Date: October 15, 1998
Place: Forest Edge - Farmlands
Cast: BrightEyes, Broken Wind, Ember-Eyes, GreyWolf, Huikki, Many Shadows, Moonshadow, Spirit-Walker
Scene: The Sylvans hold a ceremony to appoint a new Sachem to the Ettowealona.

Forest Edge - Farmlands:
      Here, the farmlands meet the forest. Ancient trees cast shadows down onto cultivated fields. Like two factions, the plant life stands in contrast. The foliage of the forest is wild and untamed--weeds, trees, wildflowers and underbrush alike struggling for a chance to grow, while the crops in the field are carefully tended and manicured. It is much like the difference between the Sylvans that dwell in the forest and those that dwell in the city of Haven.
      The gravel road ends and only a path winds between the thick trunks, leading into the forest.

A stranger, a simple hunter from one of the neighboring tribes, wanders up the hill and stops to watch.

Ember-Eyes sits on a boulder. He has a serious frown on his face as he watches the other Sylvans hurrying about with baskets of food and jugs of drink.

Broken Wind swings his way over to a dead tree; seeming to feel comfortable with another rotting part of the forest, he just frowns at anyone who comes near.

High in the sky, the clouds thin and blue sky begins to peek down on the gathering.

Many Shadows comes out the woods in a grouping of other women and youths of the Ettowealona tribe. Her bare feet barely bend the blades of grass as the grouping move out of the shadows at the forest edge. Slowly, they begin laying out water skins and piles of honey-cakes, strips of dried meat, large wooden bowls heaped high with fruit, the invitation obvious to visitors to partake.

A few curious visitors and guests are already gathering in the clearing. One or two men raise their arms to wave greetings, and one fellow calls out "Food!"

One of the dusky-skinned maidens giggles and speaks aside to the women. "Better be. Like a bear cub, turn ugly if you don't feed it."

The others titter and begin to carry food to the ones who might not be quite so ready to cope with the press of people starting to gather. In the distance starts a low, rumbling throbbing of some deep-voiced drums undulating through the air.

Ember-Eyes, a quiet fellow, slips off the rock where he's sat so long and makes his way toward Many Shadows.

Many Shadows quietly glances up as she spots someone approaching. Her head dips in a polite nod as she speaks evenly. "Chookma."

Ember-Eyes smiles, returning the greeting. He holds out a small bundle, wrapped in leaves. "From my sisters," he explains.

Many Shadows looks at the bundle in surprise and lets her gaze slide back to regard this one carefully, one eyebrow raising in a quizzical arch. Her low, mellow-toned voice slips below the hum of the gathering crowd to be clearly audible. "For me, Many Shadows? From your sisters?" She mentions her name to make sure that it is she this is intended for.

Ember-Eyes nods, and tries to explain. "A simple gift, Many Shadows. Word spreads quietly along the streams and brooks."

Many Shadows remains hesitant. Her soft tones lower to murmur, "I do thank you, and your sisters. If you intend this for me personally, will keep--if for Sachem, that I am not yet, and may not be, depending on what the council decides. If another is selected," she speaks pragmatically, "will see the intended person gets this." As she speaks, she begins to unwrap the packet.

The wrapping is light, and soon the gift is seen--a belt, densely decorated with porcupine quill beads dyed rusty red, indigo, cobalt blue and white as swan's down. The design on the belt depicts a horizon, the white sun just barely rising.

Spirit-Walker comes down the trail, leaving the forest.

Ember-Eyes retreats from his brief conversation with Many Shadows, going back among the many seated on the surrounding logs and rocks.

Many Shadows examines the belt closely, appreciatively. "Excellent quality. Your sisters took a great deal of care in doing this. That blue color and the white are difficult to attain in such crispness. You should be proud of them, and they of their work."

Ember-Eyes smiles, calling back from the log where he has taken his seat. "I shall pass your words to them."

