Date: July 5, 1998
Place: Whispering Grove - Forest
Cast: FoxDancer, GreyWolf, Matthias, One-Paw, Red-Tail, Winter-Oak
Scene: One-Paw re-tells the origin of the graisha, made popular by "stone-walkers" who had turned the story into a tragedy rather than a tale of pride and duty. Thus, here is his version, and the version of the Sylvans, known as "Ferrin's Pride."

Winter-Oak makes his way slowly along the trail, stopping now to lean against a tree and rest, breathing hard.

In contrast, One-Paw strolls into the area casually and relaxed. The old man has a pleasant smile upon his face, and often moves his gaze into the trees.

Twigs crack under Winter-Oak's feet as he shuffles them. He reaches one thinly gloved hand out of the cloak to pull it closer. A coughing fit begins.

One-Paw's pleasant smile twitches for a moment, his attention moving rather quickly toward the cowled man. He stops walking, rolls his eyes, and finally says, halfway-jovially, "Ash. I see ye have once again decided to drag those clumsy feet of yours into the forest."

The hood swivels, its dark opening briefly aimed One-Paw's direction as the coughing comes to a gurgling stop. Slowly the form raises, and the hood is carefully tugged down again. "And a lovely day in the Grandmother's forest it is, too."

"Nicely warm, for winter," One-Paw's tone is rather guarded, and though his smile remains, that look in his eye is definitely aimed in your direction.

The head turns to present a silhouette to One-Paw, Winter-Oak's gaze possibly aimed towards the town. "By any chance have you chatted with the Delphi Mage, Khamseen, of late?"

"Khamseen?" One-Paw is taken by surprise by this question. "I have never been hearing this name. A Varati, I take it? Nay. Why?"

The hood bows. "Three weeks ago he mentioned to me that he wished to speak to you." Winter-Oak stops for a brief round of coughing. "I suppose all Sylvans speak to all Sylvans every day as he sees the world. But, insofar as I have seen you this day I do pass along the message."

Running a hand through greying hair, One-Paw watches you silently, letting the pause in conversation become almost palpable. "And why is this fellow wanting to speak with me, then?" he asks finally. "As you are surely knowing, the People are not often eager to be dealing with Delphi."

Winter-Oak spits out some phlegm towards a patch of snow off the trail. His breath wheezes until he's able to speak again. "I don't know. Maybe I look like your brother to him."

"I would trust you no more than I do now, regardless," One-Paw retorts almost immediately. He glances curiously eastward, toward Haven. "What was this fellow's name, again?"

"Khamseen." The cloaked shoulder lifts. "And you need not trust me. You need not even go. I said I would deliver the message when I next saw you and I have kept my word."

"I suspect he has no other reason than typical stone-walker paranoia," grumbles One-Paw, apparently not even hearing your words. "Thinking that whatever secrets I shared with his fellows, I must surely share with him. Hmph."

Winter-Oak says, "I seem to observe paranoia reaching beyond the city gates now and then."

One-Paw notes harshly, "For some odd reason, Ash, I would suspect it follows ye from place to place." His tone nearly drips with sarcasm, "Difficult to understand why, is it not?"

A sound like a wet growl creeps from the hood, stopped by a sharp cough. "I came to the forest to walk with the Grandmother. Is there something you, her servant, insist on discussing despite the peace here?"

"I will leave ye to your walking," One-Paw replies coldly. There is no friendship or camaraderie offered by the Elder. "Mayhaps Grandmother will someday find it in her heart to forgive ye, Ash. But do not hold such hopes for myself."

Instead of turning towards the heart of the forest, Winter-Oak turns back towards town. "One day, One-Paw you will understand."

Red-Tail comes up the trail from the farmlands.

"Perhaps one day, Ash, so shall you," One-Paw's bitterness seeps through his voice in huge gobs.

Winter-Oak pauses on the trail back toward the city, his back towards One-Paw. As the small graisha appears, he steps swiftly aside to let her pass.

A snap of a twig alerts all to another presence. The fox-tailed graisha steps out from behind a tree and stands some distance away, watching the too men. As Winter-Oak passes, she frowns a little and furrows her brow in confusion.

