"Sundering the Two Made One"

Log Date:
	3/5, 3/6, 3/10/03

Log Cast:
	Oriolle, Petalwing (emitted by Rayek), Suntop, Rayek, Rumor

Log Intro:
	For many moons the she-elf most recently known as Oriolle has
abided in Sorrow's End, under the watchful eyes of the Wolfriders who rescued
her from the remote forest Grove in which she'd been made the captive of the
mad shaper Doreel. There, Ree has begun to regain a hold upon her sanity,
thanks to the ministrations of the mind-healer Kiralee... but the Firstborn
who had changed her, who had made of her his captive, has also been in
Sorrow's End. And for all that she has begun to recover from the havoc Doreel
has wrought upon her memories, her sanity, and her very body, the compulsion
she has for his presence and his magic is far too strong.
	And so Ree has fled--goaded into escaping the village by the bodiless
guardian who has been her only link to reality through her travail in the
Grove, the spirit of the dead Wolfrider Thicket, trapped within her. Where
she must go, Thicket has not cared, so long as it is away from _him_. For
many days since Ree has wandered, both dreading and craving the presence of
trees...
	Until at last she has had the startling experience of encountering
the astral spirit of Suntop, son of Cutter and Leetah, who was seeking _her_.
The golden-haired vision had not been a dream, much to Ree's amazement...
and so she has allowed it to guide her to a place of safety, a place where
she might find some peace and where the spirit she carries within her might 
finally be set free...
	The Palace of the High Ones.

----------
Palace of the High Ones(#500Jae$)
You see before you a tall stone structure, taller by far than any elf or human 
  or troll. There is something odd about its appearance -- it almost seems to 
  blend in with its surroundings, at least if you are not close to it. But the 
  closer you get, the more it seems to *tug* at you, and show to you its 
  battered towers and spires. The nearest wall sports a long, winding ripple 
  that might once have been a mighty crack, and the nearest visible entryway, 
  a doorway at least as tall as two elves, sports a pair of heavy, ornate 
  doors.
Contents:
Rayek(#3218PJXace$0)
Suntop(#2935PIJUXacemt0)
Obvious exits:
Doorway <D>

Rayek carefully pushes open the door from inside the Palace and joins you.
Rayek approaches the huge stone structure.
Rayek has arrived.

Rayek
The first impression must be of great height, because he is tall, there are no 
  ways around that. Glider-tall and willow-thin, with a curious sort of grace 
  that comes of careful gestures and long, refined lines. Rich brown skin is 
  smooth and unmarked, punctuated -- no, contrasted -- by narrow amber eyes. 
  Raven black hair spills over his shoulders and down his back, unhindered 
  save the headband that keeps heavy locks away from his face.
He wears an outfit of black mothcloth and expertly-tanned doeskin. Black fox 
  fur frames his neck and shoulders, a sleek hood left unused. His tunic is 
  edged in dark red trim, a crimson sun framed by a halo of gold emblazoned in 
  the center. He wears a belt woven of corded leather, strong enough to hold 
  the ornate shortsword he keeps always at his side. His leggings are likewise 
  black, close-fitting, and tuck into sturdy boots. Framing it all is his 
  ever-present cape, sable on the outside with a more striking red reverse.
Carrying:
Petalwing

Crossing the Plains has been... an adventure.
Ree... for that is how she's been able to most comfortably think of herself, 
  to try to build more of a name than that in her memory sets off pangs of 
  fear no matter which direction her recollections try to take... has been 
  both loathe and desperate to leave the forest. She can't pass a tree without 
  her palms itching to touch it... and every spear she's tried to make for 
  herself has taken to warping strangely in her grasp every time she is 
  agitated. Which is often. But out on the GreenSea, where trees are fewer to 
  come by and the strange compulsion the green growing things have for her 
  despite her distance from Him is lessened, the breadth of the sky and the 
  smell of wind upon the grass brings tears to her eyes.
She's been half elated... for she begins to find some of her surroundings 
  _familiar_, for the first time since the strangers pulled her out of the 
  Grove. And half terrified, for the ghostly fair-haired vision has kept 
  coming back, periodically nudging her to keep moving across the 
  grass-blanketed land and not giving her a chance to flee into some of the 
  deeper hiding places she's begun to think she could find if she doesn't 
  think about it... too hard.
Now, though...
Ree stumbles to an exhausted halt once she comes in range of what the Vision 
  has claimed is her destination. And she drops to her knees in utter shock.

You know, probably the first thing that you're expecting to see is *not* a 
  Preserver, but it is the first thing that's going to flicker into sight, 
  despite what you might expect. Bright-winged Petalwing, *zinging* out of the 
  Palace as it BREEEEeeeedeeeDEEETs through the air. One might get the 
  impression from this flight that it doesn't get to fly around unchecked very 
  often. Probably -- possibly -- it doesn't.
But eventually, it circles back around, headed for the Palace doors again. 
  Having a Highthing drop to her knees abruptly like that, though, that draws 
  the attention. Petalwing zips over to peer at Oriolle curiously. 
  "Hellohello, Highthing!"

The silver-haired highthing -- her hair is rather not unlike wrapstuff, in hue 
  -- jolts in visible surprise when the winged sprite zips into her immediate 
  line of sight. It's enough, _just_ enough to actually pull some of her focus 
  away from the shining structure in front of her, but not enough to keep her 
  from trembling, or to keep her gaze from trying to slip past the Preserver 
  entirely unthinkingly. "Not the vision," she mumbles. Then, her delicate 
  features crinkle into a distinctly bemused frown, and in a gruffer tone she 
  almost barks, "... bug... one of the spitbugs..."

Petalwing beams! "Highthing tired? Come inside! Come and see and sit! Come 
  home with Petalwing!" Flit flit flit.

Slowly, the happily babbled words begin to make an impact. "Home?" Ree blurts, 
  sounding strangely lost even as she stares liquid-eyed up at the Palace's 
  nearest shimmering wall. "This... is your home?"

Petalwing bobs excitedly. "Yes, yes. Come inside. Come inside, highthing! Come 
  and see! Prettypretty highthing, come and see?"

Come inside, it says. That would seem to require getting up. But even standing 
  several yards away from the great glimmering structure, Ree can feel a 
  dizzying aura pouring off of it. It feels like sunshine, the sunshine she'd 
  drunk down so greedily in the Grove and in the desert village--
No, that's a tree thought. And she's _not_ a tree. She knows that now!
It feels like _Him_--
_NO_. She won't think that. But it does feel like--
"Magic," Ree squeaks, waveringly hauling herself back to her feet. The bug 
  barely needs to urge her. Even before it's done speaking she's begun to 
  stagger, almost drunkenly, closer to the Palace.

