Complete version.  Gratitude to Rillwhisper, as the format and style of this
log is borrowed almost totally and unabashedly from her.   -- Strongbow

9/6/96   Who Leaves Lostholt?

Lostholt.  Strongbow thinks back on his sending with Rillwhisper, on the
intent of Leetah to leave the Holt once more, on the absence of chief's
daughter Ember.  His concern for the troubles overwhelms him, and he sends
to Cutter...
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Base of the Lost Holt Father Tree(#765RJ)
A dense grove of grotesquely shaped trees dominated by one immense
  Grandfather of a tree whose age is no less great than its size. 
It is obvious that the old tree has survived a terrible tragedy but new
  growth and thick strong branches cover the worst of the scars left by the
  terrible blaze. Weeds and night blooming wildflowers grow in a riot of
  natural disorder around the trees roots, taking advantage of the NewGreen
  warmth. Like old friends, the gnarled trees embrace one another, their
  many branches entwining to form a dense canopy high above the ground. As
  the daystar sets the air turns chilly in the NewGreen evening.
Obvious exits: 
Into the Tree<N> Around the Tree<AT> Clearing<S>

  Quiet, the archer intrudes with a question, sans words: may he interrupt?

  You sense in a locksend, Cutter was thinking. Clearly. Then again, when is
    he not thinking or brooding of late? The return is an affirmation, and
    an invitation. You are welcome to interrupt.

  Unsurprised and equally unpleased to discover the brooding state,
    Strongbow nevertheless strengthens his locksend. ** I sent with
    Rillwhisper, ** he begins, guardedly.

  The sense of surprise at the announcement is muted by a greater sense of
    amusement. ** And? **

  No amusement here. Instead, a gentle torrent of troubledness underlies his
    sending. ** The wormworld cub -- Talek -- ** The archer pauses,
    assenting to himself that the youth might not be quite a "cub" now.  
    ** Is sick. He's lost wherever he is. Muddled like... ** Self-conscious
    at this, the tone that accompanies a faint red rush in his ears and
    cheekbones at other times.  ** ...like in the Preserver glade. ** The
    archer lets that much settle, sending clearly unfinished.

  Cutter braces himself, expectant and wary all at once. ** He's with
    Rillwhisper, still, isn't he? In the Willowholt? ** Through the lock,
    the sense of the chieftain turns from brooding to a quick muted tally,
    checking, and rechecking of supplies. Food and dens..

  ** Yes...and Silversong is afraid to heal. **  The expression that goes
    _with that_ tone is nothing less than a scowl. ** (Needs it herself), **
    escapes a thought. That's not all, though, and wordlessly, the archer
    sends apology for the list's length. ** Their treeshaper died --
    Rillwhisper's brother. Since...they're in newgreen. Not just now. Three
    turns on of newgreen. **

  A momentary surge of relief, a hesitation, and a resignation. ** They need
    our help. ** A question and a statement combined.

  ** So the wolves haven't bred... ** He fades off in something not unlike
    surprise. _That_ was easy...too easy, from his chief. ** Yes. I plan to
    ask Moonshade if she will make the journey with me... ** He halts,
    unable to guess what to expect next.

[Near the base of the Father Tree, Ynderra appears.]

Silent in the tree, perched thoughtfully on a branch, the archer
  absentmindedly strokes the string of his bow. His gaze, though glittering
  with interest, is unfocused.

  Cutter's response is guardedly unemotional. Matter of fact. ** There's no
    time, archer. There are too many things that need to be fixed, all at
    once, and we are only one tribe. One holt. **

Ynderra steps out of the tree and looks up at the elder, then nibbles her
  lip consideringly, wondering if he's gonna be mad at her like Dart was. But
  he looks distracted... maybe she'll luck out.

  _That's_ more like what he expected and, back on solid ground, his sending
    flares, not hot, but strong.  ** They are only one tribe as well, and
    less what they need to be that. ** Not defiance of his chief's words,
    but certainty of his own, makes them sharp and sure.  ** I would not ask
    to take our treeshapers and healers there. _I_, you do not need so much
    as you do them. **

  Cutter's own sending intensifies. Walls thicken. ** I _need_ you, archer,
    to watch over the holt. ** For a moment, it seems like he might explain,
    but then it fades.

