"The Clear Skies of Sanity" Log Date: 10/19/04 Log Cast: Doreel, Ynderra Log Intro: After dallying among the Cat Elves for the past couple of turns of the seasons, Ynderra's conscience has finally nagged her into moving on so that she can continue her search for Kai, her missing lifemate, and Myriel, her missing sister. Derra has found neither of them in the jungles, and neither has she found Kai's mother Jeela, the only other elf she can think of who might be able to enlighten her about Kai's whereabouts. She has found another elf, though--the last elf she would expect to find wandering alone on the savannah. Doreel, the Firstborn who has caused more than a little havoc for Lostholt over the years and who was healed in Sorrow's End by half a dozen magic-users, has left the Sun Village in aimless wandering. And now Ynderra has found him. Terrified at first, the Wolfrider healer has quickly discovered that the work done upon the elder seems to have had an effect: he not only seems far more coherent than she remembers, he seems to feel remorse for his past deeds. Moreover, he seems oddly, pitiably eager for companionship--and thus, much to her own shock, Derra has agreed to let him travel with her northward. Now, as the two of them continue their journey, she begins to enlighten the ancient elf on certain matters he has never learned during his solitude. Such as why a Wolfrider healer may not consider herself to be 'tainted' in the slightest.... ---------- No matter how grand the shelter, still a few stray lines of light filter into the abode constructed. Unfortunately for Doreel, he is sleeping in such a position that one of said rays of light crosses over his face and causes him to wake early. Work towards an evening schedule will be achieved later in the day, perhaps resting some of the afternoon so that the elder will have energy to carry on further than the night before. Sitting up after waking, he rummages about for the second fruit that was given him the night before - hunger has stricken and he's going to sate it. A precursary glance is given to where Ynderra slept, to see if she's still sleeping or his shuffling about has roused her. She hasn't quite roused yet. And it's with reluctance that she curled up in the little den in the tree to begin with--but her senses, magical and otherwise, told her only that it felt like any den that might have been back at the Holt in the Father Tree. So Ynderra's curled up there, her small form tense even in sleep, her dark brows crinkled over her closed eyes. Still sleeping... but lightly, the slumber of a restless little she-wolf. Unnervingly, Doreel sits where he'd slept, blue eyes watching Ynderra for a good few minutes before his gaze lowers to the fruit in his hand. He works on getting the juicy center out of it, with occassional glances towards the sleeping she-wolf. He keeps his distance, not wishing to be in the wake if she woke up with a start at his presence too closeby. Instead, he just observes her with silent contemplation while putting pieces of fruit in his mouth for chewing. Not pale like the residents of the place you've come to learn is called Sorrow's End--though her skin has been tinged with gold. Possibly from the light of the Daystar. Small as the vast majority of elves you've seen in recent seasons, too; dainty, though not to the point of frailty. Ynderra seems to glow with health... possibly due to thhat trace of power that lurks about her. As you watch, though, she twitches and stirs, frowning unhappily in her sleep. Behind closed lids her eyes dart back and forth, and a tiny groan sounds in the back of her throat. Not exactly sleeping the best himself through the night, Doreel had a number of shifting fits in his dreams - though nothing unbearable. ** Something troubles your sleep. ** His mind-voice speaks, just a light brushing against the other's mind. If it was meant for her to hear is untold, even if it is spoken as though it was to her. Some part of him wishes to touch, though he knows he shouldn't. She'd forsaken the empty hand he offered to her the prior evening - there's no reason to believe she'd accept it now. A slender hand pushes some of his hair back over his shoulder instead, to quell that urge. Whether it was meant for her to hear or not, that light mental contact is enough. Ynderra starts, shivers, and without much else in the way of fanfare, her eyes fly open. For a few moments she lies where she is, rolling onto her back and panting a little as she tries to re-establish where she is and how she'd gotten here... oh yes. Right. When memory returns, she sits up, peering out of the little nook in the tree, uncertainly. "Um. Yes," she answers, not knowing what else to say if the Firstborn has witnessed her sleeping badly; she can't exactly deny it. "Er. Hello." Having managed to finish the end of the fruit, Doreel sets aside the seed and peel nearby where he'd put the other the night before. He seems surprised at her reaction, however, a slight start from him as she moves. ** What troubles your sleep? ** He asks, with a hint of concern. Seems she's not the only one who