Log Entry 494: Verse One

Levitha's Blanket, Bed'n'Breakfast
Stout wooden timbers compose this medium sized inn, thick enough to make it look smaller than it really is. Not so much cramped as cozy. A fire blazes in a large hearth ringed with rocking chairs, and long tables with split-log benches occupy a section next to soda-bottle windows tinted bright shades. A counter made of oak, somewhat pitted, but lovingly polished, seperates a kitchen and a large row of casks from the common room. Around the corner, creaky stairs lead up to a second floor.

It's morning, just between the rushes of the breakfast and the lunch crowd. Chiaorscuro's been downstairs, waiting for Lemnur to show up, and tryign to help Piksil when possible, and stay out of the way of the busy proprietress the rest of the time.

A few patrons, eating the last of their breakfast, file out quietly. Only a few older folks settled in rocking chairs, the mongoose, and the Aelfin remain.

Thin wisps of smoke curl from the pipes of several village elders, who sit and rock in comfortable silence, watching the flames in the hearth dance on a stone stage. The innkeeper, however energetic she normally is, sets her tray and cleaning rags on a table to take up a small cup of mulled cider and enjoy a break in the calm of late morning. Piksil meanders toward the hearth, smiling a little at her mongoose guest.

Chiaroscuro says, "Hello, Piksil." Chiaroscuro says, toying idly with a firebow… one of his purchases from the day before. "I am still waiting on Lemnur, as you can see."

"I'm rather surprised he's not here yet," replies Piksil, pausing to sip her mug. "He takes his duties very seriously. Grouchy people are like that, I think." She gathers her robe around herself, and clambers into an unoccupied rocking chair. The proprietess wiggles her toes, and sighs contentedly.

Chiaroscuro chuckles. "Well, possibly he expected Zieekal to be here instead. No worries, the ship is not sailing until later this afternoon." He sighs softly, toying some more with his firebow.

Piksil's left pair of ears perks. "So, you're going to Levitha's Pearl after all?"

Chiaroscuro nods. "Yes, indeed. There appears to be little else to do in investigation in town… mush as I do enjoy it here. So, to the Pearl I will go." he pats a full-stuffed backpack on the floor nearby.

All four of the innkeeper's ears droop slightly. "Is it really necessary?" she inquires, a note of concern in her voice. "It's dangerous in the basin. I wouldn't ask anyone to go there, and I personally think the hunters are mad."

Chiaroscuro nods… "Dangerous as it might be, that is where the hunters go… and where this one might have gone." He smiles at Piksil. "Do not worry over me."

Piksil's look of concern doesn't go away, but she shrugs a little. "Well… it's not my place to dissuade you, if you've decided. I hope you can at least appreciate the comforts of an inn while one is available."

Chiaroscuro nods… "I certainly have enjoyed my time in this one, Lady Piksil. Your hospitality has been most appreciated."

Chiaroscuro smiles. "And I will be back here for a time, after my business is concluded on the Pearl, I hope."

"You've been a model guest, Chiaroscuro. I'll be glad to see you again when you return… and you will return," responds the innkeeper, smiling again. She takes another sip of her cider, and swings her feet, starting her chair rocking as the fire entrances her into reflective silence, much like the elders lost in their own thoughts.

Chiaroscuro nods, quietly… letting nearly a full two minutes pass, before quietly saying "I have been thinking of staying here even after the mystery might be solved. Not here in the Inn, exactly… but in this town."

Piksil's reverie is broken, and she tilts her head curiously at Chiaroscuro. "Really? I think you'd find it a friendly place, once the townsfolk got to know you better… and it's usually peaceful around here. I don't know, though… would a Rephidimite be happy here? I can only imagine what such a grand city like Rephidim must be like… the excitement of waking up in a different place on over Sinai… "

Chiaroscuro shakes his head… "It's nice… and true, quiet exciting. But it does not feel like a place I belong." He slicks his headfur back with a paw. "The only thing that has kept me there has been a lady I care for… and I hope she will forgive me for taking this trip without telling her."

"From what you told me, it couldn't really be helped," sympathises Piksil. She takes a moment to make a gesture at a huge insectoid who has, until now, been standing motionless by the hearth. Pond stirs to add a few pieces of wood to the fire. "Perhaps this lady would come to like the Half Valley as well?"

Outside can be heard some laughing, and the pattering of paws as a group of children runs past the inn.

