From: owner-lostholt-l@murkworks.net on behalf of Lost-chan
[jrorr@exis.net]
Sent: Friday, May 19, 2000 8:46 PM
To: lostholt-l@murkworks.net
Subject: [lostholt-l] Family Chat (log)

Nothing of world-shattering significance in this log; just a particularly
nice slice of life that I thought was worth sharing. Treestump comes upon
Dewshine dancing in the woods, then Windkin upon the two of them; they
eventually join forces to tease the poor floater. 

Log cast: Treestump, Dewshine, Winkdin
Log date: 5/19/00 

The forest is red-gold, dusted with the onset of dusk, darkness drawing down
the colors to muted bronzes and burgundies. Here, in a secluded portion of
the holt, a dance takes place, a lithe body spinning and twisting with the
lightning bugs that still float lazily on the balmy air.

With a body as crudely proportioned compared to the slender frame of the
dancer, one wouldn't think that the old wolf could be as quiet as he is. But
he is, and thus very little, if anything, announces his presence as he
arrives on the scene from above, booted feet coming to a nigh silent pause
upon a branch where he crouches, a hand placed to the tree beside him for
balance. His other hand reaches upward, combing fingers through his beard
before dropping again to rest lightly over his knee. 

It's from there that he watches; nos ound, no send gives him away, though if
the pretty cub isn't too caught up in her dance to notice, his scent would
be carried in the air. Whatever the result, he stays in respite for the
moment to watch for as long as he can.

Dewshine reaches skyward with both arms weaving in the air, as though she'd
draw the very substance of the sky into her dance. Her face is lit with a
joy unrivaled in this time of peace, the air caressing her form as her feet
nimbly flit along the ground, unerringly finding their way around the clearing.

Saying that the old wolf's gaze is admiring implies too much, but there
really is no other word for it. Leaning back against the tree, weight
shifting fractionally, bit by bit, he crosses his arms over his wide chest
and tucks his chin to his collar, his sky blue eyes following the she-elf
around the clearing, their fondness unhidden; only a shade of wistfulness
manages to keep itself unseen. The memories now are few and far, but-- ach,
but she reminds him of her mother, even now. With a soft whisper that he
thinks only he can hear, Treestump murmurs to the tree, "She's as lovely as
you were, beloved. Can you see it?" A pause, then he smiles at nothing,
bowing his head slightly, his voice even lower than before. "Aye... I think
you can."

Dewshine comes dreamily out of her dance at the spoken words, her eyes
focusing on the trees that surround her, as her steps pause, and she looks
up. ** Father? <<questing for your presence>> ** The twilight is complete,
painting the clearing in silvered tones as the moons begin to rise.

Blue eyes open fully again, resuming their usual widths, and flicker down to
the fey creature in the clearing below. A slow smile spreads across
Treestump's lips, then a rough laugh escapes them; he adjusts his stance on
the branch to afford a seat, letting his legs dangle over the branch, feet
hovering above the ground far below. ** Aye, lass, ** he flicks back
downward, confirming his presence for her as well as drawing attention to
his location. ** It's me. **

It is a fine night for flying...and amid all the colors of the sunset, who
could resist? Windkin left the Holt when the sun was just beginning to set,
but something about the oncoming night called to him and he stayed out,
making a wide circle about the Holt, reveling in the feel of the crisp air
about him and the sight of nothing but stars and treetops around. As he
takes a daring soar just above the treetops, something catches his attention
farther below. Pale flashes...pale hair? As carefully and as quietly as his
tribe ever taught him, he slips through the branches, not making a sound as
he brushes by the leaves to take a closer look.

Dewshine bends her legs at the knee, after spinning and twirling saucily to
the ground below the branch that Treestump rests on. With hardly a sound,
she springs upward, her fingers catching the branch and pulling herself up
with a practiced flip, sitting beside her sire. ** It was such a lovely
night. ** she sends, feeling as though the night is too peaceful to mar with
speech. Almost as though one /could/ commune with those who have passed.

The elder of the two Wolfriders sits in a tree, his shock of sun-blonde hair
standing out amidst the shadow-painted leaves of the branch; a moment later,
as his daughter joins him, he shies slightly to the side to allow her room
and laughs. ** You're going to break your neck doing that someday, ** he
sends wryly, half in jest. She's always making leaps like that.

For all the world ignorant to the third presence, Treestump leans his
shoulder against the trunk of the tree, studying the blue-eyed she-elf
through the corners of his own similarly-shaded eyes, smirking crookedly at
her. His arms cross over his chest, one remaining only half-folded as he
toys with the end of his beard with his callused fingers. ** It still is, **
he then corrects gently, looking away from her to gaze up toward the sky,
black with only the Child showing through at half-mast, the Mother in the
hiding of new. ** Dark and peaceful. **

Now, the question is, how should he alert his mother and grandsire to his
presence? It could be with something mischeivous, but Windkin isn't sure
he's in the mood for that. Maybe just a simple, straightforward send will
do. As he's not particularly far away, he sends ** Ayoooooah! ** before
floating into their line of sight.

Dewshine laughs softly at Treestump and his accusations of her natural
daring. ** I haven't yet, father. Why should I start? ** but her head snaps
about at Windkin's send, and her very being seems to glow with joy. **
Windkin! My eyes see with joy. ** and her hands will be touching with joy,
too. The prettycub is on her feet, dancing along the length of the branch.
That's all it can be called, as she is far too graceful to merely /walk/ it.
A spring and catch later, she's closer to her cub by a branch or three.

