Log Date:
	8/13/99, 8/17/99, 9/2/99, 9/27/99

Log Cast:
	Aureole, Doreel

Log Intro:
	Once, the wolf-blooded Plainsrunner huntress Aureole led a fairly
simple life, dwelling as a Pathkeeper in the canyons with her lifemate
Briarcatch. Occasionally, she would take as lovemates the hunters Whistler
and Peregrine; always, however, she came back to her beloved Briarcatch,
who she'd loved ever since she was a child.
	All that, however, changed when she was lost in a twistwind that
struck the territory of her tribe. Deprived of her memories by a blow to
her head, she wandered northward... and eventually stumbled into the grove
of the mad shaper Doreel. Captivated by the old one's manipulative magics
and his madness, she grew to believe herself 'Elisel', one of Doreel's
'Dreams'. She might have remained forever captive in his grove if a
solitary Wolfrider huntress, Thicket, had not given her own life to save
her... and wound up with her soul entwined with that of Aureole's.
	Since then, though, for all that she has been reunited with her
lifemate, Aureole has had a tenuous hold on her own sanity. With Thicket's
soul sharing her head on the one hand... and the memories of Doreel's
magics haunting her on the other... she has struggled for many years since
to regain her sense of self. Without success.
	At last, growing increasingly tormented by the dreams that still
swirl through her thoughts, she has made a drastic decision: to return to
Doreel's grove, leaving her lifemate behind, and force the old one to
heal her...

----------
She hasn't paid attention to how many days she's travelled... and she hasn't 
  been quite sure if she's come the right way. Her course has been set by 
  vague half-memories lurking in the swirl of jumbled recollection that lurks 
  beneath her conscious mind. But the moment she stepped into this wood, the 
  moment her sensitive nose caught the scent of the giant many-legged 
  creatures on the breeze, she knew she was in the right place. And so she's 
  stalked into the web-enshrouded gloom, wrestling with fear bubbling in her 
  gut, clenching her spear and her flint knife close.
The deeper she gets in, though, the more that swirl of recollection begins to 
  leak out of the back of her mind. She knows these trees. And there is, 
  building within her, a seductive and unsettling sense of... homecoming. A 
  flash of memory: _her branches, uplifted to the light, her roots digging 
  into the earth--_
No! She is _not_ a tree, she tells herself fiercely. She is Aureole. And she 
  will make the mad one take his dreams back out of her head!

This part of the forest is, more or less, as it is remembered: the great trees 
  with their unnaturally twisting branches and roots, the wisps of cobweb 
  hanging like tattered festival ribbons, the enormous, banner-like spiders' 
  webs that make certain parts of the not-quite-path unpassable. An odd 
  homecoming, if such it is.

There must be a way in. She'll find it -- she has no choice, because if she 
  doesn't find the way in, she has failed. Not for nothing did Briarcatch and 
  Soulweaver teach her to hunt and to track. And thus the huntress creeps as 
  quietly as she can, past tree and web, freezing in shadow at the slightest 
  sound, sweat beading her brow. Nervous. So nervous, as though she were still 
  a kit on her first hunt. But this hunt is far more vital than a mere search 
  for food. Somewhere in the heart of this place is a piece of herself -- and 
  she must retrieve it.

The warped woods are oddly quiet this night, and very, very dark. Only half a 
  moon shines overhead, and its welcomed silver rays have difficulty 
  penetrating the dense foliage, resulting in odd stray beams of luminescence 
  that streak downward in odd places. One such spot lies ahead of you, where 
  moonglow courses down almost like a pillar to pool on the ground. Something 
  sits in the center of it.. a strange and distorted thing of considerable 
  size.

In shadow, the huntress freezes. In one portion of her head, a wisp of an 
  instinct not quite her own counsels caution -- and fortunately, so does the 
  rest of her head. Her blue eyes narrow; her teeth clench. What is it out 
  there, and can she get past it? Spider? Something else?

Spider? Perhaps. Perhaps indeed. It is about that shape, if you were to take 
  one of those creatures and let it curl itself up, tucking all eight legs up 
  around its body. It is difficult to tell, though, for shadows and light 
  collect in all the wrong places. The thing moves now and again, seeming to 
  pulse slightly.