can try and help - or so he thinks he is. ** Good morning. ** He adds afterwards, giving her a few moments to collect herself without forcing her to answer the question he'd imposed on her. What, stumbling across the elf who has a history of scaring most of her tribesmates and clouding the minds of hapless maidens isn't enough to unsettle her slumber? It is, actually, but Ynderra knows better than to say that. And it honestly also isn't the only answer. She chews her lower lip, sighs, and clambers out of the niche in the tree, to stand up and stretch and rub a hand across her eyes. "It's a long story," she says sheepishly. Having not dragged himself up out of his sitting position, Doreel remains such a few more moments after the much smaller Ynderra climbs out of the niche. He follows, afterwards, though does keep his distance from her. Mustn't touch. ** We have a long walk. ** He suggests, not forcing her to spill it out but making it an offerance - even if it's with information about him and the discomfort he causes her. At first, at least, Ynderra seems occupied with retrieving her belongings and systematically looking over them to make sure all is where she thinks it is, and to verify that nothing needs repair. So far, so good. Then she pauses and considers the tree, wondering whether shaping it back to its prior form might not be a good idea--after all, the way it is now, it might scare off potential beasts that might need a denning place, with the aura of magic. But then, if it was shaped back, it'd still smell like magic, wouldn't it? She sighs, glances upward at her companion unsurely, and finally ventures, "Well, maybe not that long a story. I've been looking for missing kin of mine. I... worry about them." Having left the staff he carries outside of the makeshift den, Doreel collects it along with the other belongings of his that have been settled for the evening of rest. Daylight plays on the slender oldster, and even if he didn't look ethereal before with the daystar shining off his flaxen strands of hair, he does now. He follows her gaze to the shaped domicile, and leaves it to her judgement and undoing as he's apparently prepared to leave it as is. ** Me also. Missing kin. What have you lost? ** Ynderra stops in the middle of slinging her bow into place on her shoulder, thinking about that question; her hand strays to the panther pendant she's shaped for herself as a memento of staying among the Cat Elves, and her small fingertips rub unthinkingly along the smooth surface of the wood. Then she sighs, and with distant eyes says softly, "My sister." She pauses, for one heartbeat, for two. And then she adds, much more softly, "My lifemate. They're... not dead... at least, I don't think. I _think_ I'd know it if they were." There's a suspicious uncertainty looking under that grave statement, though. "But I haven't... seen them for many turns of the seasons." Taking a moment to run fingers through his hair as though to get it somewhat orderly after a night of fitful sleep, Doreel keeps his gaze on the she-elf much shorter in stature. "Your sister." He repeats, his voice less than smooth from lack of usage. It's then that he simply readjusts how his packs are resting on his back, and takes a few steps in the direction they should be heading - or at least he believes they should. ** How many turns? Do you know? ** Something can be told from that send, that his perception of time is not quite reliable. She'd been going to ask about setting out--but since Doreel seems prepared, she goes ahead and gets into motion as well, hoisting her knapsack up along opposite her bow upon her shoulders. Setting out on a bearing somewhere between Sun-Goes-Down and Hubward, the maiden keeps to a leisurely pace--remembering that her companion hadn't exactly moved quickly. Going to have to keep an eye on that, she resolves. Anything jumps us, how fast can he run? And even as she moves, hearing Doreel actually speak seems to startle her. She blinks up at him, considering the sound of his voice, and what she actually says is, "Um, if you prefer to send... that's all right. I don't mind." Just don't go sending any dreams of leafy sleepy goodness into her head, and she'll be fine. Er. Mostly. Pre-emptively jumping her assessment, indeed, Doreel is prepared to set out. He doesn't continue speaking, however, returning to the comfort of sending. ** It is more comfortable. ** He admits, since as his voice betrays the lack of usage. He has picked up the pace a bit more than the night prior, the rest and food doing his body well and allowing him better strides than the smaller ones he'd started off with then. Long legs are good for something, at least. ** Are you going back to your tribe? ** He asks, looking at her askance though he doesn't pause in his steps. The soft tapping of the staff he carries is heard as it hits the ground from time to time, not always on every step. Before recieving a response, he returns his gaze towards the horizon they're headed towards. Questions. Quite a few of them. Well--he did say he had several. Ynderra thinks about them as they walk, taking