Sitting near the boon fire with Zhoron, a few elders, Yhendorn and Ytharra, while Lynneth was pulled aside in a spirited debate with the tribe’s sorcerer, Nymara was imposed upon to tell the tale of their travels since her arrival from Sildeyuir to what they’d learned about the Ancient, which both stunned and troubled them all. “Whatever this Andaerean was left to guard, it’s remained secure for at least two millennium. So, we have to believe that it will continue to,” Courynn offered, trying to reassure them… and himself. Despite harboring serious trepidations of his own since the baelnorn refused to even disclose the nature of the menace, he knew that, whatever it was, it was likely well beyond his ability to cope with. “Still, it’s better to know that such dangers exist… but, at least it’s well over two hundred miles from us,” Ytharra observed thoughtfully, before adding slyly; “it’s the threats much closer that we should be concerned with… like the loggers from Urst.” “You’ve always been too dogged in your pursuits, daughter,” Zhoron scolded in frustration. “I know your dedication to the Lone Wolf only fuels this conviction to defend our homeland, but it can’t be settled with violence… your vendetta has cost our people too much already… you must find another way. Until then, you will not take up arms against these men!” “Yes father,” the diminutive druid conceded solemnly, knowing that she’d incited the three fallen warriors who’s lives they celebrated tonight into the actions that ended them. All the while, Thurdan lurked just within earshot with festering resentment. He blamed Ytharra for the deaths of his friends and tribemates, but her father was too soft to punish her as he should… the way he would if he were chieftain and she was at his mercy. However, the ultimate culpability lay with the humans, who’s greed drove them to take whatever they wanted without thought of the consequences to those who dwell in the forest. While Zhoron had forbade any action against the lumbermen from Urst, there were two right here in their camp now and he had his own reasons for directing his interest toward one in particular, his eyes seeking out the exotically beautiful southern sorceress… Lynneth. As the night wore on and the mead flowed freely, Zhoron and the elders were prompted to retire, yielding the festivities to the younger members of the tribe, when a half dozen wild elf maids began to dance provocatively around the boon fire, their already scanty cloths seeming to reveal more and more skin as they spun and gyrated to the increasingly quickening rhythm of drums, something that didn’t escape the notice of the tribe’s men who gathered to watch the spectacle with keen interest. Although Courynn resisted all the young women’s attempts to be pulled into the dance, Nymara’s feigned reluctance didn’t last long and she fell into step with the primal revelries, leaving him alone with the Woodsong siblings. “She’s truly breathtaking,” Ytharra observed wistfully, watching the otherworldly star elven beauty as she frolicked uninhibitedly amongst the lovely young wild elf women.