Log Date:
	6/25, 6/27/97

Log Cast:
	Aureole, Lira (NPC), Doreel

Log Intro:
	Her memories lost to an injury dealt her during the twistwind that
struck her home plains, Aureole of the Plainsrunners has stumbled northward...
only to enter the spider-infested, flower-thick woods in the heart of which
rests the protected grove of the mad Firstborn Doreel. Taking her to be yet
another of his long-lost companions, Doreel has promptly dubbed her 'Elisel'
... and although he has promised to heal her broken memory, 'healing' for
Doreel means _keeping_ her from regaining the memories that would let her
leave his company.
	_And_ making sure that she eats the dream-inducing mushrooms that
fill his grove.
	But Doreel is not alone in his hideaway. The arrival of 'Elisel'
has not gone unnoticed by his Helpers....

----------
Grove(#9784RJLU)
Life fills you as you walk into this grove. All around you plants grow, 
  twisting around each other in a magical dance of life. A majestic tree 
  stands in the center of the grove, it's life force encompassing the whole 
  area. Small rock formations dot the garden adding another level of beauty to 
  the place. A small spring flows from between some of the rocks and becomes a 
  miniature stream meandering through the many trees and flowers. Other than 
  the huge tree in the center of the grove all the others bear wonderful fruit 
  of all different varieties while each flower is in bloom and full color. You 
  notice stairs curling up around into the tree directly into it's heart. Even 
  through all this beauty you can hear the constant *click* *click* *click* 
  off in the dark woods surrounding you.
Obvious exits:
Woods  Path  Hole  Tree  

The grove is still, but under no circumstances is it quiet: the breath of wind 
  that pushes itself through leaves coloured verdant hues of green as well as 
  richer, firey shades of sanguine and gold, sings softly to any who might 
  listen of the settling of the seasons; the tiny brook babbles aimlessly to 
  itself, playing over the rocks. It is as it always is, calm and perhaps 
  entirely too peaceful. And yet, somehow, today it is different. A dusting of 
  fine white snow has fallen, incogruous with the jeweled tones of the 
  vegetation, but doing nothing at all to disturb it. Perhaps, as well, it 
  differs in that there are other noises. Noises not heard before. Whispers; 
  echoes; rustlings just beyond the encircling foliage. And yet, for all of 
  that, the grove's aged keeper is nowhere to be seen.

She who the keeper has called Elisel has been sitting, utterly still and rapt, 
  near the great central tree -- watching the drifting down of snowflakes like 
  tiny stars through the overhanging canopy of leaves. Her skin, warm, 
  flushed, reacted with pleasant little sparkling tingles every time a flake 
  touched it, and even now, she smiles absently, turning the sensation of 
  coolness over and over in her thoughts. She knows this, she thinks, and 
  intrigued, she tries to remember where she saw the tiny white flakes before. 
  The sounds, though, eventually begin to impinge upon her consciousness... 
  disturbance to the silence?

Those faint sounds are perhaps at first easily dismissable as nothing more 
  than the wind, or of snow falling from out-of-season leaves. Should they be 
  listened to, and focused on, they become more comparable to those made by 
  small animals moving about, out of sight, and almost on the edge of 
  audibility. But there are no animals in the grove, are there? Or none to be 
  seen... and yet, that is exactly the kinds of noises these are: murmurs; the 
  snappings of tiny twigs; a hushed sneeze.

Sound. The mere notion of unfamiliar sounds begins to rouse her from her 
  languour... her ear twitches, towards them, and ever so slowly, her head 
  follows, turning in a half-circle in the direction of the tiny noises. Her 
  nose wrinkles a little, as she thinks to sniff the air... though that gets 
  her nothing but a wafting of the heavy, sweet scents of the green growing 
  things in this place -- especially the flowers -- interspersed with the cool 
  tang of snow. ** .....? **

No, there is no scent. Or, more correctly, there are too many of them. But the 
  place from whence the disturbance originates is findable: the general 
  direction of an enormous bush, its leaves singed red, as though they burned, 
  which sits on a low rise of ground some distance down the circumference of 
  the grove. Yes, definatly coming from there, probably verified by, 
  comparatively, a much louder hiss. Almost a 'shhh!'

