolle. ** If she's coming out to find him? ** Djhala scowls down at the ground, kicking thoughtfully at where one of the young live-oak tree's roots breaks the surface between the tiles. He looks like he's -really- disliking this whole 'burden of authority' thing. "Fire take it all," he mutters, then speaks a bit more loudly. "Tomorrow we find out how easily she finds him. Every time she narrows it down, we move him the next night. And when Savah and Kiralee go in, somebody sits on her head up in the caves." He looks over at Rillwhisper, Ynderra, and the volunteering Dusk. "Fine. Not the south part tonight, though. Pick a place, east or west. I know there are a few empty huts that have been built for the Festival; use one of them. Find me tomorrow morning and tell me where; I'm going back to tell Savah that it's time and past that Doreel gets taken care of." Rillwhisper nods again, once and brisk, gesturing Ynderra on into the cottage with her to fetch the captive Firstborn. "He's not heavy, Dusk," comes Rill's voice from within the cottage. "I think 'Derra and I can manage him. Elder, do you need Dusk to move Ree?" With that, there are shuffling sounds on the tail end of her call, and in moments Ynderra begins to reappear, walking backwards with one end of a silvery burden in her arms. Skywise gives an over exasperated sigh as he sees Peyote nearly fall to the ground, catching the maiden before she hurdles towards the ground. Seems there's far too many women falling for him today! He lifts Peyote up into his arms, serving tray still in hand and looks to the others that're gathered here. They seem to have everything taken care of, in his eyes anyways. "I'm going to take Peyote back home." He mentions, skirting along the others as they decide what they're going to do about Oriolle and Doreel and heading back towards the Dancing Square. Dusk turns towards Djhala to await his answer after she's nodded to Rillwhisper. Taking a step closer, she peers at Oriolle again, her first really good look at the elf. ** How odd.. ** she remarks, looking back up and towards Ynderra with the wrapped shaper. Djhala grumbles. "Yes. Dusk, if you can lift her, take her back up to the wolfrider caves up that ways," and he gestures most vaguely in almost the appropriate direction. "I forget with whom she is staying. If you have to, find a cave, put her down, then come back and get bedding for both of you. Unless you find out where she's been staying, stay with her until tomorrow morning, and -keep-her-up-there-. At least until they tell me where they've stashed Doreel; I'll let you know after that." Djhala gives a half-wave, and turns around, walking -- okay, limping, he DID wham his foot fairly solidly against those boxes -- back towards the Hall of Memory, and the bed he'd left. Apparently he doesn't expect Dusk to have any problems lifting the bone-thin Ree. Rillwhisper follows Ynderra out, bearing up the other end of Doreel's cocoon. True to her word, she and the healer don't seem to be having much of a problem carrying the Mad One; if he'd fed Ree on little more than dreams and rain, he scarcely seems to have fed himself on much more. "Send to me if you need aid," Rill advises Dusk. "Or your father." Soon enough though she and Ynderra are out of sight, heading in the direction that Djhala has ordered. Rillwhisper's last muttered words as she and the healer depart are: "Cursed good thing it's night, if we have carry him through the village...." That leaves the silver-haired maiden, lying like a plucked flower where she's sprawled. Dusk's answer to Djhala is just a quick nod, lips thinning in thought as she makes with getting Oriolle hoisted up in her arms. She /is/ lighter than expected, and seems to be on the fragile side compared to the elves Dusk's used to being around. ** I will. ** she promises, a bit of wonder and confusion still evident in her expression as she starts off for the caves with her 'cargo.' See what timing brings? [End log.]