Spirit-Walker emerges from the forest, making her way toward the crowd of Sylvans.

BrightEyes arrives from the east, leaving the corn fields. She comes trudging up the path from the fields, a large cloth sack slung over one shoulder. It bumps against her back with every footstep.

Many Shadows says, "May I ask your name?" She speaks again in an easily-heard tone. "You mentioned the spread of word, so expect you are a visitor?"

Ember-Eyes nods, calling back. "Ember-Eyes. For my skill of getting the smoke in my face at every campfire I sit at."

More people hurry into the clearing, cheerfully talking amongst themselves and waving to friends already present.

Spirit-Walker pauses just outside the crowd. She leans on her staff to gaze around the area, watching the many Sylvans filter in from every direction.

Many Shadows' lips curve in a smile at hearing that, and she chuckles lightly in a good-natured manner. "Excellent choice of names then." Spotting the arrival of others, she rises to join them.

Children begin to play and scramble round the edge of a large circle of stones, beginning a sort of game, seeing if they can toss pebbles to skitter along the larger rocks, tapping the most number before the pebble falls to the earth.

Broken Wind shifts on his seat, frowning at any who come too near.

With a smile which looks like it might have appeared on her face by accident, BrightEyes sinks gratefully onto a log, letting her bag gently onto the ground.

Many Shadows approaches Spirit-Walker, a quick gesture toward the burdened BrightEyes, then at the heap by the fire-ring indicating the sizable amount gathered by her companions. Her voice lowers a register. "More than I expected here."

Spirit-Walker stands just outside the forest edge, leaning a hip against her staff and watching silently as the many gather. She starts to move toward a group of Elders, pausing as Many Shadows approaches. She smiles warmly and nods slightly, "Chookma, inkana. Yes, it warms my heart and is pleasing to the Grandmother for her children to gather."

Broken Wind looks around, seeing all those who have taken a seat near him... he swings his crutch out and pushes himself off of the old, rotting log, and starts to swing off, muttering something about flocks of sheep.

Moonshadow arrives from the east, leaving the corn fields.

The food being lain out by the Sylvan women and girls have attracted a few extra guests, welcome along with the rest no doubt. Squirrels poke their heads from around trees, a fat raccoon waddles out of the woods and sniffs the air. High above a few crows circle, one landing to accept tiny scraps from an awe-struck little girl. "Mama! Look, a birdie!" the little girl calls as she gives away every bit of a sweet corn cake to a skinny old crow.

Broken Wind's crutch takes him to the boulder where, with no little effort, the old man takes a seat and gets back to frowning at any who happen too close.

Spirit-Walker murmurs to Many Shadows as she continues to migrate toward the cluster of Elders at the head of the ring of fire. Her gaze drifts around the crowd, and she smiles and nods occasionally to those she recognizes.

Many Shadows watches the activity quietly. Her glance rests on familiar faces now and again and a smile greets those known to her.

The thrumming of drums from the forest that provides a backdrop to the assorted swirl and darting motions of the gathering begins to draw near, slowly altering to a rhythm that tugs at the pulses.

Ember-Eyes looks around at the crowd beginning to fill the area. There are few among then he seems to know, but those few are called to with joy.

Many people greet others with excitement. There are a great many hugs, long embraces, and even a few kisses exchanged. Names are corrected, after all, names change over the years, and some here have not seen each other for a long time. All in all, the clearing is filled with joy.

Broken Wind just grumps, grumps to the left, grumps to the right. He makes sure not to follow any rhythm that these young upstarts come up with.

BrightEyes' fingers tap on her knees, her feet joining in the rhythm. Turning to one side, she unwittingly torments Broken Wind with a merry, "Chookma," the greeting offered cheerfully for no other reason than that it is a fine day.

The distant sound of thundering drums, beating in unison, can be heard to the west outside Haven.

Broken Wind frowns and snorts at the greeting, pointedly ignoring it as he belches soundly.