Petalwing oh-so-helpfully gets two fists full of leather and flaps twice as 
  hard in its attempt to help Oriolle to her feet. Once the silverhair 
  highthing is standing, it zips higher into the sky again, BRREEeeeeeeEEting 
  merrily. It darts to the doors and back again several times, no doubt adding 
  to the Palace's already dizzying effect. Then it announces, "Petalwing 
  brings more highthings!" And disappears into the Palace proper.

The she-elf makes it as far as the doorway... but not much farther, because 
  she finds herself needing to throw out a hand for support as her knees 
  threaten to buckle beneath her. Once her hand connects with the nearest 
  smoothly shaped surface of stone, she lets out a shuddering gasp and slams 
  her eyes shut, just standing there, her arm shuddering but her palm never 
  disconnecting from the place she's touched. It feels, she thinks wildly, 
  like thrusting her hand into a star...

He's a little disoriented himself as he spent so much time out of his body, 
  but at Petalwing's chirp, Suntop appears. Hesitating before he touches her, 
  as one would hesitate before reaching a hand into a fire, the mystic finally 
  kneels down to offer the elf support. ** Oriolle...come inside. It's 
  safe...I promise.** No longer insubstantial, the elf is similar, yet 
  different from how he first appeared to her.

Suntop
        Named for the sun-bright golden hair which curls softly just past his 
  shoulders, Suntop, although no longer a child, still retains the appearance 
  of innocence linked with that past time. But upon a closer, deeper look into 
  his brilliant blue eyes, that innocence seems to be intertwined with a 
  fierce will and power that seems far too old for his seemingly young age. By 
  all outward appearances with the exception of a darker hair, eye, and skin 
  color, Suntop strongly resembles his father, Cutter; he shares the 
  ferally-slanted eyes, high-cheekbones, turned-up nose, muscular build 
  (albeit slightly less broad in the shoulder) and delicate chin of his 
  father, but has the dark copper-hued skin of his mother, Leetah. About his 
  neck is his ever-present medallion of a translucent red stone rimmed in gold.
        It has taken the Mystic a couple of turns to get used to his new 
  position as Master of the Palace, but he has finally succumbed. Or grown 
  used to the new title and power. His clothing reflects the change, but he 
  has kept at least some aspects of his wolfrider heritage in his manner of 
  dress. Soft leather breeches hug his long legs snugly, knee-high boots of 
  indigo lace up, making his footsteps on the floor of the Crystal palace 
  nearly soundless. A white blouse of Sun-Village mothcloth is worn, the full 
  sleeves gathered at the wrist by leather bracers decorated with a sun 
  pattern. Draped across his shoulders is a sort of sleeveless robe dyed a 
  pale, sky blue. The robe is made of some shimmery fabric, not as light as 
  mothcloth, but not as heavy as leather. The back hem flares out in a slight 
  train behind him, the front hem falling just to the top of his boots. The 
  hem is decorated with sparkling threads in gold and indigo with touches of 
  red. 
Carrying:
Medallion

Ree, too, is rather more substantial than one might guess when perceived via 
  astral senses... if, at any rate, 'substantial' is a word that can be 
  applied to this maiden even in the flesh. Sunburned and disheveled, her hair 
  completely unbraided and fallen in loose waves over her travel-worn 
  leathers, she blinks leaf-green eyes at the newcomer... and stares. "You're 
  real," she mumbles.

Suntop's not the only one summoned by the bug. Once the Master of the Palace 
  has made his appearance, Petalwing goes for Rayek, and leads him back, 
  flying a goodly distance in front of the brownskin with a fistful of his 
  hair to act as a leash. "Let go," he all but growls at the Preserver. "I 
  could have followed you without your help."

Suntop gives a soft smile, ** Yes, I'm real. I'm glad you've come. ** Turning 
  about, he catches sight of Rayek being pulled by Petalwing, ** Rayek, this 
  is Oriolle... ** he sends openly.

Taking Ree's free hand doesn't require much effort. Getting her to pull 
  herself away from the Palace wall, on the other hand, might be a bit 
  trickier. She starts ever so slightly at Rayek's brusque arrival, and her 
  gaze flashes back and forth between both males; there's a certain air of 
  disconnectedness about her, though, almost as if she might be in a waking 
  dream. "Feels like shaping," she murmurs, her voice very small. "Shaping the 
  air... all over..."

Petalwing does let go of Rayek's hair, but it's only so that it can perch on 
  his shoulder and peek around his ear anyway. Rayek's gaze shifts between 
  Suntop and Oriolle in turn, and he nods, once, very slight dip of the chin. 
  ** Welcome, Oriolle. **

Turning his gaze from Rayek and Petalwing and back to Oriolle, Suntop's golden 
  brows crease at Oriolle's observation. ** It isn't ours to shape, Oriolle. 
  It just -is-. Come inside...we can talk better there... **

Sendings. They wash over her like rain, especially Suntop's, and Ree pulls in 
  an unsteady breath as she straightens up. "Inside," she echoes, bobbing her 
  tousled head slowly, dreamingly. Once she's standing, she curls her arms 
  about herself, hands rubbing unthinkingly at each opposite elbow. "So much, 
  we can feel it from out here, it shines, it shines...!" Her gaze drifts over 
  Rayek without any sign of recognition... but he, too, seems to provoke that 
  almost intoxicated reaction out of her. "Shines," she whispers tinily again, 
  even as she totters after Suntop.

Suntop frowns slightly at the female's comments, but as long as she's 
  following, it's a start. ** Are you hungry? Thirsty? We can set up a place 
  for you to stay... ** Glancing to Rayek, the mystic starts to head inside, 
  letting Oriolle follow.

Rayek follows after Suntop and Oriolle. Petalwing is brushed off his shoulder 
  with a squeak of protest.

You step through the doorway into...
You move away from the huge stone structure, stepping around the rubble that 
  litters its immediate vicinity.
Entry Hall - Palace(#8823RAFS)
High-ceilinged, airy, this chamber widens out from the doorway that serves as 
  its entrance from outside to an expansive room, filled with little more than 
  strangely ornate walls and the occasional column, rising up to the ceiling 
  far overhead. Closer inspection of the walls reveals patterns shaped into 
  their surfaces, sometimes of wings, or flowers, or the lithe forms of elves 
  -- and sometimes of images that defy description. The air is full of a 
  subliminal shimmer that plays at the edge of elfin senses, a tingle that 
  feels welcoming even in its eldritch oddness. Among the fanciful shapings in 
  this wide chamber can be viewed a 'black spiral' of rock resting on a low 
  column.
A long winding stairway twines its way up out of this chamber and into the 
  upper heights of this place; you might be able to find other ways out of 
  here, but the only other exit in immediate sight is the archway and doors 
  that lead outside.
Obvious exits:
Dark Passage <D>  Side Hall <H>  Archway <A>  Corridor <C>  Winding Stairs <U> 
   Doorway <O>

Suntop steps in from outside.
Suntop moves away from the huge stone structure nearby.
Suntop has arrived.