at least some comfort in the smell of the early morning and the breeze wafting across the savannah. Not so hot at this hour--not a bad time for travelling. Most of the night predators are denning down--but the daytime ones, well. She'll just keep an eye out. "I know if you're used to sending, talking hurts your throat. Kind of why I usually talk, just so I don't have to waste magic on fixing what I could just keep fixed by using, you know? And I'm not all that good at sending anyway. But I can hear you all right, so, um." She sighs, walking lightfootedly along, barely disturbing the grasses with her passing. And she decides to answer the latter question first. "I'm... not quite ready to go back yet. I wasn't heading back there even before I bumped into you. I have some things to work out. And, well... the other thing you asked..." Her gaze, blue and melancholy, tracks out to that distant horizon as well. "I... kind of stopped counting. Wolfriders aren't too good with time anyway, and it was depressing me to keep track." Her mouth quirks into something that might almost be a smile, except for that melancholy stare. "Not so long that I've lost their scents or faces, but long enough ago that I can't quite recollect why I was such an idiot about the fight I had with Kai to begin with." Doreel has his gaze mostly affixed upon the horizon - out there, not where he's standing or walking. Oblivious, perhaps, but he's made it this long, surely he has some skill in keeping himself alive and whole. ** I don't know where I'm going. ** He admits, the truth there staggering as though he himself had just come to this realization. ** There is nobody I know left. ** He adds, though doesn't exactly look over at her to see if she has any sort of reaction to this statement. He continues walking, and nods at her sentiments, ** I hope you find them. Both. ** And with that he does offer a brief fleeting smile, a shimmer of something that could look fairly decent on him should he impliment it more often. The maiden catches the smile, blinks a bit, and more or less manages to hold back her startlement. _Maybe we did accomplish something in Sorrow's End,_ she marvels in passing; maybe Doreel _has_ changed. This Doreel, at least, is... friendly. She can work with this. And although there's still reserve lingering about her expression, she even offers a bit more of a smile back. "Thank you," she answers earnestly. "I've... been doing this a while now, and no sign of them yet, but maybe I'll get lucky. And work stuff out on the way. Mother did a walkabout like this when she lost Father. So." She spins around a bit as she walks along, just for the sake of seeing everything in all directions, and ponders the admission given her. "Well, um. Right now you're going kind of between Hubward and Sun-Goes-Down with _me_. And I'm... well. There are tribes this way, though it'll be some eights of days before we get near any of 'em. I was thinking of looking at those Holts for Kai and Myriel. Maybe looking at the Vastdeep Water, too. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't really know anybody in the tribes I'm going to go see, either. So we'll be kind of even." ** You have direction, you have a purpose. ** Doreel corrects his statement, in the fact that he may know which direction they're heading but for what purpose? Why is he out here in the tall grasses walking about? This he doesn't even know, and as such Ynderra might be stuck with an ancient elf for longer than she ever suspected. The smile fades, back down to the solemn expression he had before. There's some heady anticipation in him before he adds, ** These other holts, are they like your kind? ** Your kind, being wolfriders, of course, and not the impressively tall type of elf that he is. Ah, so now we're getting to something of the more pertinent matter--for both of these oddly matched companions. Ynderra actually lets out a small burst of self-deprecating laughter. "Purpose--aye, that's kind of the whole point of what I need to work out while I'm out here." She considers what to say next, and then goes on as she ambles, "Some of 'em. Wolfrider tribes. But there are Sea Elves living by the Vastdeep, too." That she's heading in a direction that swings nearer to Blue Mountain momentarily darkens Derra's eyes; what to say about that? Um. "There are... other elves in the world. More like you. I mean, older. And taller. But they don't tend to like elves like me very much." She can do a retreat back to solemnity, too. But hey. It's the truth. Arching a brow at the short burst of laughter, Doreel doesn't quite know what to make of that. His gaze looks around, as though expecting to see some of these elves pop out of the foliage and grasses lingering in the area. ** Like me. Can you point me in that direction when we get closer? ** He asks, though, not meaning that he'll /go/ that way, just that he wishes to know. ** You are estranged from purity, mixed, and changed. ** He assesses, his gaze falling on her form in a manner that might even make her skin crawl with the way he's looking at her. That's broken after a few