From out of one of the darker parts of the woods, a small group emerges. While one form is definitely the upright figure of a tall, thin Sylvan, the other two are low to the ground. Their very nature is animal-like as they more or less keep up with the tall form that leads them. As the man grows nearer, it is clear he is GreyWolf, and those who accompany him are two rather large wolves.

Broken Wind turns his attention to the man and his pets for a moment, then with a snort, adds them to the list of people worthy of being ignored abjectly.

Many Shadows reaches out to touch Spirit-Walker's shoulder for a moment, and then slips aside to blend in with the others discreetly.

The crowd parts as GreyWolf and the pack near. Most applaud quietly, and mothers pick up their children to look.

Spirit-Walker smiles at the sight of GreyWolf, the wolves and the warrior arriving with him. She watches as the tribal warriors fan out around the area. The sight is impressive to say the least. She nods as GreyWolf nears the Elders and herself. "Chookma," she murmurs.

The braver boys of ten or twelve winters gather closer to stare at the man who walks with wolves. They 'ooooh' and 'ahhhh,' and a couple volunteer to join his pack.

Crowds of Sylvans gather around the food and drink laid out earlier. GreyWolf and two wolves have become the center of another group of watchers. A few others sit on rocks and fallen trees to watch the proceedings.

GreyWolf greets Spirit-Walker and the other Elders. But his attention drifts to Many Shadows, and a smile softens his rugged features. He turns to the gathered Elders and begins to speak with them, the two wolves remaining on either side of him. The wolves' coats are thick and shiny, and they are powerful beasts with keen eyes that watch the crowd closely.

BrightEyes is being followed by a Moonshadow. Turning about, she sends the young man a quick smile; hesitantly genial.

The sound of the pounding thunders closer as the walking drummers begin to enter the clearing from the west. They take positions at the edge of the woods, the beat never failing as they file to their appointed places.

Many Shadows' eyes stray around the gathering and back toward the ones she knows, her glance resting on GreyWolf for a long moment, then toward the elders.

Some of the sounds of the crowd alter from a gentle hum to a more subdued but urgent or excited tone as the drummers position themselves. Sound rolls across the field and echoes back from the proud, tall trees to the west.

Like a sudden breath of air, a young Sylvan man appears, seating himself on a log as the assembly gathers. His gaze sweeps over the company, coming to a pause on the young woman seated at the other end of the log. Inclining his head, a brief smile breaks out over his face, and after studying her for a moment he speaks, his voice soft, but clear and expressive. "Good eve, maid... I hope I do not interrupt. May I sit with you on this log?"

The pulsing drums in the distance continue to beat. The thundering sound continues on, coming from the west outside of Haven.

Huikki arrives from the east, leaving the corn fields.

A young Sylvan brave on the outskirts of the gathering looks toward the Atlantean male who approaches. He speaks in a low, polite tone. "Chookma. If you wish to observe, find a seat. Some of the tribe will answer questions if you have any."

Huikki says, "Thanks."

BrightEyes' head lifts, swinging back and forth to take in the incessant beat of the drums, the proud stance of the warriors.

Crowds of Sylvans gather around the food and drink laid out earlier. GreyWolf and two wolves have become the center of another group of watchers. A few others sit on rocks and fallen trees to watch the proceedings. There are drummers near the woods, and an air of excitement in the crowd's chatter.

The Elders stand in unison and turn toward the circle of fire. Spirit-Walker stands in the center and raises her staff in a motion for silence. Her gaze sweeps across the crowd and she says nothing, only waiting as the drummers suddenly stop and the murmuring slowly start to die down.

Moonshadow nods, seeming distracted for a moment as the beat of drums fills the air with their palpable presence. His head cocks to the side, and he breathes deeply before turning his gaze back to her with a slight smile. "My thanks. I am called Moonshadow by my tribe. I have hurried to be here tonight, having heard of this assembly... it seems I'm not too late after all." Then as the drums die down, he turns to the Elders and falls silent.