A voice? A voice she doesn't know? ** Do... reel? ** The sending takes her an 
  effort that makes her head whirl a little, with lingering, fizzing 
  percolations on the edge of her thoughts. When the sending gets her no 
  answer, though, she tilts her head in drowsy bemusement. A very long span of 
  time -- or perhaps it's only really a moment; everything is Now to the one 
  Doreel calls Elisel, and she has no cognizance of the passage of time -- 
  passes before she calls out softly, "Hello.....?"

With that one word, the newer sounds stop. Just like that. Now it is as though 
  the entire grove leans forward to listen, and even the breeze quiets, as 
  though it were holding its breath in anticipation, watching intently. But 
  something -- or someone -- does watch, quite intently, most certianly 
  holding its -- or his, or her, or even their -- breath. It is exactly the 
  kind of silence in which one might be expected to give one's companions, if 
  one had them, a 'What now?' look. And perhaps that is done. But there is no 
  one here...

She who has been called Elisel feels a twinge of disappointment. Sounds should 
  not stop; she does not like silence. Slowly, unsteadily, she rises, blinking 
  rapidly as her bare feet feel the snow on the grass; it sends a flurry up 
  tingles up through her ankles. But once she is standing, she totters like a 
  newborn fawn towards the source of the sounds. ** Don't... stop... don't 
  stop, want to hear....** "Hello....? Don't stop...."

Now there is a burst of quiet chatter, of what must certainly be voices. 
  Several of them, definatly coming from by that bush. Like... almost like 
  squirrels, yammering at each other, or tiny birds, or... well, something 
  that will listen to another, rather louder but equally scolding sort of 
  'SHHH!' And yet, for all that they are that much clearer, the tones are too 
  hushed and too rapid for any real words to be picked out... it's more the 
  tones they are spoken in that carry. Inqusitive, or argumentative, or that 
  one that is -so- very, for lack of a better term, bossy.

A thought bubbles through the head of the drowsy female: a recollection she'd 
  lost, and only now begins to gain again. That she'd lost it to begin with 
  briefly concerns her -- she should be remembering things, should she not? 
  But as she thinks about it, she does remember that she'd wondered where the 
  ones Doreel always speaks to are. And, just as slowly, she wonders whether 
  they are here, now, in the leaves. Blinking wide dreamy eyes, she toddles 
  towards the bush, lifting a heavy hand to touch it. ** .....? **

"Eeek!" Oh, yes. An eeek. Just past where can be seen, but close enough that 
  whatever made that particular sound's hasty departure can be noted, pointed 
  out by the sudden rustle of bright red leaves, and the little flurry of snow 
  that rains down the various tiers of foliage. Off a little ways to the side, 
  there is a very, -very- heavy sigh, followed by another one of the movement 
  noises. But this one is special in that it heralds an arrival: the arrival 
  of a small, slightly stout figure: one with little black eyes and pale, 
  golden-green skin.

The elfin female takes a swaying step backwards, breathing out a sigh of 
  wonder. Not sure whether she is dreaming this, she sends, ** Are you... are 
  you real? ** Her blue eyes go round under disheveled bangs, in a face gone 
  thinner in the timeless time in which she has been in this place.

The little figure -- its shape might signify it as female, as well as the 
  length of its rather pale mop of hair -- peers up, button eyes fixing most 
  intently on it's... her observer. After a moment or two of contemplation, 
  she folds her arms, and sighs again, exhaling a breath seemingly bigger than 
  she is.

Her legs putting in a tingle-sparked observation that they think she should be 
  sitting down, 'Elisel' sways, and abruptly plops down in the snow, heedless 
  of the damp beneath her. Fascinated, she stares wide-eyed at the little 
  figure before her, and again sends, ** Are you.... ** Without knowing she 
  does so, she abruptly shifts into speech, as she adds slurrily, ".... real?"