moments, and his gaze again lingers on the horizon. He's not about to change her this day, he's not. The look does sit uneasily upon the maiden, and her expression shows it--but after a moment's hesitation, she meets that look and returns it long enough to say, "That's why elves who are more like you don't tend to like elves like me very much. They keep talking about how we Wolfriders are... impure, or tainted, or whatever word you want to use, and you know what? It gets really hurtful really fast." Now she does pull her gaze away, her features turning stoic. "Especially when you consider that we are what we are because Timmain had to make her great change, her great sacrifice, to let us _live_. She _said_ so. My grandsire and granddam were there when she told my tribe." Then she frowns, her brow crinkling, as it occurs to her that you might be old enough to have _known_ Timmain, for all she knows. But she doesn't say that. Perhaps because of the old hurt lurking in her eyes, now. ** It wouldn't be called a sacrifice, if it wasn't exchanging something greater for something lesser. Would it? ** Doreel retorts, though he's not quite being spiteful about it. He glances towards her, then back on the horizon, there's no worry about him changing her without her knowledge - at least not at this point. He believes it, or else he wouldn't be able to send it, would he? He doesn't say anything else afterwards, however, no follow up apology, also no offer to help rid her of the taint either. Ynderra fiddles with her pendant more as she walks, but considers the answer, and the manner in which it's given. A flush comes up under her tan--clearly, this is a topic about which the maiden feels ardently--but she also seems to have enough wisdom to keep from blurting out too impulsive an answer. And she also reverts to sending. As she's said, hers is not the strongest of sendings. But it's there, a small bird's cry against the greater sweeping flight of the mind of the Firstborn. ** I don't think that's a fair judgment, ** comes the she-elf's reply. ** And this is why--I don't think that there's _anything_ greater than _life_. Which is what Timmain gave us. Sure, we're little. But so are a lot of the other elves in the world, even the ones who aren't Wolfriders. We all got little, except for the Gliders and the Underworlders, really. Because it was easier for us to live that way. And aye, I've got wolf-blood in my veins. But so what? I still send, I dream, I feel, I _live_. And I like living. I'm glad Timmain did what she did because it let me be here. ** Doreel slows in his steps, but there's no stopping. They've only been walking a short while and there's not yet a real reason to stop. ** You're a healer, you could make yourself whole, untainted, and still alive and more like me. ** What's this? Does he think he's some sort of grander being than her? Or does he simply long for someone to be more like him so he feels that he's not alone. ** There's many of your kind? Not so many of mine? ** Derra sighs. As patiently as she can--and there is genuine patience interlaced through her mind's voice, though there's frustration there as well--she explains, ** But you see, Doreel, I _am_ whole. My wolf-blood's as much a part of me as my magic is. It's all part of what makes _me_. Besides... ** She blows out her cheeks in a long exhalation of air, and grimaces. ** I _am_ a healer. And I'm... I'm good. But I don't know if I could do the whole make-a-tall-elf-out-of-myself thing. And to be honest, I'm not sure I'd want to. Every time I've seen it happen to someone, _every single time_, it hasn't been a happy experience. And it's always been against the elf's will to start with, which doesn't help. ** Several more paces she walks; several more paces, she alternates between scanning the horizon and the grasslands around her, and stoically glancing at her feet. Her hand keeps fidgeting with her pendant, her small thumb rubbing along the wood. ** And I guess that depends on what you mean by your kind. If you're talking about tall elves, the Gliders and the Underworlders are tall. They even have magic, a lot of 'em. ** Now, more emotion wells across her sending--not disdain, necessarily. More like a profound wariness. And she goes on bluntly, ** But like I said--they don't tend to like elves like me very much. And they're the ones who have done all the shaping of elves I know about... ** And then she trails off. And adds, her eyes very distant, ** Besides you. ** Noting the patience, as much as the frustration, Doreel falls unnaturally silent. He'd been.. not exactly a chatterbox, but at least sociable until this point. Chewing on what was said to him, perhaps, but either way he walks in silence until she's finished sending to him. ** You seem uncertain. ** He surmises, before adding, ** You worked hard trying to get me free, get me whole. I can remember, at least pieces. Do you trust your abilities, your magics? ** He asks, glancing at her with a levelling expression and then back to the horizon that's so often captured his gaze. He doesn't send anything after that for a while, continuing