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[quote="krwordgazer"] New hope A puzzle Some sort of electricity Venom/poison in the bloodstream A secret revealed [/quote] ______________________________________________________________________ Stillbreeze entered the small tent that the Pridewalkers had set up. She kneeled down besides Shadow and looked over at Foxhair. “How is he?” Foxhair’s expression said everything that needed to be said, but still she spoke, though her words were as soft as the gentle wind, her red hair falling in front of her soft green eyes, that stung with tears. “He’s feverish still. But Stream says there is hope now that he may recover…” “We should have been paying more attention,” Stillbreeze sighed, as she placed a concerned hand over Foxhair’s. “Even before everything with Joybringer… because he was fighting Recognition… he hadn’t been eating according to what Stream could tell. He’s skin and bones. He pushed himself beyond what any of us could have ever done. Stream has done everything she could. There’s nothing she can do for a malnourished body. Only he can bring himself back from this.” “How are things out there,” Foxhair gestured towards the entrance of the leather tent, “with the Pridewalkers.” Now it was the steel-like expression on Stillbreeze’s face that spoke volumes. “It is tense. It goes poorly. The Chief – or Sire as he calls himself – was challenged by his son to rule the Pridewalkers. He killed his own son.” Foxhair looked horrified. Stillbreeze nodded in silent understanding. In Stonehowl, cubs were a rare things; their numbers were always low because of that. In addition, the dangers of living in the woods; between the humans, and other animals they had shared their home with; rare was it for any elf from Stonehowl to ever come close to dying of old age; something was always out there ready to kill them, given the chance. This made life among the Stonehowl Elves extremely sacred. “I believe the Sire’s son, Talon, was poisoned,” Stillbreeze admitted. “Poisoned?” Foxhair was puzzled. As if killing one of their own; especially their own cub was not brutal enough; to think that someone would go as far as to poison one of their own? Stillbreeze nodded. “The way Talon was fighting… he was slow… sluggish… something was off in the way he was fighting. And that look – that last look he had when he looked at the group who supported him in his Challenge against his father – there was a look I can not put into words… except to say it’s as if he had realized something… realized that one of his own – one of his most trusted companions – had betrayed him.” Branchsnapper jumped down from the tree he had been lounging upon and landed next to Spearclaw, startling him. “I have seen the way you watch her.” “Watch who?” Spearclaw growled, standing, pretending he knew not what Branchsnapper spoke of. “The wolf riding bitch,” Branchsnapper smiled as he leaned against the tree. Spearclaw turned and faced Branchsnapper. “She’s interesting, that’s all. There’s nothing more to it.” “Nothing more to it?” Branchsnapper scoffed. “Do you take me for a kittenling?” Branchsnapper shook his head. “You dared to speak out against our Sire, when she was in danger of dying at the hands of the Quickdeath. You rode into battle against the Quickdeath, despite the Sire’s command not to so. You told them how to kill the Quickdeath. Then of all the things, she saved your life from dying at the claws of the creature. I saw the way you looked at her then. It’s a way you have looked at no other. She’s more than a mere ‘conquest’ for you to bed, as even other lioness in our pride has been; she’s more to you.” “What if she is?” Spearclaw snapped. “What if she is more? What will you do? Run to our Sire and tell him? So that our Sire might find a suitable punishment for me?” “Don’t be foolish, Spearclaw,” Branchsnapper replied. “However, I can help you with this.” “With what?” Spearclaw asked, frustrated. “There’s nothing I need your help with.” “She has a mate,” Branchsnapper replied. “That repulsive tree shaper.” “What about him?” Spearclaw asked. “As long as he is alive, she will never see you,” Branchsnapper said, matter-of-factly. “Despite your feelings for her – as deep – or shallow – as they may be – she will never see you.” “I’m fine with that,” Spearclaw growled. “She’s happy with her mate and her three kittenlings.” “What if something happened to him,” Branchsnapper dug at some grime beneath his fingernails, “and it opened the door for you?” “What are you suggesting?” Spearclaw’s hackles rose in anger. “I am not suggesting