Rayek steps in from outside.
Rayek moves away from the huge stone structure nearby.
Rayek has arrived.

Ree's shivering only increases once she is inside, but it's almost incidental 
  so far as she is concerned. The tugs of both of the strangers, the shining 
  golden one who had appeared in her vision and the tall, dark, brooding one, 
  are overwhelmed in the sheer immense rush of sensation that floods her 
  within the Palace's walls. She stumbles a few steps away from Suntop, 
  blindly, turning this way and that. Her hands keep up their nervous motions, 
  one clutching at her arm while the other scrubs across her eyes, further 
  disheveling her hair. "Shines," she almost groans. "Blind..."

"Rayek..." is murmured as Suntop watches Oriolle's reaction to the interior, 
  "How can you see that and not agree that something isn't right?"

Rayek frowns more noticably than usual as he glances away from Oriolle. 
  Briefly, mind, long enough to meet Suntop's gaze, and then he's peering at 
  the maiden again. "I didn't say there wasn't something wrong. She's ... 
  troubled, that much seems very clear."

Troubled, and evidently at least momentarily oblivious to the two who have 
  brought her in. She stands swaying, face unthinkingly tilted upward as if 
  she were a flower seeking sunlight... even as tears begin to stream down her 
  hollowed cheeks. "Full," she mumbles in that tiny childlike whisper, "so 
  full!" A beat. Then a strangely different whisper, gruff, uncertain. "Den... 
  can't be a den..."

Moving to Oriolle, Suntop trues to still the hand that scrubs across her eyes, 
  ** Oriolle...how can we help you? What has happened to you? ** At the new 
  voice, the suncub looks quickly to Rayek, "That's the other one..."

Rayek's eyes narrow at that shift in voices, and at Suntop's comment. He takes 
  a step forward, closer to Oriolle, but not close enough to touch. The 
  airwalker is wary. ** Where have you been, maiden? <suspicion> Did someone 
  ... do something to you? **

Ree freezes as her hand is taken, and at the two sendings that touch her, her 
  attention rivets once more upon the two male elves. Her features quiver 
  uncertainly for a moment, and after a beat, two, the gruff whisper comes out 
  of hre again. "Ree. Other name's from _him_." Her entire stance changes as 
  this is uttered, subtly, something about it oddly wolfen for all that her 
  ridiculously fragile frame is anything but that of a Wolfrider's.

** What other name? ** Suntop asks, remaining close. ** What has happened to 
  you? May I see? It will just be more magic... ** Blue eyes look to the 
  taller female as if trying to see what causes the change in her stance...

The maiden's eyes narrow slightly, dainty brows winging down over them, as she 
  gives Suntop a level stare, incongruously piercing given her frail physique 
  and evident disorientation. Her hands come down, part of that alteration of 
  her stance; whatever it is, it makes her face take on a certain wariness and 
  her voice drop in pitch. "Shaper called her Oriolle," comes a grudging, 
  husky admission. "Name from _him_. Cub remembers 'Ree'."

"Shaper. *What* shaper? Who?" Insistant questions from the airwalker.

Suntop remains looking up at the taller female, unphased by her stare. He's 
  challenged wolfriders before and if she wants another, he will give it. ** 
  And who are you then? You, who speak now? **

This Other behind Ree's eyes doesn't have a stance of challenge, necessarily 
  -- more that of wary mother she-wolf with a cub behind her. But it seems to 
  take her effort to form an answer, as if she's not entirely... sure. 
  "...Thicket--" There's an ever so slight tinge of uncertainty, and it's 
  enough to tip the precarious balance between the two souls riding in the 
  same head. Rayek switching from sending to speech continues that tipping, 
  though it is only a tiny droplet removed from the vast ocean of tingling 
  sensation that still floods Ree's senses. She barely notices the difference, 
  even as she abruptly sways again, first to one foot, then to the other. Her 
  expression wavers. So does her voice, as she mumbles, "D-d-don't wanna 
  remember him! Made me a tree!" Taking a shaking step back, arms curling 
  tightly around herself again, she breathes yearningly, "Felt like this... 
  shining... blinding... remember, I remember, all the magic..."

** I don't think she heard you, ** Rayek announces to Suntop, then turns his 
  attention back to Oriolle. ** Thicket. Ree. Whoever you are. You must 
  remember who did this to you. **

Still watching Oriolle...or Thicket, Suntop slowly approaches her, ** 
  Thicket...How did you become a part of Oriolle? Or has she become part of 
  you? **

Suntop's query goes unnoticed, though. It's Rayek's prodding that gets through 
  first, and it provokes an immediate response.
** _I don't want to remember him_! **
Ree's vocal utterances have been rambling at best. But this sending explodes 
  from her with sudden force at Rayek's insistent prodding, powered not only 
  by a spike of fear from within the maiden, but by the ambient power in the 
  very air of the Palace as well. It rings like a silver bell, struck hard, 
  and hard on its heels comes a burst of incoherent images. Glimpses of what 
  must surely be Sorrow's End. A tree branch, warping underneath her hands. 
  _Her_ hand, seemingly stretching and changing into a branch itself, for all 
  that that image is insubstantial, like the memory of a dream. And someone 
  else's hands, glowing, glowing, wrapping her in a cloak of living wood--
With a choked cry, Ree jams both fists against her mouth and goes stumbling 
  further backwards, till she collapses to her knees once more.

Rushing forward as Oriolle collapses, Suntop goes to gently wrap his arms 
  about her shoulder. "Oriolle...give the memories to me." That sort of came 
  out without thought. "Give the memories of him to me and let us heal you. 
  Please..." Such suffering...

** !! ** That burst of wordless startlement is all that Rayek manages before 
  he's staggering too, eyes closed and head ducked against those images.. Not 
  as if he's been struck a blow but rather like he's struggling to stay on his 
  feet, which he may well be. Once he's gotten his balance, he lifts his head 
  again and opens his eyes. ** No! Suntop, you don't know what's wrong ...! **

Suntop looks over his shoulder at Rayek, ** They're just memories, Rayek. If 
  they're the reason for her mind-sickness, then we will know. ** Granted, he 
  may get the sickness...but apparently he isn't considering that risk.