to walk with what could be called a slightly less than brisk pace across the lands and hoping to get further today than he did the day prior. ** I have dwelled.. many turns of the seasons. A time before there was your kind, so small. Or, if there were... ** He trails off, trying to figure out just exactly what he does remember. There's no anger, or pity, not even self-pity in his mind voice. Simply an attempt on trying to think, which draws silence over him. ** I don't know. ** Foggy minded elf, this one, that much is apparent even without the sending - his gaze seems somewhat distant. Silence while walking isn't a bad thing. Ynderra can be a chatterbox--but she's also grown an appreciation for the simple peace of nature and moving through it. And so she doesn't rush her tall bright-haired companion. If nothing else, she has to make a small face at what he's asked her. As the two walk along the sun gains greater strength in the sky, and Ynderra has to admit one thing--the clear blue beauty of the sky overhead, with sunlight pouring through it, does lift her spirits. And so she's not even too terribly embarrassed as she sends at last, ** Um. Usually I do. Trust in my magic, that is. ** ** You are much like me, in magics. ** Doreel comments, though if it is truely to her or the ramblings of a idly distracted elder is difficult to tell. She had said she was a healer, as well as a shaper - like him, even if it was plants and nothing beyond that she could shape. Much alike, but still so very different, these two. He remains walking in silence, quietude seeming to take over his features. ** We will stop soon for a time, rest... So I can walk more in the evening. Work towards your schedule. ** He suggests. Derra smiles, sheepishly. ** Not like you, golden one, ** she corrects. ** I _did_ see your grove. I couldn't do that all by myself if I tried. It almost flattened me. ** Well, even aside from the dream-inducing flowers, but let's not get into that, shall we? ** And sure, we can do that, if you wish. Probably as the sun gets higher we'll want shade anyway. Doesn't get as hot out here as it does on the Burning Waste, but still. But you probably know that already. ** And that smile's still there, still a trifle sheepish... but _there_. Quirking a bit of a smile at the nickname she'd chosen for him, Doreel shakes his head. ** I had much time there, young one. ** He decides on that for the moment, since he feels somewhat infinite at the moment. There's something that only time can do to an elf, and while not every year weighs heavily on him the sheer amount of them do at times. ** It would be best, if we are to turn to walking during the time that you prefer. ** He comments, glancing ahead for a place to hunker down for more of the day. Something has changed in him, there might be the vacant look from time to time, but for the most part he's there, he's aware, and he's not mistaking elves for trees. And as far as Ynderra is concerned, that's a distinct improvement. That, almost more than the pure sunlight washing across the morning sky, raises her spirits--for he begins to seem like an _elf_. An elf who can think and live and send and dream as elves do. The weight of that immeasurable time she senses, too, oh, she cannot help but see it. She doesn't even need to hear it coloring his sending; her healer's heart and healer's eye spots it clearly enough giving form to his expressions alone. ** Good thought, ** she agrees, and she doesn't stint on letting approval warm her sending. Hey, formerly insane, now thinking coherently! That needs to be encouraged. She even throws in a bigger smile for good measure, her normally irrepressible spirit bubbling up to fill the back of her mind with possibilities. _High Ones... if he -can- truly live with elves again..._ She can't finish the thought, but only because she has no words within her for the enormity of that single idea. ** I have a little project I want to work on anyway and it's easier to do that when I'm not walking. Would you like to pick our next denning spot? ** Already looking for one such of those places, Doreel points off in the distance at one more copse of trees out further. His intentions made clear, he starts towards those which is just a little off the path from where they were heading - but not so far so that it can't be made back in quick time. Yes, he does seem far more coherent, more like an elf and not entirely loopy. ** What project? ** He asks, glancing towards her and finding that larger smile directed towards him. Of course, that illicits the response from him to flash a bit larger of a smile - which does brighten his features considerably. He seemed brooding otherwise, but with the smile crossing his features there's more to him than some brooding oldster. ** I'm trying to figure out how to make a flute, ** the maiden sends, and now there's no other word to describe her mind's touch but _cheerful_. For now, at least, her reserve seems to have allowed this glimmer of brighter spirit to shine through. ** I've got some wood bits I'm going to play with that I collected on the way out of