anything,” Branchsnapper smiled. “I am only asking – if something happened to him – would you then move in on her?” “That’s assuming they’d still be around,” Spearclaw retorted. “I could arrange something to happen sooner than later,” Branchsnapper grinned, his eyes sparkling. “At what cost?” Spearclaw shook his head, his brown mane of hair blowing in the wind, his green eyes focused on Branchsnapper. “I know you. I know what you’re capable of. And the price of things.” “I would only ask that you pledge yourself faithfully to the Sire, and stand by him, when he makes his ruling,” Branchsnapper replied coolly. “Which ruling is that?” Spearclaw asked. “On how he will handle these wolf riding elves,” Branchsnapper chuckled. “Do you already know his ruling?” Spearclaw asked. “I do,” Branchsnapper climbed the tree and looked over his shoulder, “and if I were you, and I cared as much as you appear to care for the Stillbreeze bitch, then I would take my offer. It may, after all, be the only way that she will be spared in the Sire’s ruling.” With that, Branchsnapper jumped from branch to branch, leaving Spearclaw with his thoughts, his dilemma. Vineweaver approached Branchsnapper who had just arrived back to the Pridewalker’s Den. “I wanted to say that I am sorry about your loss,” Vineweaver said mournfully. “I know you had sided with Talon.” Branchsnapper smiled faintly, feigning sadness. “Yes,” he said with the conviction of sadness in his voice. “His loss of life is a loss to all of the tribe. It is the way of the Pridewalkers, though. When he Challenged the Sire, he knew the risks; more so than anyone else.” Branchsnapper paused. “I couldn’t help but notice that all of you… looked horrified when our Sire killed Talon.” “Yes,” Vineweaver admitted. “Among us from Stonehowl, life is precious among the tribe. We number so few. And cubs are rarely born to us, except through Recognition.” “Recognition,” Branchsnapper looked up. “I understand that your Sire is ill from the effects of Recognition. What is Recognition exactly?” “When two souls meet,” Vineweaver explained. “It need not be for the first time; two people may know each other for years; but one soul may not be ready. Think of it like a bird hatching from an egg; when both souls are born and meet each other; there’s a calling of Recognition. It’s named such, because when Recognition occurs our soul names are known to our mate; and everything of what we are, who we are; is known to them. Recognition creates a powerful bond between both souls, that it fills our bodies with magic so that we’re able to conceive a child.” “Interesting,” Branchsnapper said, scratch his chin fur. “We have no such thing as Recognition among our tribe.” “Then why is there so few of you,” Vineweaver asked. “Slinky not that many would Challenge your Sire that he would kill them all?” “No,” Branchsnapper said. “There was an incident with the creature from before.” “The Quickdeath,” Vineweaver asked. “Yes,” Branchsnapper nodded, as the two of them began to walk and talk. “Several seasons ago, one had wandered close to our Pride’s Den. We had never seen such a creature before and know not where it came from. We did watch it closely and watched how it slaughtered animals for sheer joy, eating anything and everything it killed. Our Sire ruled the creature as being too dangerous so he sent a Pride of us out to kill it. The creature single handedly killed sixteen members of our tribe; only Spearclaw survived that encounter.” “Spearclaw,” Vineweaver was trying to remember which one that had been. “The one infatuated with your mate,” Branchsnapper said, trying to hide the smile. “My mate?” Vineweaver asked. “Stillbreeze?” “Indeed,” Branchsnapper nodded his head. “It would seem that he’s grown quite attached to her in the short time that you have all been here. He seems drawn to her fiery spirit.” Branchsnapper continued to walk, then paused and looked behind him, “And he seems to think that he can prove to her that he is a more worthy mate to her than you.” Later… Branchsnapper met with Lionheart in the privacy of the Sire’s tent. “So is everything in place then?” “Not just yet,” Branchsnapper admitted. “But the pieces to the puzzle are falling into place. Soon, Vineweaver will challenge Spearclaw to defend his honor. Then we will have all the justification we need to follow through with your final ruling, Sire.” “Good,” Lionheart sat down. In the dark of night, Lionheart’s blue eyes seemed to reflect the starlight that came through the top of the tent; flickering like bolts of electricity as his mind continued to work its devious plans.