Forest Encounter

Sunrise, and in the chill of the newborn day, as the world was shaking off the mantle of night, Tauronfaron was buckling his belt and reaching for his elven bow where it hung upon felted hooks on the wall.  He takes up his quiver and gives a long yawn and stretch, hearing the vertebrae along his back pop and settle.  "I am an old elf, " he says aloud, in his lonely house close by the lush green forest.  He stamps one foot a few times on the floor to push his left foot completely down into the boot, bits of dried mud and leaves falling off in the act.  He starts to walk to the door. stop, turn back around, and with a fluid motion, with one hand he sweeps the dirt into the other. Holding it cupped, he carries it out with him to the small front porch and dumps it there.  Habit, long developed, unnoticed now.  Breathing in the still cold air, he turns brown eyes to his destination today. There are herbs to be gathered, and wild mushrooms and some traps for small animals to check. The rabbits have overpopulated this summer, and it is kinder to catch them and cure them against winter for his food than to let them continue to breed and stare when winter comes.  "There is no grace in waste," he repeats to himself in a low voice as he makes for the forest's edge.

"There is no grace in waste...."

 

 

Duvaineth sits on the log watching her cauldron bubble and make other sounds as the liquid within 'cooks', noting that the color of the steam changed at times, giving just a nod to no one while her mind plays over other thoughts in the slightly brisk air.

 

 

 

Duvaineth sits on the log watching.....

 

Arien's vessel, the sun, begins her journey across the sky, unchanging, and there at the edge of the forest, Tauronfaron raises his gaze to the sky,  where the indigo of night still rests.  The seasons have turned, and turned again, and there is no morning star.  He shivers, and shakes his head.  Silently, he enters the woods, the soft morning calls of birds filling the air, the grass rustling in the wake of the passage of a squirrel. In the tree another chides his partner on the ground, and with a wry smile, Tauronfaron himself chides back, earning himself the reward of both creatures turning and pausing to chit and chatter at his poor imitation.  Laughing, he moves on toward the tree where the mushrooms are sure to be after the recent rains.

 

 



Silently, he enters the woods....

 

The morning has been like any other morning in her last few days here..... quiet and peaceful. The birds sing their morning songs to the forest, and the only other sounds that could be heard was the occasional branch falling out of a tree, and the sound of the fire crackling under the bubbling cauldron, the colors changing  yet again.

 

 

the bubbling cauldron

 

 

 

As he nears the great tree, his favorite spot to collect mushrooms, and lichen, moss, a few other ferns that can be crushed to powder and use as healing herbs and flavoring for stews in the winter, the sudden loud crack and pop a few feet away catches his immediate attention. Looking up he watches as a dying branch is shed, and detached from the ancient trees, slides from one living branch to another in a matter of seconds to fall to the ground.  Then he bends down and collects his natural bounty.   After this, the traps, for he would see no creature suffer if the trap set did not snap their neck cleanly.  And he would not take no animal for his table that he had to dispatch with a mercy killing stroke of his dagger.

 

Duvaineth stands up from the log as she pulls something from the pouch she wears, and drops it into the foul smelling brew within the cauldron, the steam swiftly changing to another color. She holds her hand over the rising steam while uttering a few words of power.

 

Duvaineth....drops it into the foul smelling brew....

 

 

Moving swiftly and silently, the chill of the morning burns off and he enters deeper and deeper into the woods, Here, he finds the wild greens that will be good tonight for upper. In one clearing, he flushes out a duck, but lets it good when he sees her young.  And finally, as he moves deep into the center and retrieves a fine brace of rabbits, a scent foreign to these his woods, and even to his vast experience. He stands and looks off to where a clearing is not far away, and spies dark roils of smoke, an unearthly mixture of yellow and soot.  Quickly he moves towards it, unthinking, his hand close to his dagger, the rabbits tucked into a sack and left behind for later retrieval. 

 

Duvanieth steps away from the cauldron to her tent, reaching in to pick up a piece of dried meat that would become her breakfast. Turning back to the cauldron she notes the color has changed again, that her brew is nearly done.

 

 

Turning back to the cauldron she notes the color .....

 

 

Tauronfaron edges closer to the clearing and sees a cauldron bubbling away, the steam that rises...not steam...a  roiling cloud of garish colors and thick black smoke.  There are logs rolled around this camp's fire, pots, a hastily constructed tent, it appears, and there...inside, a elven woman.. He slows his steps and walks boldly, warily into the camp's perimeter.  He stretches his arms out to each side to show he means no threat, those the stench from the noxious fumes stick in his throat.  He stares at her long, watching her movements, gaging her with caution.

 

 Duvaineth walks over to look into the boiling mixture, breaking off a piece of the meat and flicking it into the water. Then she moves back to her log to sit down in a very unladylike posture.

Watching, he tilts his head, observing her movements.  His brow furrows as he steps closer, and coughs at the smell carried on the smoke from the pot.  "What you do in yonder pot ?" he says in common, his eyes narrowing as he studies her face. "And more of importance to me, what do you in these woods?"

 

Duvaineth jumps up at the sound of the voice calling out, eyes looking around swiftly, but a bit wildly as her hand fell to the handle of her dagger. "Who goes there? Its not safe to sneak up on people like that. Show yourself!"

 

"Sneak?" Tauronfaron.  "I stood at the edge of your camp, child, arms spread like a duck about to fuss at her younglings." He steps in further at he speaks.  "Perhaps your mind was on else than your surroundings. A dangerous thing, even in these woods." He studies her face, his gaze intense. "You...you look familiar. If you be from these parts. then declare yourself."  He pauses.  "As I would do surely in return."

 

 

"Sneak?...You...you look familiar..."

 

 



Duvaineth keeps her hand on her dagger as the other elf comes closer, noting the bow upon his back and the woodsman attire he wears. Slowly inhaling the smell from the cauldron, she sighs softly. "Yes, I am from these parts. I call this little spot home now."

 

The movement of her hand toward her dagger stays his advance as the wind shifts, and the smokes blows in another direction; mercifully away. "With that smell, you may well, render the woodland creatures unconscious," he says, nodding in the direction of the pot, his tone not unkindly. "Home, " he echoes.  "Well, with the weather changing, I should not find this will provide much shelter for you." He catches a clear view of her eyes, and stops, still. " I am Tauronfaron," he says. "You seem familiar, yet I cannot recall meeting one with eyes such as yours."

 

 

"I cannot recall meeting one with eyes such as yours."

 

 

" I used to live in these parts until that damned war. The appearance of my eyes are a result of it. As for my tent... with a little work it will see me through the coming winter."

 

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Stepping closer to her, he stares hard at her, his mouth dropping open as he blurts out, "Varda, perserve me.  That voice. The war. Why did not I know you before. Child, do you not know me. You are Luthel, sure as I stand before you."  He stretches out his arms as though to embrace her.

 

 

Duvaineth steps back out of instinct...

 

 

Duvaineth steps back out of instinct as he attempts to hug her. "Correction, sir. I WAS Luthel back then.  I am Duvaineth now, and forever more."