the jungle. But I'm not sure if I can shape them since I took them off of trees some time ago. And I can't usually walk and shape at the same time, so it's easier to do when I'm taking a break! ** She adjusts her course to match yours willingly enough, and adds, ** By the way, you should do that more often. ** ** Do what, more often? ** Doreel asks, continuing along the path with relative ease towards the designated copse of trees. Nothing terribly large, just a few sparse trees that barely block the light of day - but it beats the surprising lack of anything larger in the expanse. ** Do you mind if I watch? Have you never shaped a flute before? ** He continues to ask his questions, though they're still light hearted. Now Ynderra actually grins. ** Not once, but I've seen one that got shaped before, and I have at least an _idea_. Got to see if I actually have the ear for the right notes, though. The tough part's going to be if I can shape wood I've been carrying around a while. And hey, if you don't mind watching a cub like me at work, be my guest. ** Her brows quirk up a bit, and she cants her head for a moment, pondering that other question. Then she explains, with rather more of that patience that glimmered in her send before, ** Smile. It suits you. ** Making it to the copse in relatively fast time, Doreel glances around though doesn't actually seem terribly interested in shaping at the moment. A strange change, perhaps, but he looks for one of the more shady trees to start putting his things down. ** I don't mind watching. ** He admits, then arches a brow at the later send. He doesn't seem quite certain on how to take it, so with a rather meek looking smile he nods and sits down so he's a more managable height for her to take in - not the towering elf over her he is when standing. Gently, Ynderra notes as she scouts around the little copse herself, ** Tall elves or short, we have that in common: smiles are good things. ** Her gaze keeps darting this way and that, and if she isn't necessarily companionable enough to sit down right beside the ancient quite yet, she's relaxed considerably. Sane and reasonable behavior goes a long way to quelling nervousness, after all--and she's committed to travelling with him now, so she's determined to make the best of it. ** All right, well, maybe you can help me out, too, if you think of any advice. ** Comfortably, she divests herself of bag, bow, and quiver, laying the latter two within easy reach as she ferrets through her little store of belongings. She draws out lengths of wood not much longer than her own forearm, some thicker than others, the largest a splintering remnant of branch. She's been walking along with that bumping at her hip? Apparently! ** I'm not sure yet which of these'll actually take best to making a flute, so I thought I'd experiment, you know? Some of the jungle woods I've found I have a harder time shaping. Maybe because they're different kinds of trees down here than the ones around the Holt. ** Pulling his hair back once he sits down, Doreel seems intent on getting the mass of it bundled up a bit. No braids, just making sure it's not splaying out everywhere and getting itself tangled against trees and whatnot. Another brief smile fleets across his features at the first send, and afterwards, he pulls his legs up to wrap his arms around them comfortably. He's not disturbed that she's not sitting closer to him - it's not like you can expect someone to go from being shocked and disturbed to see you, to being friendly and cozy, afterall. ** Advice? ** He asks, watching as the lengths of wood get drawn out of the belongings. ** It is different wood than was in my grove. ** He admits, looking to the pieces that were brought out. Four of them, ranging from the thick splintering fragment of branch to a slender section barely thicker than her delicate wrist. This last Ynderra considers, and then thoughtfully stashes back into the bag. ** That's too little, I think, ** she asserts, ** even if I like the wood. Maybe I'll make something out of that later. ** She lines the three remaining up before her, between herself and the elder, and thinks. Her dark curly head bobs thoughtfully. ** Mm. Grandfather taught me about different woods feeling different. They seem harder down here than the trees I grew up around. Still _trees_, but they grew different. ** With that, her smile quirks up a bit more. ** Like elves have grown different, all over the place. Little elves where there isn't much food... or brown ones, in hot places like Sorrow's End. ** Doreel looks between the remaining pieces of wood with his blue eyes, then glances up towards her afterwards. He points out one of the middle pieces of wood, one of the fairly dense ones that should make a fairly sturdy flute, long enough as well. ** That one, I hazard. ** He doesn't even touch it, just points to it and lets her decide if he's right or not. Afterwards, he leans back against his backrest of a tree, and watches her silently - unwrapping his arms from around his legs to do so. ** Is there not much food where you are from, then? ** Small