Based off of the RPed Woodmen Clan Moot, 16 February. Observations and introspections from Arastal's point of view.
Arastal drew in a deep breath, paused a moment on the hill, considered the Woodmen of Eriador’s lodge. It was sturdy, well-built, and decidedly human. Foreign, as was to be expected. Elven fingers reached absently upward to lightly run themselves along the hem of her collar, as though the brush of soft Silvan fabric could chase away the distance that unfamiliarity bred.
A red-haired woman made her way up the path, and Arastal’s eyes swept to her. But though the elf dropped her hand and took a tense step up the hill, the woman did not notice her as she passed.
No matter, Arastal watched as the woman entered the lodge. The elf did not know her name, but she was one of the Woodmen recently come from the Vales with whom Arastal and her brethren had recently travelled.
Arastal finally released her long-held breath, stepped from beneath the heavy Chetwood trees, and made her way across the clearing to the path, up the steps, and into the dwelling.
As she quietly shut the wooden door behind her, the murmur and clatter of the Woodmen camped in the stockade faded into a crackling warmth of fireplaces, and the blessed quiet of voices spoken merely one at a time. The red-haired woman from outside the lodge, of course, was there; as were several others, including the man called Hound-Friend, chieftain of these Woodmen, and…
Is that a child?
Arastal stopped abruptly, trying not to stare at the tiny figure hunched asleep at the long table, back to the door, a ribbon tying up her voluminous hair. Instead, she kept her gaze moving, scanning the remaining faces in the room. The scent of cooking mushrooms wafted through the air in nearly overbearing waves, and an insistent sizzling sounded from the kitchen, threatening their demise.
Garlic, Arastal noted, absently. A trace of garlic in the air. But as Hound-Friend rushed his way to the kitchen, answering the mushroom’s summons, Arastal’s thoughts fell back upon the tiny, sleeping figure at the long table. The elf had known, of course, that humans had children whenever they pleased. Not like her own people who so carefully controlled these things. But she had not seen someone quite so small in…
Heavy boots clomped upon the wooden floor as The Widow, warrior-captain of the Woodmen of the Vales, entered the lodge. Arastal relaxed, stepped aside to let the woman pass. The Widow was the reason Arastal was here. More Woodmen made their way into the main hall, greetings were exchanged. Her elven presence was noted with terse nods and raised eyebrows. Not necessarily welcoming.
No matter, she nodded back to each. She was here to do a job, nothing more.
The tiny, sleeping figure was lifted away from the table and borne away, her face and figure finally catching light. The woman (for she was, in fact, a woman) was incredibly petite but obviously an adult when her features were lit by the fire’s glow. A healer named Leohna, said Hound-Friend, who was not of the clan but had recently begun offering them her services. She had broken her foot and gotten drunk on the medicinal tea she took for it.
What medicinal tea has that effect? Arastal took a seat next to The Widow, and three raps of wood upon wood sounded from the door.
“Oh!” replied one of the Woodwomen – fair hair, brilliant blue eyes – rather energetically, “I’ll go let Beast-Mother in!”
… Should I have knocked? the elf wondered briefly as she watched the woman rush away. But she dismissed the thought. The door had not been secured, an open moot had been called, and none within had appeared disturbed by her unannounced entry.
She returned with a much quieter woman in tow, raven-haired, tan of skin. Walking side-by-side with an unusually pale, white wolf-hound. Something different about them, as compared to the other Woodmen and their hounds, though Arastal knew not what, precisely…
Almost as one, wolf-hound and woman alike froze in their tracks and stared, surprising a smile out of Arastal, her instinct to reassure rushing warmly to the surface. The moment was fleeting, gone in an instant as the pair redirected their gazes, and the woman, Beast-Mother, looked around the long table, seeming a little at a loss.
… Ah, Arastal realized with chagrin. She had claimed the woman’s ‘spot’.
Food was dished out as introductions were made and the moot began in earnest, conversation quickly turning to the reason all were there. The battle.
The battle. Orcs within unwitting human lands. Bree-land of all places. This was the reason the Woodmen of the Vales had sent reinforcements to those of the Chetwoods, led by Snow-Hair and The Widow over the icy Hithaeglir. This was the reason Arastal and her brethren had left Eryn Galen, their presence asked for by Aiwendil himself.
The Woodmen began discussing the plan, and Arastal settled back to listen. Their strategy and tactics were cunning, sound, not much unlike those used by her own people in the Greenwood. Síloriel and Ialloron would have no trouble working with the Woodmen in this regard. Little had been said so far, however, of the capacities of the Woodmen for medicine, and Arastal wondered if her skills as a healer would be needed, or if she should herself turn to the bow and blade. She would have to discuss this with The Widow…
The murmur of a woman’s voice speaking Sindarin in clear, yet soft tones caught her by surprise, and she turned to the tiny, tea-influenced woman. Fluent Sindarin, spoken with a Noldorin accent, the words not truly intended for the elf that could be expected to understand them. Her brow furrowed as she relayed the woman’s words to The Widow.
This healer was full of surprises, and not all of them were pleasant ones.