It moves? Around it, then. Memory is piercingly clear on one thing, at least: 
  those things bite, and their poison sickens the mind. If she is caught, if 
  she is stung, if the spiders wrap her in their webs, she has failed. 
  Careful, then. Look for a route around the thing. Quiet, so quiet. Move 
  through the dreamscape moonlight and darkness. Get past the creature to its 
  shaper, its master -- _her Shaper, her Dreamer, her Rememberer_ -- no, don't 
  think that!

As you consider this, something in the not-so-distance *click*s softly. 
  Lazily, even. It doesn't seem to come from the thing in front of you, mostly 
  by virtue of the fact that it is the source of an echoing *click*. And not 
  much more. It is certainly possible to go around it, by skirting off into 
  the trees surrounding the tiny clearing. Of course, the brush is much 
  thicker out there, and who knows what lies beyond?

A glance into the thick undergrowth -- a glance back to the thing in the 
  middle of the clearing. Sleeping, perhaps? Perhaps she can sneak past it? 
  Her father was a Wolfrider -- _she is a Wolfrider_ -- no, no, she only has 
  wolf-blood, she is a Plainsrunner! -- think, curse it, Ree, stay clear! Try 
  to move past it, then, on the very edge of the moonlit clearing. Take a 
  step. Another. One step at a time...

One step, and nothing happens. Another step, and still nothing. In fact, 
  nothing further happens until you get about halfway across the opening, when 
  another *click* sounds from the creature in its center.

Freeze. Go still as stone, Ree, and hope to the High Ones that the wind 
  doesn't blow your scent at the thing. Can it hear the pounding of your 
  heart? Wait... wait... if it stays still, step again, slow and careful, 
  patience and cunning will get you into the heart of the grove...

Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't. At any rate, the thing in the middle of 
  the clearing suddenly gets much larger as it uncurls, becoming mostly long 
  legs, and then scuttles off into the trees on the far side.

_Oh Timmorn's Blood--!_ The huntress chokes back a scream as that wisp of wise 
  canny instinct in the back of her mind, that wisp that tastes of a Self 
  other than her own, locks her muscles to keep her from bolting in panic. 
  Only when the spider is gone can she seem to find control of her limbs 
  again... and her steps are shakier when she forces herself to stumble to the 
  far edge of the little clearing... and further into the wood. If she can get 
  past the spiders, she'll be safer. _Safety in the heart of the grove_, the 
  thought intrudes delicately on her mind, and for a dangerous, languorous 
  moment she can think of nothing else. The grove. Safe. Secure. Her dreams 
  are there -- no!

But where, exactly? It isn't as though there are any trails to follow through 
  here, or that anyone is about to ask. And you weren't exactly in any 
  condition to remember where you were going when you came through before... 
  and yet, there is a certain familiarity abounding. Something about this 
  place conveys a certain sense of the fact that you are going in the right 
  direction, that you are, in fact, very close. Silence again filters into the 
  trees around you, allowing no further hint of the giant arachnids. Yet.

Good... they can stay way from her. Makes her task easier. She can confront 
  the mad one more easily if her head is clearer -- _is it clear? Memories of 
  enveloping fog tease at her mind, hints of dreams color her consciousness, 
  and she can almost smell the sweet scents of the things the Dreamshaper 
  makes grow with his power_. A tiny whimper escapes her beforre she can stop 
  herself, but she makes herself keep going anyway, her senses atwitch, her 
  nose unconsciously seeking those scents even as her eyes and ears remain 
  alert for any sign of the creatures' return. And even as her feet, half of 
  their own accord, carry her further and further in through the moonshadowed 
  trees.

Quite uncalled for is the sudden burst of noise, off to the right: a frantic, 
  angry series of clickings and tappings, intersperced with a long, rather 
  alien hissing. This almost exactly corresponds with another break in the 
  vegetation as you do, in fact, encounter a path. A narrow, twisting one that 
  goes off at an angle from the way you were going: it goes sort of left to 
  right, heading out into a different part of the wood.