As the golden-haired vision-stranger hastens to her side, Ree starts to 
  flinch... until he speaks. Perhaps it's his tone, perhaps it's the 
  deliberately gentle touch of his arms... and perhaps it's something else 
  seizing her attention. Something that sets off a lesser but nevertheless 
  distinct -- distinct, at any rate, if you happen to be Suntop -- ripple of 
  power through her and which solidly fastens her gaze upon him. Tears still 
  streaking down her face, she stares up at Suntop in rapt attention to him 
  now. "Others couldn't fix me," she says then, her voice gone small again, 
  profoundly plaintive.

As tempted as he is to look at the elf's poor, shaped body, Suntop continues 
  to meet her eyes. It may be dangerous to do this, as Rayek says, but perhaps 
  he's hidden in the Palace too long. "Will you let -me- try? I may not have 
  healing as they do, but I can try and ease your mind."

Suntop might not consider it a risk, but Rayek certainly does. He takes two or 
  three steps forward and stops again, gaze on the maiden.

Ree's features crinkle up uncertainly, but that Something...
It almost makes her cry again, what it seems she senses pouring off of Suntop 
  as if a small sun burned within him. It keeps her attention on him, though, 
  and at last it makes her nod. A tiny, timid nod, delivered as her lower lip 
  tucks under her teeth and her eyes go wide and guileless as a cub's... but 
  it's a nod.

Not looking away from Oriolle, Suntop says to Rayek, "Keep an eye on me. And 
  her. I don't think anyone else but you could bring me back." His father 
  would probably be furious as he essentially puts his life in Rayek's hands. 
  To Oriolle he first asks, "Will giving me the memories help?"

Rayek sets his jaw, but he nods and steps closer. He folds his arms across his 
  chest and takes up a wide-footed stance, as if his stubbornness will somehow 
  make a difference.

The maiden's gaze flickers unsurely up to Rayek... and for an instant, there 
  is that ripple within her as well, coming a second time.
_Fierce and proud, like a great cat_...
She does not know how to react to his sharp solidity, though. Far more 
  soothing is the gentler golden presence of the other, and from behind errant 
  strands of silver hair, Ree peeks back at Suntop. "Don't know," comes her 
  tiny mumble. "Mixed up. In my head. Elder sorted them. But it's h-hard. To 
  keep them apart...!"

They seem to cause her so much pain...and without dulling the pain, he doesn't 
  know if he can get to this Thicket...find out where she came from...if she 
  was created from Oriolle's mind or not. ** I know. Give me everything that 
  is hard. Will you do that? Give me the memories so they won't hurt you... ** 
  Suntop settles before the female elf, readying his mind for the barrage.

Fierce and proud like a great cat. That image, that thread of thought, makes 
  the airwalker's shoulders straighten and his chin lift a little. Amber gaze 
  narrows on both Suntop and the maiden again, and he watches, silent, as he's 
  agreed.

The cajoling gets Suntop what he requests, and at least at first, what comes 
  is not necessarily overwhelming. It's possibly based on what crosses her 
  mind from her last spoken words -- and the moment the sendings well up from 
  her, again with that unfocused, unguided raw power, it becomes evident who 
  the 'elder' is. Or at least, one of them, for the images that bubble up for 
  Suntop's consideration are unmistakably of Savah, the Mother of Memory, and 
  her lifemate Djhala. They're doing much as Suntop is now, trying to soothe 
  her, trying to work through the huge snarled tangle of recollections in the 
  heart of her consciousness--
More glimpses of Sorrow's End. Dozens and dozens of elves, more than reside 
  usually in the Sun Village. The bright decorations that speak of a Festival. 
  Another resident of the village: Kiralee, reaching with shining hands into 
  the tangle and pulling out--
A recollection of _tree_, herself as a tree, and showing her the falsehood it 
  truly is.

Suntop remains open to the memories, quietly encouraging her not to hold back. 
  He will take what he can... ** Give me the memories that hurt you, 
  Oriole...Thicket. Please. I want to help you... **

The current of remembrance grows stronger out of the silver-haired one's mind, 
  prompted by Suntop's additional urging -- and the name of 'Oriolle'. ** 
  <That name; several of the strangers are calling her that. Chains of faces, 
  running back out of the Sun Village, across the desert, back to -- Lostholt? 
  Mender. Ynderra. _Leetah_, flooding her weakened frame with gentle healing
  light. A close and silver darkness. And then somewhere else, green and 
  closed in and humming with unmistakable power--> **
Ree jolts, hunkering down into a tiny ball, head bowing over her knees while 
  her arms wrap tightly around them and her shoulders quiver.

You sense in a locksend, Suntop is right there...he doesn't move, keeping a 
  gentle hand on Oriolle's shoulder should she allow that. ** Oriolle...give 
  me the pain. I want to take it from you so that you don't hurt anymore. ** 
  He doesn't want to enter her mind and just pull the memories out...not if he 
  can help it.

Rayek's shoulders twitch again, and his chin tips up another notch. His 
  sending's more focused on Suntop, though he doesn't bother to mask it. ** 
  Savah and Leetah both. They've both touched her, and she's still this 
  troubled. What is taking her memories going to do? **

The maiden shivers visibly beneath Suntop's touch, and even in the midst of 
  the sending that spills out of her like water from a broken jar, she can be 
  heard to whimper out loud, "Feels like the Grove here, feels like -- h-h-he 
  was trying to make--"
** <Someone _else_ calling her Oriolle. A glimpse of hair like spun sunlight, 
  sad and ancient and bizarrely kind eyes, hands upon her flesh and filling 
  her with the dizzying, dazzling magic until there is nothing in her universe 
  but the Shaping--> **
Her head jerks up partway, not enough for her eyes to meet those of either of 
  the two before her, but enough to reveal the lightning-quick shift in her 
  expression as the whisper of the Other growls in the back of her throat. 
  "Don't go back, cub--!"
** <The memory tilts and wheels, changing perspectives. A flash of -- this 
  same maiden? But if it is she, she has changed since then -- held immobile 
  and empty-eyed in a prison of vines and blossoms. Lupine fury. A flash of 
  the sun-haired, ancient-eyed one. And then *PAIN*, black-edged, enough to 
  sunder flesh from spirit--> **

The pain isn't expected, at least not of this kind...and it is all too 
  familiar. With a cry, Suntop lifts his free hand to his temples, cradling 
  them for only a moment for this isn't an exercise for his own memory. ** Let 
  her go back... ** he pleads with the Other, ** Let her go back so I can take 
  the pain from her. So I can help heal her. ** The hand moves from his temple 
  to wipe a stray tear of pain and memory from his own eyes before he bends 
  down to try and look at Oriolle. ** Just open up to me. **

Ree's delicate features darken into an incongrous scowl of disgust. And she 
  sends again -- but this time the sending is rougher, fiercer, and ever so 
  slightly blurred. ** Healers couldn't help. Old ones couldn't help. Fools 
  keeping _him_ near her didn't help. _I_ helped. <An almost maternal 
  protective pride. A memory, without form or shape, nothing but a sense of 
  dogged determination to keep the spark that is the cub, the kin, from being 
  smothered in green, vine-wrapped fog. Hiding, lurking, waiting deep within 
  the imprisoning tree. And that same stubborn determination prodding the cub 
  to flee from the too-hot, too-crowded village where the fools were keeping 
  Him...> **
Thicket.