The sound of the drums abruptly halts.

In the brief silence made all the louder by the drum's sudden cessation, the winds lifts for a moment, and a few leaves caught on the breeze flutter gently from the forest onto the crowd seated in the clearing.

Spirit-Walker lowers her staff after silence falls over the crowd. The Elders stand together, and GreyWolf is amongst them, wolves taking up post on either side of him. The Sylvan warriors have fanned out and taken up positions. "Chookma. Greetings and blessing of the Grandmother be upon you all and keep watchful eye over us." The shaman pauses for a moment.

The rustling of persons settling into place diminishes. A baby whimpers and starts to cry, his mother quickly trying to shush him, and in a few moments succeeding. Only a few near-inaudible whispers of persons asking questions comes from the crowd.

BrightEyes turns expectantly towards Spirit-Walker and the rest of the Elders, just another pair of eyes amongst the gathering.

Ember-Eyes nods a pleasant greeting to the Atlantean.

Huikki nods back, full of expectation.

Many Shadows adds her nod to her companions' but other than a soft 'Chookma,' respectfully remains silent to listen to the elders.

Spirit-Walker takes a step closer to the huge fire pit, and her gaze sweeps across the crowd. "The gathering of our people is pleasing to the Spirits that guide us. It strengthens us, and blessings of the Grandmother will fall upon those that protect her and bond together." She motions toward a huge pile of wood, branches, twigs. All different shapes and sizes, from many kinds of trees. "It is time that each one of you come, take a branch, and place it within the circle."

There's a hesitation in the crowd, then one man stands, nodding towards Spirit-Walker. In a few mighty steps he comes forward, selecting a sprig from the pile of wood.

A small child in leathers worms his way through the crowd to gather up a branch almost too big for him to carry. Proudly, he staggers his way back to the circle.

Spirit-Walker smiles and nods to the man, watching silently as the crowd begins to rise, taking branches and placing them within the circle.

An older mother, three teenagers in tow, helps her aged grandfather to the wood pile to select a twig.

BrightEyes joins the steady stream, her choice a green branch from the heap.

Ember-Eyes stands, making his way silently towards the line forming near the pile.

Eager children smile brightly at that thought. One who looks to be about two toddles toward the heap, in a line with others quietly falling into place. When it is his turn, his chubby fingers wrap around one log-sized branch and his face turns red as he heaves to lift it, trying to mock the child ahead of him. A doting man lifts it for him behind his shoulder, leaving him to think he proudly carried the biggest. The man lifts a small twig to toss in the fire-ring.

Moonshadow looks around a bit hesitantly, then, after glancing at BrightEyes, stands from his log, moving toward the woodpile to follow suit in the ritual.

By twos and threes, the people of the woods take their gifts to the Grandmother, twigs and logs, sprigs and branches, all weights and sizes of wood. Most seem to be dead-fall, but a few leaves brighten the pile with greens. One old man remains seated, grumpily twisting his walking stick in hand as he mutters to himself. A woman great with child comes by, tickling his hand with a willow wand, then heading for the line herself.

Many Shadows quietly follows along, participating in the ritual. As she lifts the branch, observant eyes may note the wilted leaves at the tip rise and flare their limp edges as widely as if still attached to the tree. A bud sprouts and a new leaf unfurls just as the branch is cast with the others, and the woman files away to retake her seat.

The Elders stand at the head of the circle, watching as the tribe adds to the pile, branch by branch, twig by twig. The height of the wood rising slowly but surely until parents and grandparents can be seen lifting up children to place branches higher up.

Finally, the last tribal member places a branch on the pile. The Elders each take a branch in hand and hold them as the crowd remains respectfully silent.

In the distant depths of the woods an owl wakes as the sun vanishes below the horizon --'Whoot t'Whooo? Whoot t'Whooo?'