One-Paw seems not at all bothered by Winter-Oak's departure. He stays where he was standing and continues to watch the other, not even sparing Red-Tail a glance of recognition.

From the depths of the hood comes a soft sound, like a curse. "Graisha."

Red-Tail growls softly and almost darts off into the forest after the voice, but manages to hold herself to an angry growl. "Graisha special!" she yells. "SPECIAL!"

FoxDancer comes up the trail from the farmlands.

FoxDancer steps nimbly around the leaves and sticks scattered about the forest floor. It being a bit warmer today, she wears her coat open, showing the simple buckskin dress she wears underneath.

Winter-Oak speaks low, his voice rumbling out of the dark hood like a languid river in summer. "Pardon, I would not be wise to tell tales of my own when the great storyteller One-Paw is here." The shoulders swivel and the hood faces the elder. "Would you tell us a tale, master? How about the story of Graiae and Ferrin?"

FoxDancer drops her arms in surprise, which had been stretched out on either side of her as she walked her girlish little gait. She stuffs her hands in her pockets, looking about at those here.

"The story of Graiae and Ferrin," One-Paw announces ponderously, his attention resting on Winter-Oak heavily. "That tale speaks of responsibility and legacy, Ash. It tells why the Graisha are what they are today, because of one man's curse. But it also tells of the bond which calls us to serve the People. 'Tis not a curse, but a duty."

FoxDancer watches One-Paw, drawing nearer.

"Tell us the story of the curse," the hooded man says, adding far more softly "And the duty."

Red-Tail nods in agreement at One-Paw's words. She moves over to sit beside him. As she lowers herself to the ground, the graisha is mindful to shift her tail out of the way.

FoxDancer stands a bit farther away, but close enough to listen.

Matthias comes up the trail from the farmlands.

One-Paw begins his storytelling: "This is an ancient tale, older than most others, and as such, has been told in many ways throughout the lands of the People. Indeed, it is so old as to be told even among the stone-walkers, where their bards and poets have twisted it from a tale of birth, to a tale of tragedy. To a stone-walker, indeed, the call of Graisha is most difficult to answer, for it means leaving behind their own lands for those of the Grandmother."

Winter-Oak steps closer to a tree, gripping a low branch.

FoxDancer sits.

Birds take flight. Small animals flee. Large animals look startled. And Matthias bursts into view, leaves crunching under callused feet, bells jingling in a maelstrom of sound to match the approaching thunder of color.

A small, strange circle is here, listening to the elder Sylvan tell a tale. Winter-Oak grips a tree branch for support, his breath wheezing as he listens. Red-Tail sits at One-Paw's feet looking up at the storyteller as he speaks. FoxDancer sits a pace out of the circle, listening to the story being told.

The cacophony reaches Red-Tail's ears long before Matthias enters the grove, and she turns her head towards the man who emits it with a scowl.

FoxDancer yelps at Matthias' entrance, startled.

One-Paw continues, his attention drawn to each listener in turn. Even the newcomer is given some attention, in the form of a rather stern glance demanding silence. "Long ago and far away, near where the White Serpent River enters Greenwood and the Elk's Teeth Mountains give way to their foothills, there lived the First Tribe. These were the folk who lived with the Grandmother before any other, before the rainmakers or the Varati."

Winter-Oak intones softly "In the blessed time when the Grandmother's people were first."

FoxDancer nods a bit, watching Matthias carefully.

Silence is not something which lies within Matthias' realm of possibility. One-Paw's glance has some effect, perhaps, for he does not speak--but the mad jingle of bells goes on, and his flouncing strides take him closer to the gathering, the din growing only louder.

"The Sachem of the First Tribe," continues One-Paw, "was Sachem over all the People. From far and wide, they all came to him for wisdom and magic, and thus it continued for generations upon generations. And it was into this world that Ferrin came, just a youngling then, but already a hunter of great prowess. He was known for the number of bison he could fell in one morning's hunt, when he would stalk the plains with only his atl-atl and knife. None could match his stealth, either. 'Twas said he could walk across a dry summer's Ponderosa bed making less sound than a calm breeze across a lake."

Red-Tail listens to One-Paw intently but gives Matthias a constant scowl, with eyes narrowed.