Rayek's eyes widen. "You were right." Half-voiced, muttered words. "Two elves 
  in ... one body? That can't be."

Suntop glances briefly to Rayek, "Why can't it be? Spirits can be trapped, 
  Rayek. ** His has been...Savah's was. To Oriolle/Thicket he sends, ** I know 
  you helped, Thicket...but she is safe now. I swear. You can let go...you can 
  go back to your own body...to live your life now. **

Ree snorts audibly, bitterly. ** Body's dead. He killed it. **

Rayek frowns. "Trapped outside a body, yes, but forced into another elf's? No 
  one would do that."

** Then you are home. ** Suntop sends, gesturing to the Palace. ** Your spirit 
  can rest here...and Oriolle will be safe. ** Rayek's send seems to cause the 
  mystic to catch his breath before he looks to the elder elf, "Yes, Rayek. 
  One would. One has."

** Didn't force, ** Thicket barks, making Ree's body straighten slowly, 
  warily. ** I jumped in. Had to. Try to wake up the cub. Had her trapped. ** 
  Ree's lip curls, and there's a flavor of a growl now in her sending. ** 
  Smelled like kin and he had her trapped! <Violent disgust, fury, and 
  passionate hatred> **

** She's not trapped anymore. She's free. ** Suntop sends, standing as well, 
  trying to calm the wolfrider(?) down. ** But...even in your help, you're 
  trapping her still. Do you see? She cannot have full control of her 
  body...of her thoughts. ** Wide, blue eyes look up at the tall female, ** 
  It's time to let her go, Thicket. It's time for you to rest. **

Uncertainty washes across Ree's features now, the anger relaxing, and all at 
  once she looks... tired. Profoundly tired. At first neither of the Two 
  within the maiden's skull seem to react to Suntop, and so soft is the spoken 
  whisper that it's not certain which of them utters it: "Remember that now..."
Then the maiden's body starts and two elves' worth of exhausted confusion 
  stare at Suntop through leaf-green eyes. ** Can't get out, ** comes 
  Thicket's softer, hesitant admission. A beat, and then Ree's voice follows: 
  ** They... tried to get her out. In the village. They couldn't...! We had to 
  run... _he_ was there... **
And Ree begins to shiver again.

There's only one elf that Rayek can even imagine would do something that ... 
  twisted. And twisted seems to be her specialty. He keeps that to himself, 
  for now, though. It doesn't really apply here and now. The frown he wears 
  deepens, though. ** Who is he? **

Tears start up again upon Ree's face, streaking in tracks of silver down her 
  haggard cheeks. More memories come, spilling forth with only the minimal 
  prompting of Rayek's query: ** <A tiny creature, almost troll-like, speaking 
  of 'the Master'> <The sun-haired, ancient-eyed one, his expression again 
  strangely gentle as he seems to reach for whichever of the elves in Ree's 
  head is doing the remembering, murmuring kindly, "It's me. Doreel. We'll get 
  you all fixed up, won't we..."> <A Wolfrider with red-golden hair and green 
  eyes, ordering someone else, "Get her out of here. We can't afford to let 
  her stay anywhere near Doreel's cocoon if it's going to make her crazy."> 
  <Elves arguing. Only bits and pieces of the words are remembered, but the 
  _emotions_ are a different story entirely. They're strangely sharp, 
  strangely clear, and utterly overwhelming. Absolute conviction on both 
  sides, frustration and alarm.> **
And now Ree just stands there, wetness streaming down her face. "He was so 
  sad," she breathes unhappily. "He just didn't want me to leave him..."

And so he trapped and re-shaped this elf? How...horrible! Suntop listens, his 
  eyes wide. Finally, he asks quietly, "Do you want Thicket to leave?" He 
  can't imagine living with two spirits inside of him...but this elf seems so 
  sad herself. Her life has been so wrought with sadness and strife.

Ree's childlike eyes blink, and then she stares oddly at Suntop, almost as if 
  the question is one she's never heard before. "It's... too full in my head," 
  she whispers. "And... w-we forget sometimes, wh-who's who, unless we 
  remember our soulnames..."
Thicket, uncomfortably: ** Not the Way, two in one. <reluctance> Only did it 
  because I had to. Can't... leave now. Tried. <sensation of... for all that 
  Thicket is disgusted by the thought, considering all that this maiden seems 
  to have gone through... trees that have been forced to grow together, till 
  their trunks are entangled> **

** This <distaste> Doreel. He's not here. There's no reason she shouldn't -- 
  you shouldn't -- be able to leave. ** Rayek tucks his arms a little tighter 
  over his chest.

That's no way to live. Suntop watches Oriolle/Thicket for a long moment before 
  he moves closer and offers, ** I would like to try...if you will let me. ** 
  A send is cast to Rayek as he tries to figure out how this could even be 
  attempted.

** Just wanted a wolf, the land, and my lifemate-- ** Thicket, the barest 
  breath of a sending, tired, wistful.
Ree, hugging herself, murmurs sadly, "I... don't remember too well... what I 
  used to be but I don't think I'm supposed to be like this...!"

Rayek's gaze shifts to Suntop and he studies the mystic a moment, before he 
  nods.

Lifting his hands to cradle Oriolle's temples, Suntop leans in close to that 
  his forehead touches hers. As soon as one send catches hold of him, he casts 
  himself out into Oriolle's mind. His body stills, his breathing slows, but 
  his send...his spirit, searches inside Oriolle for the one called Thicket. A 
  bit of him seems to stretch, barely a thread, held by Rayek so that a third 
  spirit is not loosed inside the female elf.

