The Ballad of Clan Bright-eye

Kerf smiles, glad his clan will have a home.
He raises his hand again to the Elder next to him.

The elders join hands once more in what Hawkson now knows is likely an intense deliberation, a flurry of emotions and images.
Hawkson, too, smiles, excited at the prospect of having these interesting folk living in his domain. There is much they can share with Obrexia.

Kerf's eyes open, and he claps his hands, beaming.
"Friend Hawkson, Clan Bright-eye is most humbled and overjoyed at your gracious offers.
We, with utmost gratitude, accept stewardship of the location in the remote Artaire forest.
With that, let us enjoy this bountiful harvest and be merry."

Kerf places his hand briefly on Hawkson's arm again, projecting to him the overwhelming gratitude, relief, and hope he now has for Clan Bright-eye.
Too, though, he projects words of caution, "The Spark consumes. Tread lightly. Kerf will tutor, if you desire."

The merriment and celebrations continue.
Jokes, laughter, conversations, thought this time of a much lighter tone continue into the night.
At one point, Kerf produces a wooden flute from his vest and begins a playing a joyous song.
Several other elders now also have instruments: bells, small drums, another flute but this one with a deeper sound.
It's quite dark out now. The food is gone, and the mood is high.
Kerf begins playing his flute again, a single note held long.
A quiet sets over the room as everyone turns to look at Kerf, his eyes closed.
The note ends, a brief pause, and Kerf plays.
The tune is slow and soft, a crisp, melancholic melody invested heavily with emotion.
Soon the others join in, the music becomes full and detailed, as if an entire orchestra had entered the dining hall.
Hawkson can tell that this is a special moment, the very air thick with emotion, a static just waiting to discharge.
He can feel their sadness, their pain. He can feel their hopelessness.
And then, flashes of hopes, sparks of joy. The music brightens, the melody swift.
And then it's over, the instruments disappear.

The Elders stand, each a brief bow to Hawkson.
Farewells are said, and they collect their daggers from Caspien, who seems to be at a loss for words.

He leads the Elders back toward the inns in Hawk's Landing.

It may be dark now, but tomorrow is a bright new day for Clan Bright-eye.

[This concludes the living post]

Kerf looked down nervously for a moment before holding his hand up to the Elder seated nearest him.
Almost immediately all of the elders had joined hands. After a few moments of silence, they dropped hands, and Kerf looked up to speak.
"We don't presume to choose our place here. We are hardy and resourceful.
However, we are most familiar with the ways of the forest. Within the forest we can thrive, and the forest will thrive with us, for we are stewards of the land."
Kerf paused, appearing to debate whether he'd continue on.
A moment, a deep breath, and on he went.
"Access to a waterway for harvest and transport would also be a boon.
As well as supplies to sustain us until we can tend the forest."
Kerf gestured to one of his companions and a moment later a good-sized chest way placed near Kerf's chair.
"We do not come entirely as beggars. As I'm to understand it, Frozen Moonlight is highly valued here.
As such, we've brought you this gift."

He opens the chest and piled within are tons of silver... leaves?.. among other woodland inspired figures.
Enough such that the Elders could have probably bought themselves a good sized estate and staffed it for a few seasons.
Kerf looked back up at Hawkson.

Kerf reaches toward Hawkson and places his hand on Hawkson's forearm.
"The Spark is life. But this.."
Kerf projects the notion of the empathic bond, "is Selk. Some are able to Empath through the Spark. You have at least the potential, as I was able to sense you reaching out."
Kerf projects his feelings of joy and congratulations for Hawkson.
"You took well to the Spark, and your potential is vast. Most do not respond as you did. Use wisdom with the Spark. It is life, fire, hunger, and it will devour you if it must."
Kerr projects images of a young girl, aflame with Spark. More of several young men, dried as corn husks. And one final image, trees snapped off at the base, twisted, mangled, as far as the eye can see and farther.
"I caution you: do not reach for your Spark.
At least until you've had more tutoring. "
Kerf removes his hand from Hawkson's arm and reclines in his chair.
He says, audibly this time, "You'll find we can now communicate adequately with speech," and he grins again.

"Spark is fire, life. It may be that our magics spring from the same fount. We cannot be certain."
Kerf pondered briefly on Hawkson's last question. This would be the first time he gave the Spark to a non-Selk. But it was a new time, and time for new things. Hawkson had been open to the One.
Decided, he gathered his Spark, as little as could be managed, and pushed it into Hawkson.
"Grab ahold, friend"

Anyone watching from without, if they were paying attention and had a keen eye, might have noticed a tiny, brief light flash between Kerf and Hawkson's hands. The seconds pass, a minute, two, and then...

Spark-light fills Hawkson's body, his veins glow from within. This lasts but a moment before the light condenses into his chest.
He opens his eyes and they flash with a bright orange glow. Hawkson closes his eyes.
Then, as quick as it came, the light is gone, and Hawkson opens his eyes.
Kerf grins.

Kerf received a strong impulse of compassion from Hawkson, images of a new home.
He continued on to describe the Spark.
'The Spark is a source of magical energy. It is believed that many living beings contain the Spark.
The Spark gives, and it takes. Care must be taken lest it consume. Selk train to access their Spark from youth.
All do not have equal capacity or ability for spark. Among our Clan, many are but a Light. This is not a shame, as all roles are important within the Clan.
It is this training that we bring to share, Bird-child.'

I've put words to the message as best I can. Communicating with these folks is a hell of an experience. They seem alright.

Signed,
Sprechers, the Merchant

The Council,

We have no Six, only One.
It seems this merchant is better able to convey our messages than the quartermaster previously.
We have no interest in dealing with more Helians at this time.
If welcome is forthcoming, we do not presume to choose where, but ask mercy in placing us far from the Helians.

Wishes,
Kor Leafhammer

Kerf was surprised by the speed at which Bryson adjusted to the melding, at least until he felt the subtle presence of Hawkson's familiar.
Kerf began with the first question, sending impressions of his former home. His discovery of the 'logging' operation. Confronting the newcomers.
The twisted and broken trees. The flames. So many flames. An emergency meeting.
Clan Bright-eye, no longer such, and their exodus of the forest.

Kerf, chuckled aloud at Caspien's caution.
With no hesitation, Kerf grasped Bryson's hand.
Instantly, he could sense the ruler's foremost emotions, as Bryson could sense his(though Bryson may not realize it): Hope, fear, even excitement.
Kerf, paused a moment to allow Bryson to adjust to the new sensations. Then, he spoke. Or thought, as it were.
"We are One. Later, the other Elders can join us, if you wish it. Too many at once can be overwhelming for newcomers.
I will now show you the answers to your remaining questions, to the best of my ability. Are you ready?"

Kerf, seated nearest to the Bird-child, looked up from his food. His face took on a brief look of consternation, though quickly changing to that same grin of amusement.
"Kerf learned enough language to survive, when Caspien briefly became One with Kerf. But,.. It is easier to show.. if you allow." Kerf gave a big smile, extending his arm toward Bryson, palm outstretched.

At that, Kerf, with surprising speed, draws his harvest dagger, spins it, and presents the handle to Caspien, who eyes Kerf warily. Kerf, grinning ear to ear, with just a hint of mischief in his eye, nods to him.

Caspien reaches for the knife, and as he grasps it, a flood of emotion and though enters his mind.
Impressions of pain, loss, gratitude, hope, and then a singular formed thought: "The harvest is complete!"

The exchange complete, Kerf releases his grip on the dagger and skips giddily toward the table, still grinning.

Caspien turns back to see the next Elder, awaiting him, dagger handle extended.