What might pass for an eyebrow on the little one's face rises, and she blinks 
  not once or twice, but four or five times. "Real?" She echoes, voice soft, 
  but certainly rather high pitched. She sniffs only once, gaze darting about 
  the grove a touch too frantically before coming to settle on the blue-eyed 
  one now much closer to being her own height. "Is what real?"

The elf giggles, thickly, dreamily, and lifts a hand that takes several 
  seconds to point its fingers. "You.... you, real?"

The other takes a hurried step backward, almost into the leaves. Her gaze 
  drops to the hand, almost as if half-expecting it to -do- something other 
  than point. Behind her echo several snickers, and a hushed sort of gasp, 
  which inspires the faintly pudgy creature to turn a little and hiss into the 
  bush proper. "Of course I'm real."

Real... the elfin female blinks slowly, processing this with much effort. And 
  finally, brightly, she murmurs, "Doreel... talks... to you?"

"Doreel?" This, too, is echoed as she turns around to look again, squinting a 
  little and looking cautiously at the hand as though still not entirely sure 
  it's not going to do Something. "What's a Doreel?"

Slowly, the mind of 'Elisel' stretches, turning over like a lazy beast rousing 
  from slumber, inspired by this new, fascinating being before her... talking. 
  "The other elf... the shaper... the healer...."
And 'Elisel' adds tranquilly, "He is helping me remember... but I thought he 
  was..." Was what? Her brow crinkles. "He talked to... shadows. Air..."

Little black eyes suddenly become much larger, large enough to almost show 
  white around their edges. "Oh. The Master..." This much is almost, though 
  not quite, whispered, and the little creature sends a Look toward the tree 
  in the center of the grove. One short, brown-stained finger goes to her 
  mouth, which purses a little, and she shhhhhes. "He'll hear you," she says 
  bluntly.

The elfin female blinks langorously, several times. "Hear... hear who?" 
  Others? Her drowsy blue eyes peer off into the leaves, even as her hand 
  absently drifts along snow-whitened blades of grass, snow-capped mushrooms, 
  stroking back and forth.

That rather chubby hand is pointed fiercly at the tree, and the pointer shakes 
  her head almost furiously, an action that sends a fringe of pale hair down 
  to cover her eyes. "The Master'll hear you. Shhh." Her voice drops an 
  octave, and several decibles. "I'm Lira."

Again, the she-elf blinks languidly. "Master...? What is... Master?"

"Master!" The tiny creature thinks for a moment, attempting to explain, but is 
  broken out of her thoughtful stance by the emergance of another being: one 
  equally short, equally pudgy, and equally rather green. "Master," this new 
  one states bluntly, "is the keeper." The one who calls herself Lira flashes 
  the other a scowl. "He... takes care of the greens," she adds.

"Do... reel," murmurs the elfin female, as though she had just remembered it. 
  "He said that his name is Doreel. Is that... right? I do not... remember 
  well...."

"The Master," comes a now chorused echo, as both nod. Lira gives the other 
  another glare, and he -- if as much is obvious -- sighs and takes several 
  steps to one side, folding his hands behind him contritely. "Just the 
  Master," Lira continues, stepping closer to look over the elf, now 
  apparently convinced she isn't going to do anything out of the ordinary. 
  "Poor Master, but... no. Who are you?"

"I... I am... " The elfin female sways a moment, and props herself by planting 
  her palms on a pair of mushrooms. Feeling them, she giggles slurrily and 
  begins to tug at the one under her right hand. "Do... Master?... says that I 
  am... Elisel....? I do not remember...."

"Elisel?" Lira squints, peering intently at the self-proclaimed I am, then 
  blinks. "Don'teatthat!" She takes a little step forward, all but reaching 
  for the mushrooms herself. But she catches herself, again looking fearfully 
  toward the tree in the center of the grassy snowfield. <his last pose>

"But... but why... why not?" asks the drowsy one, perplexed. "It's good..."