Oh no... does she remember that path? Indecision wars with the embers of a 
  disturbing need coming to life within her. She must reach the grove. She 
  needs to reach the grove... but she cannot let the spiders catch her. The 
  path does not look like it goes the right way... but perhaps her memory is 
  flawed? Her memories have been so confusing ever since she last left this 
  place. Try the path then... slow and careful, try to think clearly, see if 
  it feels familiar...

Does it feel familiar? Were you even going the right direction in the 
  first-place? The decision-making process is hurried along by the rustle of 
  something approaching through the bracken beside you, clacking quite angrily 
  as it comes.

Go! Run! Do not let the spiders catch you! The older Self within her urges 
  speed and caution, but the younger Self buckles under a burst of fear, a 
  burst of desperation to reach the grove's heart, to be safe, to be 
  sheltered... her mind blurs. She runs.

You run, then, deeper into the woods. The thing gives chase, perhaps prompting 
  you to choose certain turns over others, narrowly avoiding one of the 
  largest spiderwebs you've ever had the opportunity to see up close and 
  personal. The path criss-crosses in front of you, veering off to the other 
  side now at a much sharper angle.

If her mind were clearer, it might occur to her to wonder if she is being... 
  herded, herded as efficiently as a wolfpack herds the sick and weak out of a 
  gathering of prairie nohumps to take them down as prey. But her thoughts are 
  blurring, her heart pounding harder within her chest. Her world narrows to 
  admit nothing through her consciousness but the need to reach her goal...

Then, abruptly, the trees thin out, as though you had reached the end of them. 
  Even the underbrush becomes less dense, up to a point. The cold light of the 
  half-moon shines down from above, bathing the sudden clearness in its 
  radiance, and countless stars look down upon that which faces you now: a 
  wall, almost twice your height, of wickedly twisted brambles. Something 
  joins that which comes in persuit, running in from one side, and further 
  away a third clattering can be heard. Are they herding? Maybe. Or maybe 
  they've grown smarter since last you were here..

Oh High Ones... the wall... how can she get past it? Is she trapped? Her 
  breath rattling in her throat, she flashes desperate glances in all 
  directions. There must be a way through or around, which way to go now -- 
  can she plunge through the brambles? Does she have a choice?

It stretches in two directions for quite some distance, but there does not 
  seem to be a way through it. At least, not here..

Run then, if she has a clear path, follow the wall. Look for a weak spot. Need 
  roils in her belly, comes up to make a physical pang within her chest. She's 
  close, so very close, if she can only find a break in the wall... does she 
  remember the wall? She isn't sure, but oh, the Dreamshaper must have made 
  it, he can make the green growing things bend to his will, the flowers, the 
  vines, the trees -- _her_ -- no, she isn't a tree! Run...

And so you run. The spiders come closer.. you can hear the sick whisper of 
  chitin on branches, the liquid hisses from their maws, the ever-present 
  clicking that draws ever nearer. The wall is not difficult to follow, though 
  it curves slightly as you go around it. And there, up ahead, is the path 
  again.. running straight into the side of it.

A wild relief, a desperate joy, surges through her. She flings herself at the 
  path, her heavy braid swinging out behind her as she goes... into the grove!

You push your way through the woods and webbing to get to the light that 
  seemed so far away before. You breath a sigh of relief as you see...
Grove(#9784RLU)
        Life abounds in the center of this grove, not quite drowning it in 
  profusions of vegetation. All around it plants grow, twisting about each 
  other in a magical dance of life that makes the hair on the back of one's 
  neck stand up. It is an oval, about an arrow's flight across its longest 
  part and slightly less than half that across the narrowest, covered over 
  with a lawn of brilliant verdant green. The distance is narrowed some by the 
  many trees spread about the outer span of the oval, spaced rather neatly 
  apart from one another. They are odd trees, though, filtering through the 
  many stages of a tree's life: some are covered in flowers, others in thick 
  summer growth, while the leaves of not a few are stained the colours of 
  deathfall. Many of the trees are adorned with fruits, but not those commonly 
  seen anywhere else on Abode. Beyond those trees rises a high wall of thorns, 
  tangled and thick enough to prevent any idea of what lies beyond.
        A creek cuts across the middle of the place, winding this way and that 
  with no apparent purpose, flowing both in and out under the wall. On one 
  side of it grows a huge tree, one whose top towers far above any other, its 
  trunk easily wider than half a dozen elves could encompass with arms spread. 
  Twisted roots shelter tiny niches where grow odd patches of mushrooms and 
  berry brambles. On the far side of the water is another tree, smaller and 
  more twisted, with odd, raised patterns in its trunk.
        The space is almost deathly quiet. There are no birds, no chattering 
  small animals, not even any noisy insects.. only the sound of the water.
Contents:
Doreel
Obvious exits:
Woods  Path  Hole  Tree  

