Log Date: 2/22-2/23/96 Log Intro: The arrival of the healer Mender -- and his failure to heal her dead right arm -- has had an effect that the reclusive Wolfrider Thicket has neither expected nor welcomed: it has begun to pull her out of a seasons-long immersion in the Now of wolf-thought. With the return of her awareness of time comes memory, of the human whose axe's blow deadened her arm... of the hunger and cold that has plagued her ever since then... and of the young elf, Cliffdancer, who had been her companion up until the confrontation with that same human. As if his disappearance had happened only a day or two before, Thicket remembers that Cliffdancer had promised to recover the pelt of her slain wolf -- and finds herself fearing for the young elf's life, both in her dreams, and in her conscious thought.... ---------- Thicket emerges from the den behind the waterfall, narrowly ducking past the sheet of water... and scowling ferociously. Slate is sitting next to his den, and his fire. He looks up at Thicket. "what? What's wrong?" Thicket scrambles up out of the pool, and for several moments, seems only marginally aware of her self-appointed guardian. Finally, however, her gaze shifts to him, and she barks, gruffly, "Dream. Not you. Cliffdancer. Gone." Slate motions for her to come over. "Who is Cliffdancer?" Slate looks at you for a moment. Slate stands and walks over to Thicket. I remember you spoke of him. He left... Thicket frowns, tightly. But her gaze, for once, has lost its stony impassiveness -- is, indeed, actively troubled. Looking at you, or perhaps past you, she sends, briefly: a flash of someone black-haired, blue-eyed. But that image is hastily yanked back, replaced for another face, fair-haired, golden-skinned, not unlike Mender. "Cliffdancer," she growls, starting to pace. Slate says "Who was he?" She continues to pace, mostly muttering to herself if she indeed answers you. But that taut, distressed look remains in her face, along with the scowl. "Cub. No. Not cub. Grown. Not wolfblood. Gone. Gone to find FarRoamer. Tall Ones not take Cliffdancer..." Slate walks over to thicket and leads her over to the fire. "He left. . .and never came back . . " Thicket balks somewhat at the hand on her arm, but, after a moment, stalks to the fire and crouches by it. "Gone," she mutters. Slate follows her over to the fire and sits across from her, looking into her leaf tinged eyes. "He went to find FarRoamer? Who is that? Your Lifemate? That, oddly, perhaps the word "lifemate", sharpens the pang in her gaze, and she flashes her look off into the trees. "Wolf," she barks, lowly. Slate says "How long ago did he leave to look for FarRoamer?" Slate says "you don't know. . . Hmmm." Slate sets a fresh ravvit in front of her and begins tearing into his own. Thicket frowns, darkly, and stares down at the meat. "Lost time," she murmurs, troubled. Slate speaks between mouthfuls of ravvit. "that was whenyou were lost in the now. Thicket scowls to herself, and sinks her left hand's fingers into the meat, ripping at it to get smaller bits more easily eaten. "Don't like time," she mutters. Slate sends her an image. "Who was this?" It's the image she sent, then snached back. . .a little blurrier, not as much detail. Thicket snaps her gaze up, alarmed, then -- blushes, under the curtain of hair that often shields most of her face. With a savage motion, she takes up the ravvit meat, and tears into it with her teeth. Only after a long pause can she be heard to growl, "Mate." Slate says "Tall ones. . ." Once more, Thicket tears at the meat. A hard glitter has entired her gaze. Slate says "tall ones made him go. . .didn't they. . ." Slate sends openly ** ** Thicket sends, shortly, ** Gone. ** Slate moves closer to Thicket. . .sits next to her and tries to look into her face. The hard glitter in Thicket's gaze is still there; with the same sharp, fierce movements, she rips meat from the ravvit carcass, chews, swallows. She stares off into the air, scowling. Slate sends openly ** Do you remember him? ** Thicket shifts her gaze back to you, then, briefly, before staring off across the trees. Her cheek seems to twitch, for an instant, as she sends back, ** ** Slate sends openly ** ** Slate locksends ** Who was he? ** Without shifting her head, Thicket snaps a bone, and sucks at it. The glitter in her eyes turns strangely bright. You locksend ** Pacer. ** to Slate. Slate locksends ** Pacer. . . ** Thicket spits a bone fragment across the clearing. Her scowl hasn't faded. Much. Slate tosses a small log on the fire. Slate locksends ** Will you tell me about him sometime? ** Thicket swallows a mouthful of meat, then shifts her regard to her companion and looks straight at him. ** Why? ** The sending is startlingly clear, rather more so than she's ever sent before. Slate sends openly ** I know you must miss him. . .I just want to know more about you. . . ** Thicket's gaze flickers, difficult to read. She nevertheless shrugs her left shoulder, and notes gruffly, ** ** Slate sends openly ** Surely you must remember him before. . . If you don't want to tell me, I understand. ** Thicket's brow crinkles, giving her a glowering look. Briefly, a growl rattles in her throat, but at last, perhaps resigned, she sends, ** Bad memory. Hurts. Like thorn. ** Slate sends openly ** Have you ever told? ** Slate sends openly ** It may help ease the pain. . .Pull the thorn. ** Thicket's hazel gaze turns distant. ** Told once. ** Slate sends openly ** Cliffdancer. . . ** Thicket snaps antoher ravvit bone, and sucks slowly at its marrow. ** No. Before. ** Slate sends openly ** who? ** Thicket sends, briefly. A memory, dimmed with time: a taller, older elf. With magic. And a smell that seemed to mark him as Kin. ** Told him. ** Slate sends openly ** Who was he? ** Thicket shifts, with a low disgruntled growl, and lifts her head briefly to sniff at the breeze that comes down out of the north. Then she sends, shortly, ** Kin. Treeshaper. Been too long; forgot name. ** Slate sends openly ** Doesn't matter. . .You told and he left? ** ** We talked. He made the mushrooms. ** Thicket shrugs again, but more slowly. Incongruously, her sending grows clearer. ** Made for me, because I was Kin. Left then. ** Slate nods to Thicket slowly. . .**Because you told?** Thicket eyes the younger elf, and snorts, wolfish, as though a cub had failed to grasp a lesson from an older wolf. ** He left. I left. Both wished. ** Slate nodnods. **Will you tell again?** Thicket glowers again, but not at her companion in particular. For several moments, she is silent. Then, she brks, ** Will think about it. ** Slate sends openly ** Good. . . ** [End log.]