Not quite expecting that sort of response, the short figure comes to an abrupt 
  halt, blinking. Hard. "Good?" she squeaks, staring aghast at the shroom. 
  "Master's purplegreens are good? How?"

The elf lifts up the mushroom in question, cradling it in slender hands. "It 
  brings the... " A giggle. "It brings the fizzies in me. I like the 
  fizzies..."

"Fizzies?" Again, that is almost squeaked, and Lira ducks a little bit as 
  though her change in stance might get her a better look at the thing. 
  "Fizzies." She shakes her head, slowly, the action bordering somewhere on 
  disbelief and sorrow. "Bad fizzies, then?" Tiny dark eyes skip from the held 
  to the holder, curious.

"Not bad," croons the elf, lifting the shroom, and nibbling slowly at its cap. 
  ** Not bad... like the fizzies.... ** "Not bad... feels good! Helps the 
  healing... Doreel says so..."

"Healing?" Lira's arms drop protectively over her stomach, and she blinks, 
  hard. "Oh.... oh. Poor Master. Poor Elisel." A faint pause. "Poor Lira." The 
  little green thing utters another one of those heavy sighs, and she moves 
  forward as if to try and take the thing away.

Raptly occupied with her snacking, 'Elisel' does not notice the small hands 
  until they are right before her. At that, the shroom half-eaten, she blinks 
  dazedly, then emits a small whimper. "Noooo... mine.... I want it...."

The hands are snatched back, shroomlesss or not. "But..." The brown-etched 
  thing shifts nervously, glancing over her shoulder into the bush. "What if 
  Lira brings something else to eat, mmm? Elisel would like that?"

Vacuous, empty blue eyes blink. "Good things to eat? Like... fizzyshrooms?" 
  Another soft slurred giggle, and 'Elisel' begins to nibble down the rest of 
  her prize.

Face contorting in profound consternation, the little green thing fidgets. 
  "Better, yes. Better. Elisel wants? We bring. Much better than Master's 
  fizzies." Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Lira peers at the 
  tree in the center of the grove, all but daring the thing to move. Or, 
  perhaps, for something in it to move. "Oh, Mastermastermaster," she mutters. 
  "Much better."

The elf has downed the mushroom, nevertheless. And, slowly, with a huge vacant 
  smile, she rubs her palms along her upper arms, giggling at the sensation of 
  touching her own skin. "Better 'n' fizzies... okay..."

"Good." The other makes herself quite scare, all but vanishing as soon as 
  she's turned, the brilliantly coloured leaves of the bush rustling only 
  softly to mark her passage through them. And then, there are noises: voices, 
  the squirrel-chatter and bird ramblings... seeming to come from back there, 
  somewhere. Or down below. Maybe. But they are muffled enough that only the 
  shrill note of one and the deferential tones of the others carry.

Sounds...? They begin to blur together in the hearing of 'Elisel', but she 
  does not mind, as the fizziness in her blood bubbles up, renewed, making 
  everything she touches set her skin afire with delight. What could be better 
  than the fizzies? She ponders this, or at least begins to. It doesn't take 
  long before her attention is distracted by the cool wetness of the 
  snow-dotted grass. With a little giggle, she stretches out, and begins to 
  rub her shoulders against it, her head whirling as the dampness sends tiny 
  sparks of crystalline sensation into her flesh.

Eventually, quite possibly just long enough for that rubbing to make one 
  rather wet, the leaves rustle again to make way for the little body moving 
  around them. Lira has returned, arms wrapped around a roughly woven thing 
  too shallow to be a basket, but too dished in to be a tray. She pauses to 
  look around, brow furrowing furiously when she observes the snow, and the 
  associated activity. "Elisel shouldn't do that," she mumbles No, she doesn't 
  talk to things that aren't there, not when she's got herself to talk to. 
  Then, louder, she adds: "Come eat."