Winter-Oak replies softly, "But such silent steps can lead a man astray. And more than bison might fall to his strength."

One-Paw nods absently to Winter-Oak as he continues, "Indeed, such lofty praise found Ferrin's ear, and from such festered a pride larger than any one man can handle. He strode like a Varati, and spoke like a rainmaker, that all could see and hear how great he was. In Ferrin's eye, all that he wanted was sure to be his. He was, after all, the greatest hunter that ever walked. Some say he was the son of Grandmother herself, taught the atl-atl by Sky-Father, and his forest-craft by Tupuran. And it was thusly, that he came to the First Tribe, and presented himself to the Sachem there."

Matthias' head tilts to the side, his expression remarkably curious. Finally, he does an uncharacteristic thing. He drops to the ground in a final crash of bells, looking up at the old Graisha with rapt attention and a lack of movement, which is a rare thing indeed.

Red-Tail continues to glare at Matthias, but breathes a little sigh of relief when the bells stop ringing as loudly.

FoxDancer folds her hands in her lap, listening with respectful silence.

One-Paw continues, making dramatic pantomimes to accompany his tale. "In those days, the protocol of the Sachem was strict. Each man was required to lower to one knee, and each woman to bow her head to the earth upon approach. But Ferrin did no such thing. Tall and erect, he stood before the Sachem and announced with booming voice, 'I am Ferrin, the mightiest hunter that has ever walked the land!'

"And the People of the First Tribe had heard many tales. The Sachem himself was awed by this great visitor, and replied, 'I am Sachem First-Oak, Speaker of the People and Son of Tupuran. Welcome to our Land, Ferrin Hunter.'"

Yet another rustle is added to the mid-day noise which usually fills the forest. Not noticeable by most from the city, the usual background of the forest masks a low figure's entrance into the local area. An animal of moderate size quietly approaches the treeline, keeping a great distance for the gathered crowd. The figure pauses near the trunk of a huge tree, blending into the background as much as possible, its eyes looking in the direction of those in the group.

Red-Tail furrows her brows a little and then turns her head to locate the new sound. She spots the creature, and after smiling a little, returns her regard to the storyteller.

FoxDancer sits wordlessly, staring off a bit, thoughts elsewhere.

The soft sawing wheeze of Winter-Oak's breathing softens, and the hood shifts slightly to allow a better view of the tale teller.

One-Paw continues, "This lack of protocol brought shock to the people. Surely, they had never seen such a thing. And none had imagined that Ferrin's pride was so great that he would ignore the laws of the Tribe. But he was the mightiest hunter who had ever walked the land, and many believed that this gave him the right to stand as equal with the Sachem. So Ferrin's first breach was overlooked.

"So the shamans and wives of the Tribe set about to prepare a great feast, filled with the foods with the First Tribe liked best. There were pumpkins and pheasant and apples and bison, salmon and pike and venison, turnips and corn and squash. All to such abundance that they filled an entire valley, rows upon rows of tables and mats. For days they prepared the food, until they could feed the entire First Tribe in one sitting, to honor the arrival of Ferrin."

The large, four-legged animal holds its distance from the group, clearly not wanting to get anywhere near so many people. It simply stands by the large tree, silently watching.

"For such were the old ways, the ways of honor," Winter-Oak replies, his low voice quietly adrift in the wind.

One-Paw continues, "For such a feast, it was customary for the Sachem and his family to sit in the west, with their backs toward the setting sun. This way, he would see when dawn the next day approached, and call the feast to an end. For everybody knew even back then that to hold a feast for more than one day is to call down the wrath of Sky-Father. However, when the People went to take their places for the feast, Ferrin marched right up and sat himself with the Sachem's family.

"Of course, the Sachem did not know how to respond to this. Ferrin was the greatest hunter that walked the land, and to deny him this would be to deny the son of the Grandmother herself. So he let Ferrin stay. It was there that Ferrin laid eyes on Bright-Moon for the first time. She was as lovely as the sunset over the Western Sea, with eyes like morning's dew and hair like a golden waterfall."

Winter-Oak comments to the tree on which he leans, "And so the First Sachem made his second error."

Red-Tail takes a quick glance back at the wolf and smiles. She then returns to watching One-Paw.