The wall does part there, forming something of a tunnel that winds through the 
  tangle. Thorns jut out at horrible angles, attempting to claw you, to catch 
  you, to stop you from entering, but they manage to leave only superficial 
  scratches. And then suddenly you're through, and in the grove, were all is 
  deathly silent.

Aureole bursts through the wall of thorns, stumbling in her wild haste, barely 
  aware of fleeting scratches dealt her and her travel-worn leathers, of the 
  way her hair gets caught and the prick of pain along her scalp when she 
  wriggles free. Momentum carries her forward several feet before her legs 
  give way beneath her, trembling violently... and the trembling suffuses her 
  entire frame. Made it. Here. Grove. _Dream-place, fog-place, home..._ -- no, 
  no, don't forget, danger here too! But she is tired, bone-tired, her heart 
  is racing and sweat glistens all over her body. Tendrils of her thick heavy 
  hair, glimmering with that same sweat and glinting in odd rainbow shades in 
  the chill moonlight, drop across her face. Must catch her breath, stop her 
  shaking...

The grove is cool after the fashion of a late summer's night, blanketed in 
  darkness and gilt silver by moon and starlight. The air is scented with the 
  smells of fruit and flowers, not heavily perfumed, but pleasant, far more so 
  than the tickle on the back of one's neck illicited by the many forms of 
  tampered life wrapped about one another. But it is quiet, and it does seem 
  to welcome you back, the grass and ground beneath you soft and inviting. 
  Come, it beckons, rest yourself.. forever, perhaps.

Tempting, so very tempting, to crumple here upon the grassy earth. To rest. 
  She has achieved her destination, has she not? But she cannot rest here. She 
  might not wake up. The old-Self within urges her up again, to be wary and 
  watchful. To find the Mad One and make her demand. The sooner, the better. 
  And so on shaking legs she hauls herself erect, unaware of the way her hands 
  clench with far too tight a grip upon her spear and knife. Wild blue eyes 
  behind sweat-weighted strands of oddly hued hair flick their gaze in several 
  directions, looking. Looking for Doreel. Master of this place. This lovely 
  moonglowing place. This lovely, welcoming place... She starts forward, 
  unaware that her steps are slower than she intends, her gaze lingering 
  without meaning to upon green growing things she passes.

The grove appears to be deserted, though it cannot possibly be abandoned. 
  There is no sign of the old silvered elf, not here, and not out on the lawn. 
  No movement of any type hints at his whereabouts, either.

A splash of fear rolls down Ree's back as she makes herself creep along, makes 
  herself focus on the input of her senses. Sight: no visible trace of him. 
  Hearing: the grove is as eerily silent as she remembered (don't think about 
  it! Don't think about how the quiet threatens to soak into your thoughts!). 
  Scent: Can she smell him? Her nose twitches, and she sneezes once, briefly 
  overwhelmed by the thick odors of green growing things blanketing this 
  place. Something, though, keeps her from sending, arguably the fastest way 
  to alert the Grovekeeper to her presence... for a corner of her mind shies 
  away from the idea of touching her thoughts to his.

Odors of lush vegetation mingle with deep flower scents, mingled through with 
  the much brighter, more citrine smells of the many fruits that grow here, 
  now watered with early dew. Though not overpowering, they certainly mask 
  much.. but not everything. Not at all. Subtly pervasive are the smells of 
  completely different things: a slightly muddy animal sort of scent, and the 
  all too familiar breath that is the Shaper. This last scent, once found, is 
  not difficult to pick up, for it can be found almost everywhere in the 
  grove, mingling into the plants. It concentrates in places, though, 
  eventually coalescing into a path that leads ultimately to the larger of the 
  trees in the clearing.