While the old wolf may be gifted with his own lightness of step and inherit
litheness of body, he's simply not made for graceful movements such as the
ones his daughter presents. Thus Treestump remains seated as she dances
away, instead following her with eyes up and over, until the blue orbs
flicker past her toward the floater, his grandson. His eyes soften
immediately; a moment later, he sends, ** Ayooooooah, Windkin! When did you
pop up, eh? **

Windkin grins and lands lightly on one of the branches, barely touching it,
** I was flying about...your hair caught my attention. ** He turns a grin to
his approaching mother and makes sure she doesn't accidentally slip and fall
as well. ** Were you two out hunting? **

Dewshine isn't likely to fall. It's just not in her nature to be clumsy or
anything like that. She sits down on the branch she has managed to get to,
and brushes against Windkin's hand before withdrawing, not wanting to
'overmother' him. ** I was dancing, your grandsire was watching, I think. It
was very pretty out as the daystar was setting. **

A soft snort, and a half-amused mumble: "My hair caught your attention...
pfeh." Still not choosing to give up his post, allowing mother and son to
stand close to each other while he relaxes in his branch, taking advantage
of the extra space now available since Dewshine has since vacated her seat.
He leans back against the trunk of the tree, arms folded comfortably, legs
only slightly bent as his booted feet brace to the line of the branch. **
Aye, ** is cast there way as confirmation. ** I was watching. ** The soft
rumbling chuckle lifts from the old wolf's belly and carries even to their
ears; the same taste of gentle amusement filters into his sending. ** Pretty
c-- Your mother's quite a fine dancer, you know. **

Windkin glances at his mother, ** I've been told so, but I don't remember
her dancing much around me. ** She probably did when he was much, much
younger, but he can't recall. And yes, Treestump's hair did catch his
attention...his and Dewshine's.

Dewshine smiles at both of you, knowing full well that there were reasons
that she didn't dance much. But then...we're all home again, and in the very
holt that Dewshine grew up in as well, and there are places that hold such
memories for her. ** I thought I might try and speak to Goodtree or Tanner
about you, Windkin. ** Her mouth curves, still smiling, but is she joking,
or not?

** Ach, you should ask her to do that then. It's good to dance... ** Just
ask the Go-Backs or the Sun Villagers. ** ... so long as you don't mind
wearing your feet away. ** This last is 'said' with another rough laugh,
then the old wolf relaxes in his seat, letting his shoulders roll back and
his head droop forward. He'd seem asleep were it not for the feeble light of
the Child moon overhead catching in his eyes, making them stand out in the
darkness apart from the rest. Well, those and his hair, of course. Ahem.

Hearing Dewshine's sending, Treestump is drawn up for a moment, then he
smirks ever so faintly. He offers no comment to this; the old wolf simply
waits to hear his grandson's response.

Goodtree or Tanner? Huh? Honey-brown eyebrows crease as Windkin wonders if
his mother and grandsire were also eating dreamberries. ** How were you
going to talk to them...and what were you going to talk to them about? **

Dewshine tilts her head to the side, regarding her special child. ** I'd
talk to them about you, of course. ** didn't she already say that? But then,
she doesn't really want to make you uncomfortable by pointing out that
sometimes she /doesn't/ know how to deal with you, or the magics you
possess. Perhaps Tanner could help her, that patient soul who dealt with
Stormlight so compassionately, even through all of her rages.

Windkin still looks at his family like they each have three heads, ** What
about me? **

Dewshine laughs, trying to make a joke of it, too calm to get into such a
deep discussion now. "I was teasing you, B...Windkin." she says, shrugging
lightly.

Windkin scratches at his head...well, that was odd. ** All right... ** But
he still gives his mother an odd look. Maybe Treestump knows what she's
teasing him about?

** She's just trying to avoid the fact that she was trying to commune with
the old ones so she could learn how to tie a certain Bumper to the ground
without fear of him floating away, ** comes Treestump's bright, joking send.
No, it's not precisely truth -- he's bending the rules a bit, but it shows
in his sending; it's impossible to lie, even slightly, without it showing.
But he's kidding, so it's all right. A sky blue eye winks across the tree
toward the perplexed floater. ** Don't pay her any heed, lad. **

Windkin grins slowly as he winks back to his grandsire, ** It's a little
late for that, I'm afraid. ** If he senses the cover up, he doesn't point it
out. After all, who is he to deny his family private concenrs, even if it is
about him as well.

Whatever the private concern is, Treestump isn't privy to it, though
Dewshine may appreciate it as a cover-up even if it wasn't intended to be.
He really was honest in his humor; the night is too young, and the sky too
clear with refreshing darkness, for him to be inappropriately downcast. **
Ah, well. Worth a try, eh? ** A grin is shared with his daughter before the
she-elf flits away for whatever reason, no doubt using one of those
spectacular jumps that will probably one day, as Treestump foretold earlier,
cost her neck. 

The old wolf takes his cue from her, or perhaps from the drowsiness creeping
into his eyes, born of his lazy position nestled between branch and trunk.
Right, the night is young -- but Treestump isn't. A nap might be in order.
** Go catch up with your mother, lad. I think I'm going to find a nice niche
somewhere to doze. **

Windkin chuckles and shakes his head, ** You know, Grandsire, if you don't
think of yourself as an old wolf, you won't -act- like an old wolf! ** Of
course, this is coming from one who is immortal, but he sends only in jest.
But he does leap off of the branch, soaring quickly through the air after
his tree-leaping mother.

A quiet (well, not so quiet) snort follows the floater, a half-amusedly
muttered, "Cubs," flicked to the air a moment later gruffly before Treestump
lobs off for parts of his own, vanishing into the foliage in search of some
comfortable-looking niche.

[end.]