Entering the mind of this maiden is not difficult in the slightest -- she 
  seems to have no conception whatsoever of mental shielding or defenses, and 
  indeed, as soon as Suntop's power begins to wash over her, she lets out an 
  involuntary gasp and shivers in reaction, something in her rising up in 
  entirely unthinking reply, a smaller star flaring in the middle of a greater 
  blaze of sunlight, distinct not only to the son of Cutter and Leetah, but to 
  the amber-eyed airwalker who looks on.
And then Suntop is within. Memories skim across the outer surface of the 
  maiden's mind, first single and then curiously doubled and then single 
  again. The expanse of the plains where the Palace currently rests. The heat 
  of the desert. Trees, _calling_, with a tug to her palms that both panics 
  and enchants her...
And flashes of that grove of which she's babbled.

Rayek shakes his head a little, that odd double-memoried feeling raising 
  prickles in his skin. There's a curiosity that leaks from him too, muted 
  though present, about that reaction, the presence of that star, but he keeps 
  his peace. Better not to distract the mystic from his task.

Searching through memories, Suntop moves through the single memories, double, 
  and then single again. Pausing and moving towards the double memories, the 
  mystic follows that route, moving deeper, trying to find the source of the 
  second voice...the second personality. His outer body remains perfectly 
  still, his breathing slow.

Slow and patient tracking can ferret her out, this Other stuck within the mind 
  of the maiden most recently called Oriolle. Thicket is twined tightly 
  through those memories, a second current of life and animation who in 
  several places is almost indistinguishable from the younger she-elf whose 
  body this truly is. They've lost count, both of them, of how long they have 
  been thusly intertwined... but there's a feel of many turns of the seasons 
  to it, of the Thicket-soul having had to dive deep within Ree. But they're 
  not entirely one. Not yet. The deeper the mystic goes, the more glimpses of 
  older, instinctual recollections begin to arise. The feel of a wolf's fur, 
  the bunching of lupine muscles as a wolf-friend carries... which of them?... 
  to an unseen destination. Someone's hand, tanned, being held... and then, in 
  immediate contradiction... a Wolfrider-pale one instead. Scents of loved 
  ones held close, and even if the faces blur together... the scents are 
  distinct.

** Do something, ** Rayek send-murmurs. ** Find a way to separate them. ** 
  Encouragement and distaste all rolled into one muddled emotion.

Unable to respond, Suntop merely acknowledges Rayek's send...it's what he 
  intends on doing. Taking hold of Thicket's memory of a tanned hand, his 
  spirit offers his own. Maybe it will be close. ** Thicket...** he sends, 
  reaching, waiting, hoping to start pulling her away, ** Come with me... **

Rumor steps in from outside.
Rumor moves away from the huge stone structure nearby.
Rumor has arrived.

Rumor
Rumor stands at 4'8" on a very solid frame. He is made up of angles and lean 
  planes of muscle from a life lived on the move, without sedentary time to 
  soften him up. His skin is kissed golden-brown by the Daystar's light and is 
  marked only by the occasional scar that twists into fading, smooth shining 
  skin. He wears an expertly-tanned vest dyed a rich russet, with swirling 
  designs picked out in lighter tan sinew. His leggings are green, but so dark 
  a shade as to be nearly black, and laced up the outsides of his leg with the 
  same lighter strings. The majority of chestnut-brown hair is worn in braid 
  that ends at his hip; two thinner locks tumble over his shoulders to his 
  waist, bound and adorned with beaded cord. Crystalline blue eyes are at once 
  full of mirth and calculating.
He wears a length of sinew tied around his neck, weighted simply with a hawk 
  talon and a single feather. He keeps a blade sheathed against his right leg 
  and carries a walking staff that has been carefully carved with 
  picture-stories.

Thicket.
It's not a soulname... and yet, it is not entirely without a kind of power. It 
  sets off a spiral of ephemeral memories, fragments and wisps that may have 
  as much to do with the _age_ of them as the blurring of two elves' heads 
  into one. Glimpses of other elves who have spoken or sent that name, most of 
  which are remembered as little more than particular scents or colors of hair 
  or skin. But one of them recurs, someone with black hair and blue eyes and a 
  steady, confident stride... _that_ one, Thicket remembers.
** That one's... hers....? ** This is from Ree, the sending bubbling up from 
  her clear and silvery and uncertain, a wellspring tapped, but only just. ** 
  Yes... that's one of hers... I don't remember him... **

Rumor wanders down from somewhere higher in the Palace. Somewhere where he's 
  been searching for other souls, but one in particular. One that never 
  answers, no matter how long he spends calling for her. He's slowly beginning 
  to tell himself that she didn't choose to come here. She may have had a 
  wolf-rider's soul, but she had a plainrunner's soul as well, and perhaps 
  that part of her kept her soul wandering. So he's all but decided that it's 
  time to move on again.
He wasn't expecting to interrupt a healing or whatever it is that's going on. 
  The words that were on his lips die away.

** Thicket... ** Suntop's spirit beckons, his spirit-hand outstretched, ** 
  Thicket, come with me to peace. To be where you should be. You have helped 
  Oriolle...now, continue to help her by coming with me. ** It's rather clear 
  that he doesn't want to delve much deeper...he doesn't want to violate the 
  elf maiden's privacy, but he can't leave her like this. As another presence 
  enters the back of his mind, a wordless query is sent towards Rayek.

The silver-haired maiden... she'd make a short Glider. Or a very tall 
  Plainsrunner. Either way, she is so fragile of frame that it accentuates her 
  height, and she is noticeably taller than Suntop, towards whose head her own 
  is inclined. Her expression is rapt but almost pained at the same time... 
  and although her eyes are closed, tears trickle soundlessly down her cheeks.
** Lifemate, ** comes Thicket's sending, rough and hoarse and with a surge of 
  grief that, despite its age, somehow sharpens her. Makes her clearer. It may 
  be just a trick of sending, something magnified by the aura of this place 
  and by the sheer power being poured into Ree... but there is a momentary 
  ripple about her frame, a ghostly impression of someone shorter and 
  stockier, who hesitantly lifts a hand towards Suntop. ** Should... be with 
  my lifemate. **
Ree's physical hand comes up too, though.

Rayek glances over at Rumor and he unfolds his arms. He turns his back on 
  Suntop and the maiden, shakes his head faintly, then crosses toward the
  Plainsrunner, eyebrows drawing down. ** You shouldn't be here now, ** he 
  tells the other elf. ** There are things we need to do. If you need Suntop, 
  it will have to wait. **

The physical hand is ignored. It is the spiritual hand that keeps his 
  interest. The send from Rayek is acknowledged and obeyed as his attention 
  goes back to the maiden. Suntop keeps his spirit-hand outstretched...he can 
  go no further without breaking through personal barriers.