'Elisel', quite wet indeed, quite cool, lies rubbing her back and shoulders 
  against the grass, giddily welcoming the cold... for she dreams that she has 
  turned to snow, and sees tiny dream-flakes of snow drifting down to merge 
  and melt with her skin. Wonderful cold fizziness. Elisel snowflake. 
  Drifting, sparkling, cold... a voice? Her head turns slowly, in the 
  direction of the voice, as she hears it laden with little sparks of its own.

Not distraught, exactly, definatly far more... maternally concerned ...the 
  pudgy greenling is. Yes. She comes closer, shifting the woven contraption to 
  one hip, and sighs. "Get sick. Master won't like it." She considers that 
  statement for a bit, then shakes her head. "Master won't like it at all."

** Mas -- ** "--ter?" slurs Elisel, fascinated by the crystalline glitter of 
  her speech against her sending. Her wide unfocused eyes stare in Lira's 
  direction.

Apparently, Lira doesn't want to talk about That anymore, because she doesn't. 
  No, she comes quite a bit closer, re-balancing the woven thing so she can 
  crouch nearby and offer it, as well as the flat, rounded things slathered in 
  vaugely green goop thereon. "Come eat. It's good, yes? Will help."

A new scent, wafting in through the swirls of snow.... 'Elisel' turns her head 
  in the direction of the food-things, her thin pale-golden nose -- more pale, 
  perhaps, with cold -- crinkling slightly. ** ....? ** "Eat...."

Oh, yes, a new scent, one ever so slightly out of place amidst the heavy 
  smells of the flowers and mushrooms, or the cooler dampness of the snow. 
  This is not at all like those: it has its own rather earthy tang, somewhere 
  between spices and mint, maybe. It's offered with a smile, or something as 
  close to a smile as Lira can manage, picking up one in a hand whose green 
  flesh is stained with brown. "Eat. Before the Master comes. It's good..."

Curiously, slowly, 'Elisel' lifts her heavy head... snow swirling up and down 
  just under the surface of her skin as she moves. "Good.... like fizzies? 
  Want..." She opens her mouth and giggles a little as she inhales the 
  flower-scented air.

"Like fizzies..." Lira's brow furrows again as she ponders that, but decides 
  not to offer either confirmation or denial. Instead, she leans over, nodding 
  at the palm-sized wafer. "Elisel wants. Good Elisel."

Pliantly, the snow-dampened elf lifts a very heavy hand, accepting a wafer, 
  nibbling it delicately. "Good Elisel...."

The wafer has little to no taste what so ever. That which it does have is 
  something comparable maybe to very dry mushrooms, or maybe ground nutmeal. 
  At any rate, that flavour is drowned out by that of the stuff that's been 
  plastered to the top of it: at first cold and numbing to the mouth like some 
  leaves are, and then with an equally sweet and bitter sort of quality to it. 
  Lira watches intently, quite probably waiting for some reaction -other- than 
  a response to it's taste.

As her mouth cools and numbs, 'Elisel' mmmms softly, waiting expectantly, as 
  her muzzied mind has associated this with the colored fogs and lights with 
  which Doreel has filled her mind. When this does not happen, she languidly 
  blinks, and then, her brow crinkles. "Mrmmmm?"

It most certianly does not have that effect. Instead, maybe it's quite the 
  opposite. Lira actually smiles now, or comes as close to it as she has 
  today, and bobs her head several times in a pleased sort of nod. "Good, 
  good, yes? Elisel likes?"

The sparkles in her blood... are diminishing. Perplexed by this, and then 
  disturbed, as gradually the only coldness she senses is the snow soaking her 
  skin, 'Elisel' shifts her expression from dreamy vagueness to a slight 
  frown. "Fizzies... going away... I..."

Another of the slathered wafers is offered, and Lira peers intently. Intently 
  enough, as a matter of fact, that she entirely misses the emergance of the 
  greyed form of the grove's Master. More importantly, though, it escapes her 
  attentions -- though certaintly not his -- that he's taken into account the 
  snow, and scowled at it, but is at the moment beginning to pick his way over 
  to the occupied part of the lawn.