Step. Step. Something brushes against the thin leather of Ree's boot, and she 
  snaps a skittish gaze downward. Her heart climbs into her throat as she 
  notes the shape of a mushroom in the grass -- and as if it were a plains 
  grass-snake instead, she leaps sideways in reflexive startlement, bent on 
  avoiding it. She trembles violently, waiting for her pulse to settle down 
  before she proceeds. _Can't do this must do this need my self back make him 
  heal me..._ Her head snaps around again, blossom-colored braid swinging 
  heavily across her shoulderblades, petal-hued strands of sweat-soaked hair 
  falling across her frightened eyes. There... his scent... by the tree. Head 
  to the tree...

To the tree, then, looming as a huge black shadow against a dark starry sky. 
  But one can get only so close to it before noticing the border that 
  surrounds it: a barrier, of sorts, erected against who knows what. For 
  there, visible as almost luminescent shapes in the non-light, grows an 
  enormous ring of mushrooms. All different kinds of them. The scent-trail 
  leads right through them of course, or over them.

Memory surges. _The shape of a shroom pressed into her pliant hands, the taste 
  of its flesh melting down her throat; her limbs turned slack and numb and 
  tingling all at once; the honey-sweet, wine-heavy fog enshrouding her, 
  protecting her; dreaming, dreaming, dreaming..._ The she-elf sways, 
  trembling, very nearly dropping her weapons. It would be so very easy to 
  take one. To lose herself in the Dream again. The need roils in her belly, 
  whispering of vines curling close about her, caressingly close. Of flowers 
  brushing against the soft skin of her cheek. Of her Shaper's magic bending 
  her flesh to his will... _NO!_ She groans aloud, then, and hurls herself 
  through the shroom-ring, blindly lunging for the tree.

The tree is but four or five paces from the curve of the circle, its roots 
  reaching out to welcome you in. Of course, little stands of mushrooms well 
  up within them, too, along with brambles that grow riotously full of dark 
  berries. Shadows pool along its trunk, concealing much of it in folds of 
  darkness, but the fact that bits of stone have been set up in the next 
  pocket over after the fashion of stairs might give some indication of where 
  exactly the mad one had gone.

She smacks into the tree, and for a long moment, cannot make herself move as 
  memories of dreams... of nightmares... of reality?... crash over her. Tree. 
  She can remember... _her roots stretching down deep into the earth, her 
  branches lifted up to the light, green green leaves dappling her body in 
  shadow. Sap flowing thick and sweet through her body..._ Another deep groan 
  escapes her, and with an effort, she pulls herself away from the 
  too-enticing support of the mighty tree's trunk, and towards those stone 
  stairs.

You climb up the winding stairs that have been shaped into the tree and walk 
  into the very heart of it.
Tree
The inside of the tree hums with energy. Like the inside of a Wolfrider father 
  tree, except a lot more. Similar images to those entwined in the limbs 
  outside have been shaped into the walls here. Every once in a while you 
  think you see one of the images move but when you look it is the same as 
  when you entered. Narrow and steep stairs curve around the inside of the 
  tree to a small area where soft and warm furs have been left lying for a 
  sleeping area. Several windows line the highest parts of the tree and give a 
  wonderful view of the sky and stars. This place is surely one of the most 
  wonderous things you have ever seen.
Contents:
Doreel
Obvious exits:
Out  

The steps lead up to an opening in the trunk, covered over by a thick blanket 
  of something organic. It is heavy, but not with such weight that makes 
  passing through it difficult, for as you go through it proves to be not one 
  solid blanket, but many fine strands of.. something. And then you're inside 
  the tree, its insides ever so softly radiant with the light of glowing 
  shrooms sprouting up from odd corners and pckets. They display, amongst 
  other things, the all too familiar form that sleeps curled up in a pile of 
  fur off to one side.