Rumor's gaze flickers to Rayek, then goes back to Oriolle. ** Who is she? ** 
  Muted, quiet question. ** I thought I heard ... I thought I saw . . . ** He 
  shakes his head. ** I didn't mean to interrupt, but she looks . . . who is 
  she? **

The ethereal hand glimmers in barely visible sparks of color and light about 
  the physical one... and even as Thicket's bodiless fingers close about those 
  offered by Suntop's sending, there comes a distinct sensation of... 
  rootedness.
And a flare of panic from a part of the two-souled mind, panic that can only 
  be Ree's. ** <Memory of herself, caught within the tree and the vines, dizzy 
  and blind and aware of nothing but a dream that she had roots sunk deep into 
  the earth> **
She shivers. So does the faint impression of Someone Else shimmering about her 
  form... and then her face tautens and Thicket's gruffly anxious sending 
  roils up again. ** <Memory: overriding that dream from deep within, deep 
  enough where it was safe to hide, to linger, undiscovered, by the Shaper. 
  Deep enough where she found the core of the cub's Self and was able to 
  remind her of it, over and over, to make her remember--> **
Both the ghostly hand and the physical one jerk in reaction, though the 
  ghostly one does not release Suntop's... and indeed it clings almost 
  desperately.

The mystic hold tightly to the spirit-hand...but at the flare of panic, he 
  tries to soothe as well, ** No, Oriolle. No, that will never happen again. I 
  promise you...** It is a send and he puts as much fervor as he can. If he 
  has to watch over the maiden himself to reassure her, he will. ** Thicket 
  has done so much to help you...now it's time for her to rest. ** To elf he 
  holds to, he offers as much strength as he can for her to grab onto. The 
  separation will no doubt be quite difficult. Keeping her hand in his, he 
  tries to move backwards...away from Oriolle, but keep the spirit-hand in his.

Some of the oldest tales the Wolfriders share in Howls speak of Timmain, lost 
  too long in wolf-shape and unable to bring herself back, until at last she 
  vanished... to be brought back to herself by the power of this very place, 
  the magic that floods every inch of the Palace's walls. It is not a High 
  One's own shaping power that rolls off Ree now, but that star flares in her 
  thoughts, silver-white. ** You have to go... Thicket, c-can't you feel it? 
  It feels like Home here... don't you want to be Home? **
The spirit-blur plays over Ree's tear-damp features, momentarily coalescing 
  into a different face entirely, contorted with anguish. A leaner, older, 
  harsher face, but not entirely unlovely, weathered by countless years of 
  wandering. ** Home's with my lifemate... <grief!> Don't know where he is...! 
  **
** He could be _here_, maybe... I can feel them, so many, so many-- **
Ree's green eyes flash open, but her desperate, pleading attention stays 
  riveted on Suntop even as Thicket's spirit jerks its head up, seeming to 
  scan the very air. And a sending bursts out into the air, unexpectedly 
  strong:
** Aron?! **

Rayek shakes his head again. ** Oriolle. She says her name is Oriolle. She 
  needed our help. Suntop's help, ** he amends.

Suntop lets the called name echo through the Palace, helping it if he must. 
  There is no reply...but the mystic merely offers, ** He may still be alive, 
  Thicket. Come out with me...we will find him... ** He takes another few 
  steps 'backwards', still trying to pull the second spirit from the 
  Plainsrunner's body.

** Ree. ** Blurted send, like a reflex from Rumor. A blurt, and then a wash of 
  tangled emotion: Relief. Dismay. Hope. Aching. None of it easily untangled 
  from the rest. ** Ree? ** He takes a step forward toward Suntop and Oriolle.

** He's _dead_, curse it -- <flare from Thicket, of old, old, memory, rocks 
  falling, crushing that black-haired, blue-eyed elf beneath them> <flare of 
  grief> <memory of years upon years of loneliness, with only the faintest 
  presence in her mind of her lifemate's spirit> -- h-he's not _here_ -- **
And then, the sending from Rumor. Oriolle jolts as if she's been struck by 
  lightning, her silver head swiveling in the Plainsrunner hunter's 
  direction... and all color drains from her already star-pale face.
Out loud, in the tiniest of childlike whispers, she blurts, "B-Briar--"

Rayek catches Rumor's shoulder before Oriolle answers. ** You can't, ** he 
  begins, but he stops and glances from him to Oriolle and back. ** You know 
  her? This is the elf you were looking for? ** Amber eyes narrow, but he lets 
  go of Rumor's shoulder. ** If you can do something to help separate them, 
  now is the time to try. **

** Rayek... ** is sent, his attention nearly broken by this new elf and 
  Oriolle's attention to him. Suntop actually looks...cross. This isn't an 
  easy thing to do and too many cooks...well... ** He knows Oriolle. I am 
  trying to get Thicket. **

Rumor stops when he's caught but his gaze never wavers from Oriolle. ** I know 
  her, ** he agrees. ** Ree. It's me. I'm here. <wry> Briarcatch. ** That name 
  has the sense of being kept out of the sun too long, musty and unused, but 
  it's real.

Ree trembles violently, torn between the sudden, shockingly familiar new 
  arrival and the power still pouring forth from Suntop with all the strength 
  of the sun in Sorrow's End. She abruptly crashes to her knees, her frail 
  legs giving way beneath her and her tears redoubling... but she does not 
  faint. Instead, she grabs at the mystic with both her hands, while she begs 
  of the room... perhaps even the Palace... at large, ** _Help us_! **
There comes another flare from her, unfocused, unpolished... and entirely 
  instinctive. A sense of struggle, of simply trying to _push_.

Rayek, not the mystic who can fix this trouble, retreats rather than stepping 
  closer to the little cluster of elves. ** Help her, ** he echoes, though the 
  send is directed at Rumor, or Briarcatch, or whoever he might be.

Suntop's spirit returns to his body and he glances to the many elves about the 
  chamber, ** I can't do this. ** The mystic frowns and takes a step back from 
  Oriolle/Thicket, ** They were separate...and now they're not...again. ** A 
  hand scrapes through his hair as he tries to figure out another angle now 
  that the two seem to be one again.

Rumor surges forward when Oriolle falls. ** Ree! What's wrong with her? 
  Aureole? Is she sick? What's happened to her? **
Rumor locksends ** <panic/desperation> Ree? Where have you been? It's me. I've 
  been looking for you. Are you sick? <There's the memory, however distant, of 
  the fever. Tiny Aurole, too hot and sour-smelling, fussy with the fever. He 
  still remembers that. It still makes him worry.> **

Those are not words Ree wants to hear. As Suntop steps back from her she 
  shoots him a look that suggests she's just taken a spear to her chest; then, 
  her eyes unfocus, and she does not seem to register the Plainsrunner bolting 
  towards her. Not for a moment, at any rate. But then she glances up at him, 
  seemingly dizzily, before she drops to her hands and knees, silver hair 
  spilling in tangled waves down around her elbows and hands.
The star in her sending falters at Suntop's apparent retreat... then pulses. 
  Once more, there comes that sensation of pushing.
And somewhere within Ree's unbound mane, the plaintive little whisper sounds: 
  "You have to leave now, Thicket...."