A group of young Sylvan girls, specially dressed, approach the circle of fire, each holding in their hands leaves, shells, moss and other items gathered from the Grandmother. They start to dance and sing around the circle.

Many Shadows slides forward slightly, looking through the dimming light toward the fire-ring heaped high and the continuation of the ritual.

As the girls begin to dance, the silence of the crowd lightens. Some of the food laid out so neatly is picked up by young boys who distribute it among the crowd as the girls' dance.

The winds carry a freshening fragrance--the forest smells of moss, earth, and fungus drift through the crowd. As the breeze fans the fire, it leaps up, snapping at the gifts brought by the Sylvans.

More than a few women smile indulgently and tap a foot as they watch the girls. One turns her wrist and hands as if in memory of doing the same dance herself. Notably, some of the young braves seem to be watching just as intently as the women, each ignoring the scrutiny the other is giving the dancers.

The Elders, all of them, hold their branches and step to the fire, adding to it. Spirit-Walker extends a hand toward Many Shadows as the girls finish their dancing, their young voices falling quiet.

Many Shadows slowly approaches Spirit-Walker at the gesture, her path precisely chosen and her pace even and light.

Spirit-Walker begins to speak as she holds her hand out to Many Shadows, her whispery voice becoming a little clearer as she speaks loud enough so that all may hear her. "The ancient ones before us walked with the Spirits that now guide us. And the Spirits have spoken to me," she says, her gaze on the crowd as Many Shadows nears.

A bit of driftwood catches fire, and the salts give the flame a deep indigo hue. Golden sparkles catch in the smoke lifting from that portion of the fire.

Moonshadow sits quietly again on his log, his gaze now bent intently on the speaker at the head of the Elders. Flickering flames cast a mix of light and shadow over his face, and the breeze lifts his hair a bit, but he moves not a muscle, watching and listening carefully to the proceedings.

Many Shadows slowly turns to face the others, angled so she is able to see both Spirit-Walker, the elders, and most of the assembly.

Spirit-Walker pauses for a moment. "A great sadness has fallen upon our tribe with our Strongbow's passing. He and our other great Sachems look down upon us this night. We no longer walk with the Spirits, yet we are not forgotten."

The mention of Strongbow quiets much of the crowd. Some sigh out, and even a few sobs can be heard among the people.

The light from the fire reflects off the faces and sends red and yellow reflections and dark shadows to paint ever-changing designs. The faces become somber with the words being spoken.

Many Shadows listens carefully, her eyes barely moving as she somberly watches the expressions and eyes of those before her.

Ember-Eyes sighs. "He was a good man. A good Sachem."

The wind is silent, the smoke lifting straight towards the Sky Father. In the distance, Brother Thunder calls, but rain is still hours away.

The Elders nod and murmur in agreement as Spirit-Walker speaks. She lifts her palm up to the sky. "The gateway has been closed to us, for our forgetful ways. Yet still, we are not forgotten by the ones that guide and protect us. You have all heard of the bravery of Winema. She held firm to protect the Grandmother, as well as her tribe."

Sprigs of pine catch in the fire, suddenly snapping aflame like a chorus singing out. Bright white-yellow light scatters about that part of the fire.

Many Shadows remains silent as her glance adheres itself to Spirit-Walker and her thoughts focus on her oration. Only a brief flicker of motion shows as she scans the Elders.

Spirit-Walker lowers her hand slowly and takes Many Shadows' hand into her own. "The Spirits have spoken to me, and though our hearts feel the parting of Strongbow deeply, another has been sent to us--her path has been guided to us. And it is to us that she belongs." She pauses to look around the crowd, a challenging gaze if anyone would dare to dispute her words.

A lone female child's voice calls out "Who's she Mama? Why're they standing round up there? I want to throw some more wood on the fire." The plaintive questions are quickly shushed and the child gathered close to settle her down.