Chiaroscuro hmmms. thinking… "I do not know. She's so… " His hand gestures non-commitally. "I do not know how to put it. Curious, and interested in big things. I do not know if she could live here, not all the time… "

Chiaroscuro sighs slightly… "And I do not even know for sure if she feels the same about me, what is more."

The innkeeper swings her feet a little, getting her chair to rock slowly. "Ah? So, a relationship is left back in Rephidim? It must be hard for you, being wrenched down here like this. Tell me about her."

Chiaroscuro gestures his hand in the air aimlessly. "She's… well, physically, somewhat like you, but taller, two ears, has a horn-" He illustrates with the firebow. "And wings, both of bright yellow, like gold in the sunshine. Her spirit is far younger than her body's though… she still in many ways has a child's innocene and charm. But like a child… she needs someone to watch over her and protect her."

Piksil's already-large eyes widen a little more at the description. "Wings! And a horn? Oh, she sounds like a creature of unearthly beauty! A fantastic vision, I've never heard of such person… " Her face bears a little wistfulness as she looks at her drab brown robe and apron. "A child's mind, clothed in a mature form… we could almost be direct opposites, I think."

Chiaroscuro nods, looking wistful… "She is fantastic, indeed." He blinks suddenly, and smiles directly at the Aelfin. "Your form has its beauty as well, Lady Piksil." He winks, and continues, "Though yes… you are somewhat opposite in that respect. I take it that this is how your people are, so youthful looking?"

"The aelfin look childlike, by the standards of most others on Sinai, yes," replies Piksil, curling her hands around her mug of cider. "I suppose I'd be considered fairly ordinary, if I were back in Sylvania, but here, strangers understandably get confused when I greet them. It's not a big problem, really. Most everyone knows me here. Still, it… it… " The proprietess searches for words, but simply trails off, looking frustrated. "It's hard to describe."

Shaking her head as if to clear some thoughts, she sips her cider, and says, "But I've interrupted you. Please, go on… "

"No, Lady Piksil, I am as interested in you as you are in me." the mongoose replies. "I understand about how hard things can be to describe. Sometimes, our own words cannot say what we mean."

The words don't come, and the little aelfin simply nods in numb agreement, staring into the bottom of her mug. She rocks her chair in a slightly faster tempo.

Chiaroscuro says wistfully. "It is then we tell stories of others, and speak their words, and remember their truths. Or we dance their dances, or sing their songs, letting them speak for us."

A faraway look fills Piksil's eyes for a moment at her guest's words. For a few moments, she might have been back in the Sylvanian forests, recalling the dances and the songs that time has loosened her grip on. "Do you think about the music, and the tales from your homeland sometimes, Chiaroscuro?"

"More than you can imagine. Not just for myself… but for this whole world. I should record them one day, when I have ink, and quill, and paper… and time. For now, I must keep them fresh in my mind… for if I forget the tales and songs, who on Sinai will tell them?" the mongoose asks retorically.

In one of the rocking chairs, further away from the mongoose and Aelfin, an old Lapi's ears lift upwards…

"Just so!" says Piksil, her warm smile returning little by little. "You don't need a pen and quill to share a song from your home with us, do you? Won't you please? Pond may not look it, but he's rather musically inclined, and enjoys a good tune. Isn't that right, Pond?" The chitin statue by the hearth makes no move to affirm or deny this.

Chiaroscuro smiles. "I would be happy to… though I cannot claim a great singing talent. Hmmm. Let me see… ah. well, there is one song that this valley has called to mind for me. One of a farmer, who must leave a lady behind in the city for many months of the year… and perhaps never coming back, for the journey out to the farmland can be one of danger. But he must go, just as she must stay… each time not sure if they will meet again." His voice builds moderately in strength as he speaks. "But they know that they will be together again, when Rik'Tik'Tav, Lord off the Garden, has havested them both from this life, and brought them to the next. And so, he knows they will be together again at the harvest of crops, or the harvest of their souls…

All four of the aelfin's sharp ears prick, and she leans forward in her chair a little.

The exile mongoose begins to sing, his voice a slow, richly accented tenor.

Ev'ry time I make my run, girl you turn your head and cry,
I ask myself why oh why
See you must understand, I can't live a city life
So I'll be gone… 'til the harvest

The old Lapi's ears lift, perked to their highest… turning to hear the song that is sung. His pipe slightly quivers.