It's rare for the mystic's temper to actually surface, but this seems to be 
  one of those moments. "Do you have eyes, Rumor?" No doubt the Suntop is also 
  extremely frustrated. "Just...wait. Stay still and wait. Don't say a word 
  yet. Can you do that?" Sensing the pulse of sending, he turns back to 
  Oriolle/Thicket and delves in once more, reaching for Thicket.

For a moment, Rumor looks like he might protest. Every muscle is taught, but 
  rather than continuing his rush forward, he straightens his back and drops 
  his chin. A nod, one single nod. He can wait. He can be still. It may cost 
  him, but he'll do it, and he'll watch.

Half a heartbeat before Suntop's power roars up once again, the ghostly 
  shimmer of the extra soul within the maiden flickers again, playing in 
  subtle gleams about the skinny planes and angles of her body. But that peal 
  of silver... it strengthens as the mystic braces it.
And Thicket ripples unsteadily through her sending, wild, frantic. ** <She can 
  feel the tugging from without, but... her lifemate. He isn't _here_. Why is 
  it worth it for her to leave the cub if her lifemate isn't here?> <Flare of 
  sensation: a weary old she-wolf, being demandingly tugged out of a too-small 
  den, but one into which she's had to squeeze to protect the injured cub 
  hiding inside. The she-wolf whirls, growling exhaustedly, at the spirit 
  hands tugging at her once again...> <Memory: Hiding the cub. Hiding her 
  Self. Hiding her Name from the one that would bend it to his will...> **
"You can trust him," Ree whispers. "C'n feel it. Can't you feel it, Thicket? 
  He's so worried, wants to help... won't take my name..."

** I don't want your name, Thicket...I don't want Oriolle's. I just want to 
  see you both free. ** Suntop sends within and without, trying to pull the 
  spirit. He hasn't had much experience with actually holding onto spirits, 
  but he knows what it is like to be trapped where one shouldn't be. ** We'll 
  find your lifemate... **

With that, the she-elf's head comes up, bringing her ravaged countenance back 
  into sight. Her eyes are still unfocused... but now a strange, peaceful calm 
  settles over her features. "But he needs yours," she breathes, almost 
  soundlessly. "To uproot you." Oddly, her sides quiver, in something almost 
  resembling... laughter. "We're not a tree... you're not a tree, shouldn't be 
  rooted in _me_... it's all right...!"
Ree looks up further, eyes snapping into focus now and seeking those of the 
  mystic... and within her leaf-green gaze has kindled a light of absolute 
  peace and trust. The star of the maiden's sending steps up its glow...
You locksend ** <Ree, gently> Help her... ** to Suntop.
You locksend ** <Thicket> <gruff, older she-wolf, sniffing uncertainly at the 
  light... but sensing what the cub perceives... and grudgingly willing to 
  trust it> <Something else kindling inside the sending, a desperate measure 
  taken for a desperate time... but offered freely> Vess.... ** to Suntop.

Rumor keeps quiet, as he was asked. No, told. Still, the tension rides his 
  body. Still, he looks like slightest sudden movement might make him bolt or 
  fight.

You sense in a locksend, Suntop pauses a moment as the soulname is passed onto 
  him...but it is the soulname of a spirit. ** Vess...come with me. This is 
  where you belong... ** He continues to pull, the soulname lending him 
  strength. ** You've done wonderfully helping Oriolle...but you don't need to 
  protect her now. She is among friends. **

Something passes from the maiden on the floor to the mystic standing just over 
  her, and as it does, the shimmer of otherworldly form superimposed over the 
  physical shape of the she-elf grows stronger. Light builds... and as it 
  does, for all that Ree stays on her hands and knees, the spirit-shape 
  awkwardly rises, a glimmering hand extended to Suntop... and hanging on it. 
  Thicket's face materializes, enough to show a Wolfrider with a shock of 
  thick russet hair and a starkly lupine face gone shy and nervous... and 
  beginning to quiver with joy.
You locksend ** <Vess. The name shoots through the intertwined souls inside 
  this single head... and with your power behind it, it cleanly and gently 
  separates that which should not be bound together. Memories flare, sorting 
  themselves. You can see the older elf, the centuries-old solitary wandering 
  Wolfrider, stepping away from the shapechanged Plainsrunner.... becoming 
  two. As they should be.> ** to Suntop.

Not even Rayek can keep from being drawn in by a sight like that. Narrow eyes 
  widen a little as he watches that spirit emerge.

Suntop's own spirit emerges, holding onto Thicket's spirit's hand, floating 
  above the two bodies. The mystic's own is very still, his eyes closed, in a 
  position of trancing. But above, for a moment, he is there...his hand then 
  letting go of the other spirit's. The Spirit-Suntop then fades, the elf 
  opening his eyes and lookind directly at the newly freed elf. **Now, things 
  are as they should be. ** Only when he is sure that Thicket is free to join 
  the other spirits in the Palace does the mystic pass out.

Thicket's soul grows visibly brighter... and as if Suntop's encouraging 
  sending gives her wings or the ability to float like Rayek, she rises higher 
  till the shine of her separates from Ree entirely--
Ree looks up and up, her face vivid with profound relief. "Goodbye," she 
  murmurs, breathlessly. And then, "I promise...!"--
Overhead, Thicket vanishes, a last shimmer of starlight becoming one with the 
  aura of the Palace.

Rayek starts and steps forward, not quickly enough to keep Suntop's body from 
  toppling, certainly, but quickly enough to see if the mystic's hurt himself. 
  He glances only briefly at Oriolle, saying, ** It's done, then. She's free. 
  **

Rumor steps forward when Suntop collapses, still cautious of doing wrong and 
  nearly vibrating. ** Ree? It's really you? ** He drops to a knee beside her, 
  eyes taking in every change in her face.
Free.
Ree.

Since Rayek steps to Suntop, the she-elf is left to tremblingly turn to Rumor. 
  Moving as one in a dream, she straightens, just enough to get to her 
  knees.... then to her feet. Then she steps to him, slowly and tentatively 
  puts her arms around him... and sags bonelessly against his frame as she 
  plunges headlong into not unconsciousness, but, rather, a deep unshakeable 
  sleep.

[End log.]