The wolf still keeps its distance from the group, but remains in its position afar. There is the occasional glance around the group, and a moment of particular scrutiny on Matthias. It passes, however, and the attention resumes its usual direction.

FoxDancer blinks a bit at the two men, seeming to come out of her daydream.

One-Paw continues with a grin, "Immediately, Ferrin's heart leapt for Bright-Moon. He knew in the depths of his loins that he wanted her more than anything, that to have her would bring more pleasure than felling the fastest bison, or outracing the West Wind. And it was there that he first began to conspire to steal the Sachem's daughter.

"For many moons, Ferrin stayed among the folk of the First Tribe, and for many moons he watched Bright-Moon, following her through the woods and sitting near her at mealtime. The Sachem saw Ferrin watching, and could tell that the hunter lusted after his daughter. But he did nothing, for after all, Ferrin was the greatest hunter that walked the land, and to deny him his daughter would be to deny the son of the Grandmother.

"Bright-Moon, however, was young and naive. She believed in innocence, and was untouched by the realities of mankind, by the dark thoughts that drift through the lusting heart of a hunter. To her, Ferrin was naught but a hero that she heard of in stories. He was like a myth that walked alongside her, and thus he earned her complete trust."

"And what did the great hunter do next, O Storyteller?" Winter-Oak's voice lifts, almost matching the strength of the Elder's oration. "We so honor the ways of the hunter, as it lives even now in the heart of the Graisha."

FoxDancer glances at Winter-Oak for a moment.

Red-Tail shifts her gaze to Winter-Oak and glares at him. "Quiet," she demands.

FoxDancer grins at red-Tail, then at Winter-Oak.

One-Paw casts a clearly-readable glare at Winter-Oak, then continues, "And so it came that on the eve of a full moon, Ferrin brought to the First Tribe a magnificent hart, felled by the hunter's own atl-atl. Bright-Moon and the other women of the Sachem's family came to clean and skin the catch. As the night wore on, and the job was finished, Bright-Moon's clothes were drenched with the blood of the animal, and she wished to bathe before retiring. There were great beasts in the woods in those days, however, that prowled the night and preyed upon the unwary. Bright-Moon went to Ferrin and asked, 'Ferrin, greatest hunter that walks the land, will you watch over me while I bathe, and keep the great beasts at bay?'

"'For ye, I would slay all the beasts in the world,' replied Ferrin, and the two of them made off into the night, guided by the light of the moon. In a secluded glen, where a stream fed a clear pond, the Sachem's daughter bathed."

Winter-Oak is not quiet. A brief set of hacking coughs catch him again, and his grip on the tree tightens to prevent falling. In time, he takes a deep breath, and is able to turn his attention back to the Elder, though he still wheezes as he listens.

FoxDancer watches Winter-Oak, concerned. "Are you all right?"

One-Paw says, "And what did Ferrin do, but watch? The beasts that night were quiet, because after the death of the stag they had heard that Ferrin was nearby. They left the two alone that eve, so that the forest was silent. Only the wind dared to intrude, so that when Bright-Moon stepped from the pool still wet, it chilled her to the bone. 'I am so cold!' she told Ferrin, and came toward him.

"So Ferrin offered to keep her warm, all the time his lust growing inside. She accepted his help, but he took more from her. Against her will, Ferrin took and mated her, beneath the light of the full moon."

Red-Tail frowns deeply and shakes her head. From the look in her eyes she seems greatly disturbed.

The hooded man breathes out a word of thanks towards FoxDancer. "I am recovering, thank you." His attention then returns to the tale.

FoxDancer grimaces at Red-Tail's frown and turns back, folding her hands in her lap, biting her bottom lip, staying quiet now.

No noise, nor any movement comes from the four-legged figure which continues to occupy a spot near a tree a short distance away from the scene. One might think the beast was almost not real, but an occasional blink from its yellow eyes occasionally re-secures the reality that the animal is the real thing.

One-Paw continues, motioning grandly as his tone becomes darker: "And as Ferrin completed this terrible act, there came across the light of the moon a winged shape. Then a second, and a third. The first was a white hawk, who flew as hawks do, in a manner sharp, swift, and true. And second was a brown owl, who swooped in on silent wings as owls are wont to do. The third and last was a raven, so old that its wings were bent with age, and it seemed to almost limp through the air as it flapped.