Something, thinks 'Elisel', is wrong. Eventually, she realizes what: that for 
  all that Doreel has promised to heal her, she still does not remember... 
  "I'm... not Elisel?" she mumbles, the second wafer in her thin fingers.

"Maybe Elisel. Maybe not." Lira nods sagely, straightening and shifting the 
  braided thing to her other arm and hip. So helpful, really.

The elf opens her mouth and closes it, tasting mint... spice... or whatever it 
  is... on her lips. And as her thoughts clear only to the lightest of hazes, 
  it occurs to her that she is _very_ wet, and _very_ cold... and on slightly 
  unsteady arms, she begins to push herself into sitting up. "I feel 
  strange..."

"Lira...?" Very soft is the voice that comes from just over There... off to 
  the side, and slightly behind, definatly in the general direction of that 
  one tree. Quite startled by it, Lira herself all but drops the mat, freezing 
  for half a moment before trying to hide it behind herself. Not with much 
  success, though, as the thing is bigger around than she is. "Master. Master!"

'Master?' The wet, cold, and still slightly dazed elf turns her head, 
  blinking, trying to focus her eyes. She says hoarsely, "Doreel...?" And then 
  rallies enough awareness to send his name, after that.

Master, Keeper and Tender of the Grove, Mad One, or what have you, said elf 
  stands about five paces away, leaning on his staff, with one hand cupped on 
  it's topmost end, long, pale fingers curled around there, and gripping with 
  just enough force for them to be whiter even than usual in places. He offers 
  the most gentle, benign of smiles to the other elf, nodding slightly. 
  "And... Elisel. Of course. I see you've met at least one of my Helpers."

Lira fidgets quite visably, crossing one ankle behind the other, still trying 
  to hide her offerings and their mat behind her. She'd be pale too, except 
  that her colour is wrong, so she only manages to turn a sickly shade of 
  green.

"I... am I... Elisel?" Confused, the female elf frowns, as she wraps her arms 
  around herself, beginning to shiver a little. "I... haven't remembered 
  yet... you were... going to heal me?" The mention of the Helper makes her 
  confusion more apparent. "A... Helper? She... was feeding me..."

If he's not pleased, the older manages to conceal it very well, sky blue eyes 
  drifting between elf and Helper, where they come to rest. Said Helper 
  twitches nerviously under the gaze, shaking her head. "I just wanted to 
  help," Lira offers, almost under her breath. Doreel tsks softly, that smile 
  still visable on his features, and he shakes his head. "Of course you were, 
  Lira." That smile is turned on the elf, then. "You are almost healed, 
  Elisel. Don't you feel better? Cold, but better?"

"But... but I still don't... I still don't remember. Something's... wrong." 
  Bemused, 'Elisel' climbs totteringly to her feet, still shivering in her 
  scant ragged clothing; her pale hair hangs in lank, heavy tendrils about her 
  features. "I... lost time..."

Shifting his weight, the old elf unleans himself and comes closer, holding one 
  hand out toward the Elisel being and nodding ever so slowly. "Time does not 
  exist here," he murmurs gently, almost to himself. "It is to be expected 
  that you might lose it. Come here...?" Again he flicks a gaze to Lira, and 
  just Looks for a time. "You may go, Lira."

Apparently having been waiting for that, Lira whirls about and heads for the 
  safety of the firebush, looking something like a scared ravvit.

"No... time?" repeats the disheveled female. Something in her responds 
  instinctively to that: a desire for it to be Always Now. A perplexed little 
  smile curls one side of her mouth. But, obediently, she toddles towards 
  Doreel, lifting her hand to his, frowning then as she recalls that Something 
  is different now, something's gone from her blood, something that she 
  wanted....