A grouchy old voice coughs and grunts.

"A woman?" One older man calls out.

The Elders turn their attention to the older man, the murmurs and grumblings drawing a frown from many of their weathered, stern faces.

Moonshadow watches closely, a slight frown forming on his face. He says nothing, however, and doesn't turn at the words from the crowd. His eyes shift from the woman speaking to the one whose hand she holds, his gaze thoughtful. But neither approval nor disapproval can be read on his face.

Ember-Eyes looks up, glancing at the old grouch seated a few paces down the log from himself. He says a few quiet words.

"I don't care!" The old grouch mutters back. "It ain't never been done in my life. It's just not done!"

Spirit-Walker gives no credit to the man and the look she gives him draws him into silence once again. She turns toward Many Shadows. "The Spirits have chosen you to be our Sachem. The Elders and myself want to welcome you, our Sachem. We place our trust in you, and the blessings and guidance that have been gifted to you."

Many Shadows' fingers tighten slightly against Spirit-Walker's. Appropriately, she remains silent though seeking out those who speak. The serious expression on her face is lightened by the faintest hint of a rueful smile. She too, has natural reservations about this.

With a final, bitter grumble, the old grouch sits and shuts up.

Spirit-Walker smiles warmly and the Elders draw around Many Shadows, forming a half-circle behind her. Spirit-Walker draws Many Shadows into the center at the head of the circle of fire and slowly withdraws her hand, falling in beside the other aged members of the tribe.

A quiet sound, almost like wind at the start, growing to be heard as a murmuring among the people. There are a few bursts of applause, a shout or two, but mostly quiet cheer and whispers, mixed with dozens of children piping to their parents, "Mama, why...?"

Many Shadows first turns to bow her head to the semicircle of elders. She steps before each one and bows her head again to each, humbly, but without giving the impression of submissiveness. As she completes this, she turns to face the gathering. Her voice projects to reach the furthest distance without seeming to raise in volume. "Sometimes the task set before us is beyond our reason or our understanding." She pauses before continuing.

There's another scattering of applause.

Many Shadows says, "Many factors have gone into the shaping of me, some of great joy, some which have torn at me with loss and sadness. All have served one function, to strengthen me. I was shown the gift of living as Sylvans should, in harmony with Grandmother. And I was shown what can happen when her ways are not followed. I was honed by solitude, forged by necessity, and learned to face and live with fear. For what reason I knew not, till now." Again, she pauses.

More excited applause, and a fellow calls out "Sachem!"

Spirit-Walker smiles and looks upon Many Shadows with pride and respect. She remains silent along with the other Elders, who all give approving nods as they listen to Many Shadows.

The fire calls to the night, lifting higher as most of the wood has caught fire by now. From high above, there's a sound quickly becoming louder. It's like a buzzing in the ear by a bug too close, but it's streaking from the clouds like lightning. In a burst of fury, a small bird streaks though the flame to nab a mouse in the grass, then wings away higher. The white hawk flies into the darkness once more.

Many Shadows says, "I become a servant to my tribe, my people, and the Grandmother. I will attempt to lead wisely. I will try to provide strength when necessary, and guide to the best of my ability. No more can any one person do. Rejoice with me as we make gains and serve Grandmother together, protecting her and her interests, and sorrow with me at my failings. Remember, not one of you will judge me more harshly than I do myself. I ask your support, your advice, your wisdom, and your understanding." She bows her head most deeply to the tribe before her, rising with strength and a set of shoulders as if assuming a heavy but welcome burden.

The applause is louder now, and more listeners call out, "Sachem! Sachem!"

Moonshadow smiles and joins in the applause, calling out himself with the others in praise of the Sachem. Stranger though he is, no such distinctions seem meaningful in the celebration of the moment.