"And these three landed around the pair, as Bright-Moon huddled by the pool weeping away the last of her innocence. As Ferrin looked up, he saw each bird in turn stand erect, and take the shape of a woman."

Winter-Oak's head bows, and turns away from the tale for a moment.

FoxDancer turns her head a bit to the side, listening.

One-Paw narrates, "The first, the hawk, became a young woman with hair as silver as the moon's light, draped in a gown of white. The owl became a mother, plump of belly and breast, whose hair flowed as red as a spring wildfire. And last, the raven became an old, bent crone, so aged that her own scalp was bald but for a few scraggly grey hairs, her back bent nearly double.

"And then, the three women spoke to him, all their voices sounding at once. 'Ferrin the Hunter!' they cried, 'Ye are a violator of women, a thief of the worst kind. For the last time, ye have taken what was not yours by right. Now, hear your punishment.'"

Red-Tail looks down at the ground and shifts her gaze to her hands when she folds them in her lap.

Matthias lolls upon the ground, absolutely enraptured. It is as if he has fallen in love--his mouth hangs open slightly as he stares up at the old Graisha from but a few meters away. He twitches from time to time, as if the habit of movement were too strong to truly break. But the jinglings are but a minor distraction from the entranced Jester.

One-Paw's voice and tone increase in tempo and darkness as he reaches the climax of the story. "'In your pride ye forced the People to serve ye,' the three intoned, 'and for this, shall ye be consigned to serve them evermore, and this consignment shall be carried by your seed and blood, and never forgotten.' But that was not all, for they continued on:

"'In your pride, ye forgot that which made ye man. Ye acted with careless lust, such that all would call ye beast for what ye have done. And thus, shall ye be.' And by the light of the moon, a change came over Ferrin the Hunter. His form twisted, his mind changed, and thus began the servitude of Graisha. These summers later, we serve to compensate for Ferrin's Pride, and shall continue to do so until the Graisha are no more."

One-Paw turns, finally, to Winter-Oak. "Thus, that which is a curse in the eyes of the stone-walker, is honored duty in the eyes of the People."

FoxDancer frowns a bit.

Red-Tail shakes her head quickly, and leaping to her feet, rushes off into the deeper forest without looking back.

Winter-Oak says, "An obligation, a sentence served. Until the People are free of Ferrin's Pride. For it was the people who chose to honor and trust the beast."

FoxDancer plucks at the grass on the ground.

Matthias blinks in several slow, languid gestures, as if attempting to digest what he just heard. The jester stirs a bit, and then finally bursts upwards, leaping in a scrambling, rustling to stand upon those grimy toes. Bells jingle as he applauds wildly, slapping his slight hands together in what surely must be painful force. There is even a whoop or two.

The form of the wolf remains still, and at his current distant position. Peace is maintained until the jester starts to clap, drawing the large animal's attention.

FoxDancer flinches, looking at Matthias with an odd expression.

One-Paw chuckles wryly at Winter-Oak's words. "But ye are forgetting the lesson of Tupuran (which is a story for another time), which says that the beasts were Grandmother's first children, before e'er the People did walk."

Winter-Oak's voice is too quiet, strained whining spoiling his low, mellow comments "Oh first among storytellers. The Grandmother is wise enough to do things more than once if the first try is unsuccessful."

"Which is also a story for another time, Ash," One-Paw replies to the hooded Sylvan, obviously losing patience. "Now, I must be going to rest. Go and tell this Khamseen fellow that I will try to be stopping in the next time I am in Haven."

Matthias, meanwhile, has not stopped creating a din which would make such quiet tones entirely inaudible. He has actually begun jumping up and down now, paying homage to the storyteller in most undignified fashion with jingling bells and wildly clapping hands.

Winter-Oak coughs. "I do not run errands between bar-flys and you, Wandering-Paw. Tell him yourself when you see him." The cloaked man turns towards town, his slow pace beginning to take him away from the story circle.

One-Paw does not give Winter-Oak a retort, this time, but instead snaps at the jester, "Quiet down, boy!" and turns to head deeper into the forest.

FIN  

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