"T-Timmorn's.... Bl..." Ree does not know which of the selves that have been 
  occupying her head as of late come up with the curse; she doesn't think to 
  care. The fine strands over the opening in the trunk send shivers coursing 
  all along her skin as she stumbles through them... and only after she 
  skitters away from them, further into the tree, does she realize that the 
  place is lit within. The eldritch glow of the shrooms that line the walls 
  freeze her in her tracks, and she shoots near-frantic glances in all 
  directions before her gaze falls upon the prone form in slumber. Her mouth 
  works soundlessly, before her voice finally croaks, "Doreel." Then, louder, 
  in hoarse desperation as she staggers to him: "Doreel!"

The figure curled in the niche doesn't stir at first. Not for a moment, 
  anyway. There is sort of a delayed reaction.. a timing that would be 
  unsettling, likely, if it weren't so imperative that he be woken. Nothing 
  happens, and then everything happens: the pile of furs goes from motionless 
  to sudden fury as the sleeper wakens, and in that moment goes for the staff 
  leaned up against the wall.

With a noise that's half-whimper and half-growl, Aureole whips her spear 
  point-forward into both her hands, ready to defend herself, even as she 
  demands in ragged tones, "H... hold it! Hold it!"

Pale fingers stop breaths away from the staff, and once again the other is 
  still. Doreel looks at it, and then at you, eyes narrowing slightly in the 
  faint light that percolates through the tree. He stares, then blinks, then 
  leans his head forward as though to maybe somehow get a better look at you. 
  "Y . . you came back."

This comment seems to fluster the disheveled, wild-eyed maiden with the spear 
  somehow. Her eyes crinkle under her unkempt bangs for just a moment, before 
  she gestures with the spear again and croaks, "For healing! You. Must heal 
  me... need it... up, get up!"

Doreel draws his hand back and to his eyes, which he rubs with fingertips and 
  thumb for a moment or three before looking back at you and blinking. "You 
  came back," he replies, as though not having heard you. The old elf sounds 
  rather disturbed by this fact, as though not quite able to process it 
  somehow. "They never come back."

The spear prods at the old one, but not very forcefully -- and the weapon is 
  shaking in Aureole's hands. "Have to heal me," she insists. "Fix me... I... 
  I... get up...!"

Gaze shifting now to the spear, the other looks somewhat confused. He lowers 
  his hand now to push it away, though with no real force. "Heal you. Yes.. I 
  can do that, can't I?"

Shaking more visibly now, her expression strangely torn between fierceness, 
  fear, and longing, Aureole wets her lips and then rasps, "You... you _made_ 
  me like this... yes, yes, you can heal me... heal me...!" Those last two 
  words come out of her almost more as a plea than a demand, however, and her 
  weapon is at least briefly easily pushed aside.

It is difficult to read the grey one's expression in the half-light, but what 
  little emotion manifests on his face is thoughtful indeed. He sits for 
  anoher moment or two before moving again, pushing the spear even more to one 
  side, and drawing his other hand up to rest it on one of yours. Even it 
  moves a soft glow wells up, a faint aura of pale, honied gold.

Ree's breath catches in her throat as yet again memory churns through her, 
  prompted by the shimmer that comes into being around the hand you take up 
  into your own. She can remember that glow, oh yes. _The subtle spread of 
  warmth and peace through her limbs, enfolding her body and mind. The fog. 
  The dreams. This touch upon her, calling forth shoots of green from her 
  branches and coaxing her roots to burrow deeper into the earth, holding her 
  fast--_ A little groan escapes her, and her fingers quiver within the light 
  while the hand with the spear wavers, first dipping down as if to hang 
  slackly at her side, then jerking up again. "Right this time," she mumbles.

The hand only barely touches yours, skin brushing over skin with moth's wing 
  faintness. The light -- that translucent, not-quite-white radiance -- needs 
  no more than that, though, for it snakes in tiny, flame-like tongues over 
  your fingers, up your hand, and partway up your arm. The scratches melt away 
  in its wake, but that.. for now ..is all.

