The moonstone around my wrist glows warm as my hands stretch to Sehanine’s light. Aerdrie’s winds provide the melody, Hanali’s song in my heart the rhythm. I throw spoils of Erevan’s mischief high, letting it fall where it will. I dance in praise to the Seldarine, joy and laughter I share. Now and again I glimpse the other world, the one side by side to this one, where wisps of nothing here provide the substance there. It is only one of the many borders I dance.
Looking back, I see I was always between. Within my own family, I was neither one or the other. Though able to choose any path before me, none fit. Mother is an elf of the Wood, father of the Moon. I am of the Moon as he, but short and darker like her. Smart enough for magecraft, but no patience. Insight enough for service to the wood or the Seldarine, but unfocused.
Pushed out of their world, to learn among the World of Men. Too naughty to follow their laws, not foul enough to work against them. Again and again, the same dance: accepted in all, belonging to none.
I found my home, but it is not yet time to stay. So I remain the Dancer Between ~ Quarilsa Noetran
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
The last of the sun’s rays fade, but the ground still holds their warmth. I rouse from reverie, rub my face. Unused to shared reverie, our dreams separated long before. As if stealing a key from a suitor, I slowly slip out of his arms. He stirs only a little. I study his face, so pale and calm in the coming moonlight. I know I will paint him, someday soon. I whisper a prayer to Rillifane to hide him, and softly step away before my growling stomach wakes him.
Not a mile out does some movement catch my eye. I turn to see a human walking the wood. Too far in, I follow. Many questions chase the other: why this far? What do you know? What have you seen? Are you merely wandering, or is there a special place you seek? WHY ARE YOU HERE?
He stops before the stone with the faint blue glow. He remains silent. I hold my bow ready. This man is a friend. Or was. I do not know, with his presence here. He has been warned by another to keep out. She was generous, in giving the warning. She normally strikes without a word. No human are allowed this far in. None. Not Talonites, not Selunites, not Hoarsons.
I do not draw an arrow, trying to keep my voice even, “The Watcher carries poisoned arrows for this sort of intrusion. Why do you tempt her?”
Silence. Anger becomes frustration, soon to give way to sadness. It is my duty to turn him out. They do not care how I do it, blood is as good as reasoning with it. Though, he was reasoned with before, and ignores it by standing here. I try not to beg, “Please! You are too far in. You must go.”
Finally, he responds with a sigh and barely a nod, “As you say.” Speaking volumes in those three words.
“The other would not warn you,” I finish, spinning on my toe to disappear. Does he understand? I follow, and he knows it.
“Perhaps if they guarded their domain more closely, there would not be a need for me to come,” he says. Anger rises, but I remain silent. Did I not say a few days before, that the deep wood is well protected and unthreatened?
He stops by the pool. I come out of hiding to express my anger. “I thought you understood respect. I do not enter your home when I please, do as I will. Not even for your own protection. I expected you to understand.”
“It will not be so again,” his voice guarded and wooden. I know the emotions behind the voice and walk away, giving him his space. Hours do I walk, back and forth, town to forest, sometimes patrolling, sometimes just walking.
Twice I come to his tent and leave. I will not enter. A third time I see him on the hill, and approach softly. He is speaking in his odd tongue, it sounds like praying. I shake the tiny tree to announce myself, then remain silent. Watching. He holds both axes in his hands, his one eye sometimes pleading up to the stars, or bowing in seeming supplication. His voice ends, he loops the axes upon his belt.
“Your family will guard the pool, yes?” His elven slow and even. I wonder if he truly knows my family. Feral eyes flash in memory, followed by the soothing warm wine.
“They do not claim the pool for their own. That is a border. Only beyond.”
“I have my own borders now. Someone will need to watch it.” Yes, I know this technique. Wash your hands of it all and retreat further than needed. I felt the very same way, not long ago. With this very same human. Not My Problem.
“The Talonites are doing a fine job of watching it,” I softly remind him. Should they retake the pool, this human’s children will sicken and die. The whole town will. It is his problem.
“The Talonites are why I tread into your home in the first place, they are not my concern now.”
“I see,” I try to hide the disappointment. Perhaps I expect too much of him. I had hoped he was more than just a human. Talonites are not welcome in the deep wood, no human was. They cannot hide from the nose of a Woodswalker. “What are your borders, then? If I might ask.”
“Where the forest meets the farms of man. I will keep man out of your home. And I will send those evils living within your home back,” wounded pride spits at the trees his one eye watches.
“Your god is one of retribution, yes? righting wrongs?” This question has been rolling about my thoughts recently. He answers yes. “What are the rules, if you perform the wronging?”
He recites, “If one performs a wrong, then one must seek to the best of their ability to make amends for that wrong, else they will suffer true judgement. True judgement is dispensed after the nature of the wrong is uncovered and investigated. I was wrong in where I was. Therefore I no longer tread the woods. And I keep others from doing the same. It is my amends.”
“My family holds no claim on the pool.”
“It matters not.”
A few more rounds of this dance and I leave. Care of the pool falling to me, in his eyes. I wonder if he wishes me to fail. To see it tainted again, poisoning the people of the Glen. Only, my family would not care. What is the loss of a few hundred Not People living so close to the Wood?
Breathing room.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it.~~Groucho Marx
I walk with the caravan along the Blood Road. The scent beyond the men is of tobacco, the men themselves dressed plainly. No rings, no fancy weapons, even their shields forgettably plain. They suffer under the heat of highsun, sweat running in little rivers from their helmed heads. The men focus on the path towards Hadreth's Glen, mostly old and experienced guards. One, considerably younger by his eager movements walks closer to the forest, frequently peering in. I nock an arrow, watching the man. He pulls off his helm, leaning in for a closer look into the wood where the sun does not touch the forest floor. His tawny hair remains pasted to his head, bright blue eyes searching. I draw the arrow back. A gnarled hand on his shoulder pulls him back towards the road.
"I thought I saw something."
"Course ya did, boy!" the older guard grumps. "Whatever you think you saw, forget it. Ain't nothin' but death in them trees."
The young man's protests stop at a whipcrack. He and I look to the driver, coiling his whip with a scowl.
"My brother thought he saw something," the driver growls. "Heard it, too. Eerie whistling comin' from deep in. Damn fool ran after it, and I chased him. It be dark in there, boy. Damned dark. My brother and me stopped to see a blade moving to the music, and the damned fool didna move when it went for his throat. He twitched when he fell, boy, and there weren't no mage around. I ran, and it stabbed me anyway. Ain't ashamed ta say I passed out, boy, and woke on the road with a rope 'round ma neck. I got lucky, damned lucky. Stay on tha road, boy, I ain't payin' you to die in that forest. Anyone comin' for our load, they be comin' from the road. We leaves them trees alone, they leaves us alone."
The young man replaced his helm when the driver went silent. The tale brings us to the outskirts of Hadreth's Glen. I return my arrow to the quiver, resting a free hand over my upset stomach. Still, I smile.
Some of them do learn.
Last PC: Laurelin ~ dancer, trickster and professional pain-in-the-backside
wonderful work Misty:)