  ** I can bring the hurt ones back. ** He's determined to do _something,_
    regardless, and all the apology and sympathy for
    elves-always-leaving-Lostholt that he sends, that he understands -- a
    glimmer of Leetah, a sparkle of Ember -- he's still stubborn and firm in
    this. ** They need me for more than guard. They need _someone_. **
    Similarly, there's more on the end of it, another thought unsent.

Indeed, the archer is still. His expression clouds and his hand shifts from
  bowstring to bowshaft, clenching to white-knuckled absentminded
  determination there. His eyes glitter more darkly, but do not shift focus.

Ynderra's pert little nose wrinkles. Paused there, she finally sends up, **
  Strongbow, are you alright? **

  Cutter responds, with another vague sense of weary amusement. ** There's
    not enough for you to do here, as chief in my place? **

Focus. His eyes glitter and flare with rage barely held back. The archer's
  gaze searches down over the ground in front of the tree and, one shoulder
  twitching off a distant send, he opens to send something like a forcedly
  clear, forcedly kind greeting -- and cuts it off, just as fast, to blink
  in...surprise?

  Rage at being denied again is cut short by shock. Sending locked and held
    fast, though silent, the archer calculates across the distance. Not
    Treestump, nor Ember, nor Leetah he can be...he gives up on that, a
    gentler send of acceptance following. ** You'll go with her, then. **

Ynderra blinkblinkblinks, and swallows. ** Um...? **

A faint, wordless greeting is sent down from the archer's perch, his
  expression frozen in self-absorbed amazement and, following it, gentle
  approval. He remembers himself for a moment and nods. ** Ynderra. ** It's
  a greeting and more -- a request to hold here, just a moment. He may have
  words to share.

  Cutter, who has never been able to hide anything from the archer's eyes
    and senses, _anyway_, sends an affirmation, and just a hint of
    apprehension. ** She can't go alone, this time. So, I'm going with her.
    And I need you here. Ember is gone, and Clearbrook wants nothing to do
    with watching over a holt any more.. **

Ynderra blinks multiple times, but nods, slowly, head slightly quirked in
  curiosity.

  A simple assent.  ** Then I guard. **  The word 'chief' has suddenly left
    the archer's vocabulary.  ** Willowholt still needs help. I would send,
    at least, a treeshaper. ** 'And a healer' goes unsaid. Calm, the archer
    continues, ** The rest...may have to wait until we have our healers
    back.  And until I can leave. ** There's a moment's dark threat in those
    last few words, a grim 'you'd better come back.'

  Cutter's answer is simple. Quiet. ** Thank you. **

  The archer assents again. It's a good thing he's still in shock, or he
    might think to protest. As it is, he merely takes the simple words as
    permiss to do what he needs to, and withdraws from the lock with a last
    promise, intent to guard, to do this strange duty, well.

The odd approving expression changes to one of determination -- but not his
  usual grim, stubborn, almost angry determination. This is paternal and
  gentle, and the expression deepens in that fashion as his eyes lock once
  more on the shaper below. He is still for a moment, then thinks to ask,
  ** Have you a moment? **

Ynderra pipes, ** Sure, ** and climbs up into the tree, blue eyes darkened
  with concern. ** What's wrong? **

Strongbow straightens and steps aside to make room on his branch for his
  tribesmate. ** Nothing, here, ** he states, send uncharacteristically
  gentle and complete. ** I need your help. **

The notion of Strongbow asking her for help never has failed to startle the
  shaper maiden, and it startles her now, but not enough for her to fail to
  respond readily, ** Of course... anything I can do...? **

Strongbow nods approval, eyes glimmering understandingly. It's odd; the
  archer doesn't generally believe in -asking- for help. ** You know the
  wood here well, and you know flesh and bone well too. ** A smile flickers
  at the edges of his mouth and takes fast hold in his eyes, an unworded
  send of gratitude for his ankle.