Aureole's eyes drift shut for a moment, tranquility threatening to settle 
  across her features, wrestling with the apparent frantic nervousness that 
  can be still sensed in her face and frame. She draws in an unconscious 
  breath, her spear hand lowering again; for a moment, just for a moment, she 
  sways slightly where she stands, her hand still trembling in yours. 
  Familiar, so familiar, that fleeting kiss of light, and it sets off a strong 
  roil of need in the huntress's system. Her eyes flash open again, darkened, 
  yearning. "You... have to... mend my head," she insists hoarsely.

The light fades, and Doreel pats your hand gently, though never actually 
  withdraws his. "What is wrong with it, my dear?" Conversational.. that's 
  what he is now. Nevermind the fact that it's the middle of the night, or 
  that you woke him up with a spear, or everything that happened before. 
  Totally irrelevant, or so it would seem. "You don't look well."

It is easy, very easy, to let herself be lulled by that gentle inquiry. 
  Aureole sways again, then shakes herself all over and blurts, "Forget... who 
  I am... what I am... it changes. Wrong! Wrong!" Her face tightens then, in a 
  renewed surge of fierce insistence.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, Doreel arcs a brow. "You've forgotten 
  who you are? Oh. Oh my." This too seems to perplex him, almost as much as 
  the fact that you appeared did, if in a slightly different way. He frowns 
  slightly, leaning back as if to muse. "Who do you think you are? Or are not?"

"My name is... is... Aureole!" This bursts out of the maiden vehemently... but 
  the pause before the name is noticeable, as is the flare of brief 
  uncertainty that clouds her eyes.

Doreel's brow furrows. "No it isn't," he replies. "I'm afraid you're right. 
  You do need healed."

The old one's words make the maiden violently start again, and her hand jerks 
  unconsciously away from his. "Is!" she insists. "Am... am Aureole! Of the 
  Plainsrunners... B-Briarcatch is my lifemate... and... and I've been 
  broken... you, because of you..." She stumbles backwards a step, once more 
  bringing up her spear, but in a strangely defensive posture rather than 
  pointing it forward. "You must... heal me... so I can go home...!"

"But Elisel," Doreel murmurs all but to himself, lowering a hand that again 
  flickers with that strange, pale light. "You -are- home." The various 
  diffused light sources shadow his eyes, making the look that he gives you 
  utterly unreadable, but somehow odd. Eerie. Maybe, if you were thinking 
  clearly enough, even frightening. "For good, this time."

Between the light of your fingers and the wan eldritch glow thrown off by the 
  mushrooms that line the inner bark of this great tree, Aureole is all too 
  aare of the eerie, unsettling shadows in this place. Her gaze flashes across 
  yours, skittish, frentic, and the spear comes up again. She groans audibly 
  at the word 'Elisel', and with an effort, it modulates into a frantic rasp: 
  "NnooOOooOOo, not Elisel, not... I'm not!"

Again the grey one tilts his head sideward to gaze at you.. or through you, 
  maybe. "Aren't you?" The words he speaks are soft, quiet, lulling.. like the 
  magical radiance. "But, little one, I thought you had forgotten who you 
  were? That is why you are here, is it not?"

"No! Y... yes... but... not Elisel!" Ree babbles. The spear drops a few inches 
  in her trembling hands, even as her gaze settles upon your shadowed face. 
  "My name is Aureole..."

"Is it? Are you sure?" And that's all Doreel says. Or does. Or otherwise 
  inquires, save to stare at you.

_Is_ she sure? Contradicting memories swirl through her thoughts, and the 
  fierceness of her expression begins to waver, her gaze turning more 
  uncertain. Slowly, she starts to shake her disheveled head... before 
  catching herself and mumbling, "Briarcatch said so!"

And still the gentle interrogation continues, still issued in that same, soft 
  voice. "Briarcatch? Who is this? He is not here, is he? And you did not go 
  to him for help, did you? How could he know, if he could not also help you?"

"He is my lifemate," Aureole moans softly, even as her hands lower the spear 
  further. Her attention remains upon your face, as she grows slowly but 
  inexorably lulled. "Not... not a healer... can't fix me... had to come 
  back..."

Doreel sighs softly and shakes his head, the light in his hand flaring to deep 
  amber, then going out abruptly. "Ah, Elisel. You shouldn't have left. Look 
  what they've done to you."