And I'll be gone 'til the harvest
I'll be gone 'til the harvest
Please tell my girl that I'll be gone 'til the harvest
And I'll be gone 'til the harvest
I'll be gone 'til the harvest
You tell my girl that I'll be gone 'til the harvest
Spring and summer and fall, I'm away
I hear you cryin' but girl I can't stay
I'll be gone 'til the harvest
I'll be gone 'til the harvest…
And you know I'll stay honest.

The proprietess is riveted, holding on to each note, her paws clasped tightly around her forgotten drink. Her loss for words is finally overcome with a deep sigh. Not one of disappointment or such, but more the kind one utters when recollection of an old and pleasant memory surfaces. Pond remains in the same position as before, but his antennae twirl in slow, wide circles as the song developes.

The mongoose's voice has grown clearer, his words… though translated from his native tongue… rich and powerful.

Got taken, out to the garden
Have to be gone and I ask your pardon
No return 'til the harvest time
When our paths rejoin hope you'll still be mine yeah

Lifestyle of the man who works land
sun on my back, hoe in my hand
Lifestyle of the man who works land
sun on my back, hoe in my hand

Chiaroscuro glances slightly across the room as he sings… and suddenly, his eyes meet the old Lapi's eyes, both gazing instantly at each other. The old one's mouth opens, his pipe falling noiselessly into his lap… and he sings, his words matching the mongoose's perfectly.

The old Lapi stops singing, voice trailing off back to silence, though his attention remains fixed wholly on the singing 'Kavi'. Neither Piksil, nor Pond, nor the few other old ones in their rocking chair, seem to notice he sang at all.

In the farm so far from the city
sunsets without you cannot be as pretty
I watch the sun go down each day
and tomorrow harvest time is not so far away yeah

Lifestyle of the man who works land
sun on my back, hoe in my hand

Ev'ry time I make my run, girl you turn your head and cry,
I ask myself why oh why
See you must understand, I can't live a city life
So I'll be gone… 'til the harvest

Chiaroscuro's voice starts breaking slightly, turning to almost countertenor notes of emotion… but he continues…

Chiaroscuro whispers the last line, his voice lowering down to his regular speaking baritone. "… and you know I'll stay honest."

Pond's antennae stop swivelling, and lay back over his head again. Almost at the same time, Piksil's ears lie back down, the muscles at their bases relaxing as the aelfin herself settles back into her chair. Almost afraid to break the silence following the song, the innkeeper half-whispers, "I think that's very worthy of saving."

Chiaroscuro bows his head to Piksil, saying a soft "Thank you."

The Lapi in the rocking chair lifts his pipe one more to his lips, his ears flopping forward slightly over his face. Maybe that's just the muscles of his ears, strained from such listening, giving way. Or maybe it's to hide tears trickling down cheeks.

Life makes it known that it was not brought to a standstill during the song by clattering the nutshell-chime over the main entrance to Levitha's Blanket. The proprietess looks startled for a moment, being brought back to the here and now by the sound of an early lunch crowd filing in. She casts an apologetic look at Chiaroscuro before clambering out of her chair and hurrying to the barroom, calling, "Hi! Hi! Welcome! Just a minute, I'll be right there!" Pond finally animates as a whole, and with a chitinous creak, lumbers after Piksil.

Chiaroscuro sits a while, sighing and relaxing… casting a glance over to the Lapi, whose ears still cover his eyes. His own relaxation is cut short by the sudden clap of a paw on his shoulder. His head arches back suddenly, looking up into the face of… "Lemnur!"

The stout Jupani's impassive face bears little concern for polite greeting. "Right, kavi. I letcha sleep in a good long time, thanks to duties at the guardstation. I'm glad ya didn't decide to slip off in the middle of the night, for your sake."

Chiaroscuro tilts his head back forward, and stands up, gathering his supplies and making sure they're all carefully stowed in his backpack. "I would not do that, Lemnur." He slings his backpack over a shoulder, muscles tensing under its weight. "Ready to go."

With a grunt in the affirmative, the militia-wolf leads the way out, as the common room begins to fill again with chatting and joking farmers, lumberjacks, dockhands, and the like.

The old Lapi gazes at the mongoose as he leaves the shop, ears lifting just enough for his vision. He wipes a bit of moisture from his eyes, and rises from his chair, standing…

All acknowledgement is given to Wyclef Jean for the inspiration for the song.