Ynderra blushes a bit, unaccountably pleased by the elder's praise. ** Well,
  um, Grandfather and Leetah HAVE been helping me, ** she replies modestly,
  but she starts grinning foolishly at the compliment. But it's still strange
  that Strongbow's not getting to the point, so she asks curiously, ** Do you
  need me to shape you something? **

The archer shakes his head. ** More than that, ** he states, serious and
  grim through the gentleness.

Ynderra's black eyebrows go up. She turns to the archer on her branch-perch,
  utterly engrossed now, curiosity increasing for all that Strongbow's being
  elusive. ** Go on, ** she prompts.

** Willowholt needs aid to elves and trees both. **  So much for
  elusiveness.  ** I need you to go, to do what you can, and to find out
  what more is needed. ** Strange orders, these, coming from the archer, in
  a strange calm certain voice.  ** And to bring back any that will come
  that need tending here. **

Ynderra blinks. "What's wrong at Willowholt?" she asks, blankly, aloud.

Strongbow shifts his weight, then crouches and sits upon the branch. He
  looks up at the healer maiden, gaze even. ** Their treeshaper died, and
  left behind ever-newgreen in the plants. Another needs healing, and their
  healer needs for something before she can do it. ** He lifts his chin a
  bit, voice every bit as even as his gaze.

Ynderra's eyes darken at the reminder of Sweetleaf's death, and she nibbles
  on her lip. ** You said he died, ** she sends wistfully. ** He was nice!
  But... ever-newgreen? What? <Her sending sparkles with confusion.> **

An image: trees budding with the enthusiasm of the first sun after winter's
  cold. The buds grow and replace themselves without pause, however, as sun
  grows scorching hot...and fades to autumnal glow...and disappears behind
  clouds that bring rain, and then snow, to rest upon yet more buds, and
  blossoms, and fresh green grasses.

Ynderra blinkblinks at the sending, and studies it with a young treeshaper's
  interest... and surprise. ** Willowholt's like THAT? **

Strongbow nods once, quiet. ** I believe. The chieftess seemed upset; I have
  no clearer idea. **

Ynderra adds, still chewing her lower lip, ** Who's sick there? And what's
  the matter with their healers? ** She's starting to sound quite worried. 
  Knowing Strongbow's affection for that Holt, and being rather fond of it
  herself, this news bothers her.

True as the affection may be, the archer's tone carries little or none of
  it. ** Talek is ill. Silversong feels unable or unwilling to heal. ** If
  there is more of that tale to tell, he can't or won't find words. ** I
  need you to go, to help, to find out what they need, ** he reiterates, and
  it is very much not a question, almost not a request, almost an order,
  though gentle.

Ynderra takes all that in, and her face grows more worried. ** Okay... um... 
  I guess Leetah can handle it if the Wolfhaven elves need a good healer... 
  did you ask Cutter already? I'll have to find Kai and Blaze too, maybe Kai
  would like to see his father... oh, puckernuts...! ** She swings her feet,
  fretfully, and adds, ** I promised to keep an eye out for Trouble, she's
  not BACK yet...! **

The archer's send is gentle, but firm. ** Wait. **

Ynderra pauses, eyes wide. ** ? **

** I will watch for Trouble, ** the archer notes, as an aside, almost
  amused. ** Do not hurry. Prepare food, whatever else. ** His eyes darken,
  considering the rest of the jumble of a send he just took in from the
  shaper.  ** Cutter knows. What's the news about Wolfhaven? **

Ynderra pipes anxiously, ** Mother said something about an earthshake at
  their Holt. ** She cringes, though not at the archer. ** It killed the
  trees... **

Brows raise, and Strongbow's next send is colored with sympathy. ** They
  come here for healers? **

Ynderra goes on, liquid-eyed, ** And Viresse, she came here asking for help,
  I guess... she talked to Cutter and Leetah, that's all I know, but I don't
  know if they need a healer to go to them or not 'cause I haven't talked to
  Viresse... **

The archer considers. ** Then we should know first, ** he states, calmly, **
 what needs to be done about Wolfhaven. **

Ynderra fidgets, and bobs her head in agreement. ** I mean, if they need a
  healer or something, maybe Kai and I could go on to there after
  Willowholt, or go there first and stop at Willowholt on the way home, or
  something... **

Strongbow measures that and the shaper maiden as well, eyes glittering in
  thought. ** Or one of you to Willowholt, and keep another to help
  Wolfhaven, ** he suggests, gently, searching for a response.