The maiden starts as the light winks out, her gaze flashing to your hand as 
  though she half-fears it might be a serpent about to strike her. "No... no, 
  _you_, you made me..."

"But you came back," he points out, now almost accusingly.

Confused, Aureole sways from foot to foot, her features crinkling in 
  consternation. "Made me," she mumbles in distant tones, "shaper... n-no... 
  no, I came back, I-I came back for..."

Doreel peers for another moment as you try to work through this, then shakes 
  his head. "Perhaps," he suggests, "you should sleep on the thought. Maybe 
  you will think more clearly in the morning."

"Sleep?" murmurs Aureole, plaintively, her voice very small. She... _is_ 
  tired... so tired...

A benign nod is given as Doreel meaningfully picks up a blanket. "Sleep," he 
  agrees. "I'm sure you'll be better when you wake up."

The maiden has lowered the spear entirely to her side now, the weapon 
  forgotten. Her free hand lifts up to shove reflexively at the strands of 
  oddly hued hair falling across her eyes, and bewilderment wars with 
  exhaustion in those blue orbs. "I can't stay," she protests, but feebly.

The other pauses at this, both brows going upward. "You cannot stay?" The 
  sentiment is echoed with traces both of amusement and disbelief. "Where will 
  you go, Elisel? You belong here. If nothing else, you need healed. You said 
  so yourself."

'Belong'... that word, too, makes the she-elf sway a little, a small whimper 
  dropping breathily from her mouth. "Go.. go home," she murmurs. "If... if 
  I... sleep, will you heal me...?"

"Of course," Doreel agrees, perhaps a little bit too readily. "And then all 
  will be well, will it not?"

Slowly, the maiden bobs her head, tension still visible in the tightly 
  crinkled lines of her face and in the set of her slender body. But she nods, 
  and keeps nodding, staring glassily at you all the while. "I'll... sleep," 
  she relents.

Doreel nods a single time. "Good." Kind of as an afterthought, he adds: "It'll 
  be better. You'll see."

Better... better is good. She wants it to be better, doesn't she? "Sleep... 
  where?" she whispers then. Oh, she is so visibly tired, this maiden, still 
  swaying on her feet, her eyes almost dropping closed right here and now.

"Sleep.. ah.." Doreel pauses, looking around. This probably hadn't occured to 
  him before. He muses over it for several moments before giving any kind of 
  answer, and then it is a nebulous one at best. "Sleep wherever you are most 
  comfortable."

Perhaps 'comfort' is not something she expects to find here, for Aureole 
  swallows hard, jerking her gaze off you and glancing nervously around, 
  peering through the interplay of light and shadow. Where _could_ she go? 
  Outside, perhaps, but.... that would require her to go past the mushrooms. 
  Here, within, is only slightly less unnerving. Finally, she edges hesitantly 
  away, approaching one of the windows. "Sleep there..."

The aged elf watches for a moment or two, gaze diverting only when reference 
  is made to the window, which he peers at. "That would be a good place to 
  sleep," he agrees. "Lots of air, some light. Yes, I think you'll like that. 
  Here, have a blanket." No time is allowed for a response to that: he tosses 
  one at you.

Frightened, wary blue eyes peer from behind bangs of oddly tinged white, and 
  Aureole half-starts in nervous reaction... but she also catches the blanket. 
  Nervously, she sniffs at it... and then, grudgingly, wraps it around herself 
  and sinks down into a huddle by the window. "Sleep," she mumbles, eyes 
  beginning to close. "Sleep..."

"Sleep," Doreel agrees. He continues to watch for a little while longer, 
  perhaps assuring both you and himself of the continuance of this idea. It 
  would not, after all, do to have you jumping up and running off any time 
  soon. It doesn't take long, however, before he gives up the vigil and 
  stretches himself back out where he'd been sitting, lying down and folding 
  his arms to pillow his head.

She doesn't jump up, and she doesn't run... but it does seem to take the 
  maiden some time before she finally subsides into something like repose. By 
  the time you retreat to your own resting place, she's curled up on her side 
  on the floor of living wood, falling into an uneasy doze... but definitely, 
  exhaustedly, asleep.

[To be continued...]