elf, little food. Right.... ** Well, usually there is. I mean, if you're Wolfrider-sized and your tribe isn't too big. There've been tribes that had to split up because they were getting too big for one Holt to support them. Sometimes, though, the food gets scarce even now. There was a famine a few turns of the seasons back, in our Holt. It happens sometimes. ** She considers the suggested piece, taking it up in her small hands. For a moment she just holds it... and then, a pale green-golden glow kindles around her fingers as she starts taking a 'look' into the wood just to see what's there. Doreel watches the piece of wood get checked out, blue eyes fixed on the smaller elf's hands and himself leaning back against the tree. He seems relaxed, comfortable, and intent on watching her without too much distraction caused to her. He nods at what was sent, but other than that he just watches with curiosity and a placid expression on his face. ** What do you think? ** She considers, and without thinking about it, her features grow more at ease; perhaps at least on some level she _does_ trust in her power, and in the simple joy of letting it free. Once more tucking her lower lip beneath her teeth, she considers. ** It's harder than pond reeds, ** she reports. ** That's what Rillwhisper's flute was made out of. Shaping that one was probably easy, though, because reeds already kind of grow in the right shape and you just have to figure out what section to use and where to put the holes. ** ** It'll make a good flute, then. ** Doreel sends with a nod, once the assessment is made. He does give her a smile, should she look at him, but otherwise he just watches her quietly. Legs shifting to a comfortable position, he taps his fingers on the staff beside him thoughtfully. ** It might take longer to shape, but will be worth the effort. I can help, if you need. ** Derra looks up, and takes in the smile and the offer as one. Oof. Another tricky question? But well--she's already let him shape a den, so there can surely be no harm in letting him shape some of something much smaller. _Healthy_ use of magic, she muses, is a good thing too. ** I'd appreciate the assistance, ** she sends agreeably, ** if this wood isn't too old to shape by now, and if you know how to make flutes. ** With that, she quirks her head again. ** Do you know how to _play_ them? I should warn you I haven't ever tried to play one, either. ** Ah, and there's her sheepish smile back. ** But I've been told I carry an adequate tune, anyway! ** Doreel considers for a long moment, going back in his memory and then forwards again. ** If you just show me, I can. ** A mental picture, of course, of what she's looking for. His lips thin out at the last question and a brief shake of his head is given. ** If I knew how, I've forgotten. ** He admits, though does offer a half smile at the last statement. ** I'd like to hear sometime? ** Blue eyes blink, and Ynderra considers. No time like the present. There's a ripple of assent from her thoughts; then, as she turns the segment of wood about in her glowing palm, looking for just the right way to shape it down to the proper length, she begins to sing. Her voice is not absolutely perfect, but many of its notes are pure and true--and the song is one she clearly knows by heart. "Once we follow the starways, we children of light... the High Ones, yes they knew the reason... now we run on the ground, and we hunt in the night... uncaring, we follow the seasons. And we howl at the moons, and we run to the kill, with companions of fur, and of cunning... we survive in the ruin and take pride in our skill, and find freedom and joy in the running!" With the high, sweetly sung words come a small flurry of images. A she-elf older than Ynderra herself, with red-golden hair and green eyes and the pond-reed flute in her hands, playing. A brown elf of the Sun Village, playing a flute held vertically before him in the middle of the chaotic cheer of the Festival of Flood and Flower. A secondhand image, handed down from older members of the tribe: one of the Go-Backs with a flute carved out of bone. Looking down at the glowing palm, Doreel seems interested in the way she's shaping the piece of wood - that is until she starts singing. His gaze is uplifted then, looking at her though not exactly seeing, for the imaging comes with the words and he is lost to it. There's nothing in it that strikes him strangely, which is good - his sanity is safe for another day, and a lightly pleasured look comes across his features. Not a smile, perse, but one of enjoyment in listening. The tones are listened to more than the words, perhaps, but then he's got little appreciation for the wants and desires of the wolf-kin elves. Once the song is concluded, a larger smile flourishes over his features providing one with a sample of what Doreel could look like if he was truely happy, a fine featured, light colored, and oddly -healthy- looking elder. The madness is lost from his gaze at this moment, and all that remains are the clear skies of sanity in those blue eyes of his. Quite the change, indeed. [End log.]