Many Shadows moves to the side of the semicircle of elders. At the place the heap of blessed branches and twigs rest, she stops. One hand goes out to comb through the bark chips and loam until she locates something. Stepping aside, the new Sachem turns so all can see her, then bends over to poke what she holds into the ground.

The ground quivers and roils a moment, the tremor spreading more as a felt vibration than anything else, reaching all present. A shoot springs up and thickens; thumb, wrist, thigh, body-sized in girth. Head high and straight, then continuing to thicken, it branches and splits. Nature gone wild, the violent growth continues as leaves burst forth and shade from palest bud- green to dark, glossy emerald. Still, the trunk of what can clearly be seen is a tree thickens and toughens. Overhead are swellings along the branches which enlarge and pull branches downward with the weight of their expanding green orbs. A reddish blush is seen that changes into golden as large, crisp, juicy apples grow.

Spirit-Walker smiles and watches the tree as it grows, the luscious fruit weighing down the healthy branches.

Moonshadow watches with awe the fantastic growth of the new tree, his eyes gleaming in the leaping flames of the fire. He stares, captivated, and with new appreciation studies the woman who has become Sachem.

The fresh scent of ripe apples drifts out on the night air. The Sachem speaks. "Will feed all here and give a supply to dry. Grandmother blesses our bellies as well as our souls today, in guiding my hand to find the apple twig from which that grew."

Ember-Eyes gasps as the tree sprouts.

Shouts of wonder and joy fill the air. The applause of a few turn to ovations from many.

While standing before a large apple tree, groaning under the weight of lush ripe apples, new-grown, Many Shadows waits until the others quiet for a moment before she speaks again, a hint of authority in her voice. "As grew the tree, so grows our tribe. Some here have vowed to serve Grandmother and our tribe, so we welcome Scarlet-Mane and BrightEyes to join us as new members. Come, eat, celebrate, the night is yours." She lets her voice trail off as she steps back.

Those people near the two mentioned cheer, patting the new members on their backs and urging them forward. "Scarlet-Mane! Welcome! BrightEyes! Hello, have some apples!"

Ember-Eyes stands "Have an apple BrightEyes. I'll walk with you."

BrightEyes finds herself shuffling forward, an apple in her hand. Red-hued cheeks match the healthy skin of the fruit as she grins at the welcoming attention.

Moonshadow turns to BrightEyes with a smile on his face, and nods his head in congratulations to her. Then standing, he begins making his way through the crowd toward the blooming apple tree.

Spirit-Walker pulls an apple from the tree and gives Many Shadows a warm hug. She pulls back and starts to move through the crowd, greeting many of the tribe. The other Elders do much the same, taking an apple and paying their respects to the new Sachem, welcoming her in.

Many Shadows quietly returns the hug to Spirit-Walker, letting the new members have their moment to enjoy and meet others. She lowers her voice and pitches it for the Elders to hear. "Enough for tonight. Let us not spoil their mood. But ask all to meet informally on the morrow who need to negotiate or be informed of our suggestions to help survive, should war come.

Spirit-Walker smiles contentedly and starts to drift down the gravel road, making her way back into the forest.

BrightEyes rubs her thumb absently over the newborn apple while she greets and accepts congratulations from others, including a warm smile for Ember-Eyes and Moonshadow.

Taking a moment to herself amidst the festivities, BrightEyes can be seen at one point, hunkered down by the steadily glowing embers of the fire. Murmuring soft words, she drops a small item onto the coals, leaving it to smolder and burn.

Ember-Eyes gathers apples for his far tribe, and leaves with the morning light.

The People of the Grandmother gather apples as they may, some eating, others taking some for their home villages. The sounds of the feast raise again, conversations with friends long past lift in the night air. The festival continues until morning in joy.

Off in some lonely corner of the wood an owl calls softly through the night. "Whoot 't Whooo, whoot t' whooo."

FIN  

[ Home | News | Staff | Players | Links | Gallery | Logs | Library | Updates | Mail ]
[ Connect to the Game ]