Ynderra's brow furrows as she measures the possibility of what happens when
  a Holt is levelled by an earthshake, versus the indefinite but far more
  extraordinary circumstance of a perpetual newgreen at Willowholt. "I have
  to speak with Viresse!" she mutters.

** Agreed. ** Strongbow rises to his feet once more, shouldering his bow,
  and grabs a branch, swinging down to one below, and from there dropping
  to the ground. ** Have you seen her recently...? **

Ynderra shakes her head, consideringly, still fidgeting. "She just showed up
  and was all tired and everything, I haven't really had time to talk to her
  much, since I had to keep looking for Trouble, and then I, um, argued with
  Dart." She blushes.

** Argued with Dart. ** The archer turns to look up into the tree where the
  maiden remains, his tone a bit bemused. ** That's not rare. **

Ynderra chews her lip. ** It, um, is I guess when we're talking about
  Trouble. ** She pauses, then adds tinily, ** He was awfully mad that I
  didn't tell him she left the Holt territory. **

Strongbow's eyes go a bit dark for a moment. ** Understandably, ** he
  states, but adds no further admonishment.

Ynderra bites a bit more of her lip and creeps down off the branch. "I'll go
  find Viresse," she mumbles abashedly.

** I should hear her news as well, ** the archer murmurs. He looks down at
  the ground at his feet, at the spot of ground into which he puts the end
  of his bow and lets his arm lean upon its wood, suddenly tired. ** Thank
  you. **

Ynderra turns her head, peering at the archer to make sure he's not TOO mad
  at her about the Dart/Trouble thing (she hopes). Wanly, she smiles. "I
  haven't done anything yet!"

Strongbow nods once, eyes never leaving the ground. ** I need your help, **
  he states. ** So thank you. **

Ynderra blinkblinks. First Strongbow doesn't get to the point, then he
  stares at the ground rather than looking at her. The maiden considers,
  then steps back to the archer and asks softly, "Rillwhisper's alright,
  isn't she?"

The archer's head snaps up. ** It's hard... to look after a tribe that's in
  trouble, ** he observes, sagely, a hint of bemused bitter in his tone.

Ynderra straightens a little, serious of gaze, for once looking fully grown
  and not like a half-grown cub.
Ynderra locksends ** <shyly, but with clear concern> You... want me to go
  for Rillwhisper, too, and not just her tribe? **

You locksend to Ynderra, Strongbow admits, ** She was upset when we sent. **
  He slips away from the sending, wordlessly afraid of what the Willowholt
  chieftess might not be telling him. A brief memory of Sorrow's End and
  words exchanged there slips through his sending, and he leaves the lock.

Ynderra's eyes soften, and she begins to lift a hand, as though considering
  patting the hunter's shoulder.
You sense in a locksend, Ynderra promises hopefully, ** I'll check her and
  make sure she's alright.... **

Strongbow nods. ** Anyone who needs our help...bring back. ** He shrugs,
  that an easy request, and inspecific enough to let his tone stay calm and
  gentle.

Ynderra considers, then shyly steps up and hugs the archer.

Startled, he blinks a bit, then puts his arms about the shaper and hugs
  awkwardly back, silent.

You locksend ** ...<gratitude> ** to Ynderra.

Ynderra steps back, smiles bashfully, then says, "I have to find Kai and
  Blaze too and talk to them about this. And I'll get Viresse, too. Okay?"

** Thank you. ** The archer nods, face calm and gently stern once more.

Ynderra smiles, then, with that, turns and hastens off, already sending for
  her mate and cub.

Ynderra walks up into the rough opening that leads into the tree.

[End log.]