The hand warms as it is taken, igniting into a soft golden glow that seems to 
  suffuse the skin it touches and travel up veins to chase away the cold. "No 
  time," comes the reply, all but whispered, and punctuated by a single nod. 
  "This place is outside time. It always has been, and it always will be. Why 
  else would there be flowers, and green leaves, even with this dusting of 
  snow?" Perfect logic? Perhaps.

The female shivers a little, pleasantly this time, a smile coming back to her 
  features. "Outside... time? But... how did I... get here, then...?"

A moment of hesitation? Maybe. But there is an answer, as the grey-clad elf 
  moves nearer and reaches with his free hand to brush back a stray lock of 
  the other elf's hair. "The same way I did," he decides with a rather 
  finalistic, factual tone. "You simply Were."

'Elisel' remains standing there, her hand clasped in the old one's. "But... I 
  thought... I was someplace else, before..." Her brow furrows. "I can almost 
  remember..."

"Dreams," he finishes, again in that same sort of factual note. "Merely 
  dreams, nothing more. We all have them... they are all quite different. You 
  cannot remember them because they are not real, any more than one of your 
  dreams could be."

_All? But..._ "But I can't... remember who I am," she murmurs in protest. "So 
  many dreams..."

"Of course." The taller elf moves several paces backward, following the curve 
  of the enfolding wall of foliage, not quite releasing his hold, although not 
  forcing a following. "That is because... you... prefer to dream."

The female follows... merely because, tugged in that direction, it is easier 
  for her to follow. Her hand remains lightly clasped. "I... do," she 
  breathes. "I like the dreams... but... I should remember... shouldn't I?"
And she adds slowly, "I... must be something... besides dreams?"

The glow remains as well, ever so gently warming, but it flickers for a moment 
  as Doreel pauses to consider. "You will remember." Ever so slowly he settles 
  to a crouch, his free hand drifting out over the snow to gather one of the 
  large black-indigo mushrooms. "You have always prefered the dreams, Elisel. 
  They are so much more comforting than the reality... your dreams, my 
  Memories... they are all the same, aren't they?" He smiles again, but this 
  time the expression has a rather sad shading to it.

Plaintively, she tries one last protest. "You're going to finish my 
  healing....?" Her gaze automatically turns, though, at the sight of the 
  mushrooms, and she releases a small gasp.

"Mmmmhm." The mushroom is brought over in a gently sweeping motion, to the 
  hand already glowing, and it shifts that it, and the hand it in turn is 
  holding, might come into direct contact with the darkly coloured growth. 
  "You'll like that, wouldn't you?"

Her body quivers for a moment, with a strong need. Entranced, she bobs her 
  head in slow motion. "Then.... everything is... dreams?" she concludes. "I 
  am... a dream? You will show me?"

The light from the one hand arcs across the cimmerian cap held between the 
  both to filter into the other, tracing like honied flame down the fragile 
  bones almost visable under the skin, but flaring in the second hand into a 
  slightly different shade: one more topaz than amber. Where these touch the 
  third hand, the contact is quite unusual, certainly not like anything he's 
  done before. Where before it was warm, and rather pleasurable, now it just 
  tingles, really the same sort of feeling that might be associated with the 
  hair on the back of one's neck standing up, except that it comes from the 
  fingers and not the spine.

The fizzies....! Her body quivers with recognition and another surge of need. 
  Rapt, she watches the light flare and surround her hand. ** Show me, ** she 
  whisper-sends dreamily. ** Show me what I am... **

There is a soft chuckle as the radiance brightens, the globe it forms becoming 
  larger, surrounding mushroom and hands and part of the attached arms. ** 
  What do you want to be? **

'Elisel' -- dream? Memory? -- lifts her other hand to touch the mushroom, to 
  immerse her fingers in the illumination. ** I want... I want to be a 
  dream... Always Now? Am I your dream? **

The feeling swells to encompass that hand as well, bathing it in saffron glory 
  and intangible static. At the heart of the whole is the mushroom, which 
  manages to keep its darkness, despite the light. ** You are in the dream... 
  you will be a Dream. **

[End log.]