#rivervale_lodge

Looks like about 14 feet up

She turns her gaze to his boots. "Can you manage in those?"

He gives her a small grin, toothless, and is already unlacing and pulling them off. No socks, and his overlong toes stretch free. Mittens, too, are discarded aside as he lays a hand on the trunk, checking his grip. “It’s not that cold, and this shouldn’t take long...” a pause. “I’m not... hearty, but not made of glass, whatever Ann Marie thinks.” Quietly, resignation rather than resentment.

Brekke merely nods. "I will hand this up to you when you reach the branch." she indicates the saw she carries.

A stretch of his arms (oooooh, elbows should not turn that way...) and he lays hands against the tree.... he’s not Loki, Dagmar has it wrong. He’s Spider-Man, based on how his finger and toe-tips cling effortlessly to the rough and wet bark, as he heads up the side of the tree.

His breath is a little raspy at the exertion, pluming in the cold air, but he doesn’t seem to slow down because of it.

"It is not a race, go easy." She watches, her look going a bit distant for a moment, a slight frown, but it's likely gone before he looks down at her again.

Reaching the branch, he wraps a hand around it, giving a small experimental tug to see if it’s going to fall, before extending a foot down to Brekke to retreive the handle of the saw, toes outstretched. Damn, no, those are ‘tingers’. Creepy, but useful...

Brekke tries to school her expression as she hands up the saw, but that is a disturbing sight.

"Choose your cut line carefully, so you have enough room to balance...and let the saw do most of the work. If you tire, take a break."

He looks over the Branch, and down on the path below. “I can’t tell which way it will fall, if you want to move, um... a bit to... the left, I think, it should be clear.” Pulling up his leg to easily contort the saw to where he can take it, and then clinging to the tree with legs and one hand as he runs his other hand along the branch. Once more, his eyes blink, then start to glow an eerie color, gleaming like Lovecraft’s might under a flickering light. Questing is awareness through the branch, to find the part where live wood gives way to dead and dry, and easily cut through... before starting to saw.

Brekke follows his suggestion, then watches that strange glow curiously, but does not interrupt his concentration.

Saw, saw, saw... slow, without a troll’s strength behind his arm, but working away at it, until it feels like it may tip and creak. “Watch out below...” giving it a shove.

She nods, aware, ready, hands up to catch or deflect if needed.

She can catch it pretty easily, gravity doing the work to bring it down when it's been severed

She does, then tosses it aside, well out of the way of the path.

He catches his balance, and slowly climbs back down, hindered by the saw this time. A frown on his expression, and his gaze following the branch as it’s tossed.

"Good. Hand me the saw." She steps closer and reaches up.

He hands it down to ease his climb, especially now that toes and fingers are chilled.

She takes it, noting his expression. "Problem?"

“That branch was chewed through by some sort of bugs.” A pause and he adds. “Mortal, not like.... that guy.” Gaze not quite meeting Brekke’s, but he’s looking back up at the tree now. “I’m no botanist... or whatever tree docs would be called, but you might want to have someone check to see if it’s something that might spread. Like, those emerald ash borers that they keep talking about.”

He admits after a moment, “I was hoping it had been lightning struck, or something cool. I’d have asked to give the wood to Tove to carve up. I still owe her from earlier. And she’s good at it.”

"Hm. " She goes to the branch to take another look as he puts on his shoes and gloves again.

She picks it up and turns it in her hands, then sighs. "Borers. Not emerald, at least. The hole shape is wrong for them. But still..." She frowns up at the end of the branch still sticking out of the tree. "You think all the trails were removed in this cut?"

He nods. “I think so, and the bugs on this branch are dead.... maybe from the early frost? Not sure if there’s others out there, maybe in trunks that might be dormant. But this tree is clear, as far as I could see. It feels strong through, now.”

Brekke nods. "I will bring this back to the Lodge, then," she refers to the branch. "I think Vali can help make sure the larvae are dead." She looks at him curiously. "Tell me of this skill you have, the way you see."

He rubs at a foot thoughtfully, warming it a bit before jamming back into the boots. “It’s... like a sense, to find weaknesses. Diagnostic radar, my dad would probably say, if he knew or understood it. I can see... or feel?” A vague gesture. “Where something is weak, or stressed and might break... or an illness. I’ve heard that sometimes you can feel impending... fate, or warning, if there’s some bad karma coming your way... but I’ve never had the spider-sense work like that.” He casts a sidelong glance at her. “Some people think it’s creepy, though.”

"Hm. It has proven useful today. Do you need to try, or does it just happen?"

“I have to look.” He admits, a touch reluctantly. “It’d be cooler if it really was like spider-sense... but Parker never had to wonder if there was a curse looming, or check to see where a branch might break most easily...” he looks thoughtful.

She nods. "Well, do not give up on presenting the wood to Tove just yet. Wormtrail wood is sometimes sought after by crafters for its interesting patterns. As long as she knows it is not sound, she may find ways to bring out its unique qualities."

He perks up at that. “You don’t mind if I take it, then? After you have Vali look.”

"I do not mind at all. You have 'hunted' it...it is your quarry." A bit of a grin. "Come back to the Lodge with me." She puts the branch up onto her shoulder, it's weight balanced easily, and starts to head back.

He hesitates a moment, but then follows after her. Not t... Nadeen would have to be bonkers to pull anything with the chieftain there, after all. If she’s even there.

She notes the hesitation. "Something wrong?"

He picks up his pace a little. Silence as he ponders her Gwydion nature, before responding. “They hate us, you know.”

A few paces of quiet. "The Varich?"

A nod. “It wouldn’t suck so bad if it was something -I- did, you know? Like... it’s like the Mountain getting grief for being Liam when he didn’t break any oath himself.” A few more steps. “But.... for being called the fair folk, it’s not really the way of things, is it.”

She sighs heavily. "No. It is not." She stops walking and looks down at him. "Symon, I want to reassure you that you are welcome at Rivervale. I cannot promise that there will not be tension...but Rivervale provides warmth to all fae within her borders." She looks about to say something more, but stops, and after a moment resumes walking.

"Besides," she adds, "you have already proven yourself a friend of the Lodge, repeatedly."

“I figured I could lay low for a while. Dags... she already has it tough, right? And now when shit starts going her way, this throws her for a loop with... I don’t know, being cursed to serve this sidhe, or whatever it ends up being. I just... don’t want to start any fights, just by pissing someone off for existing near them.”

A few quiet paces...she seems lost in thought or memory for a minute. "She is your friend," she eventually offers. "It will do neither of you much good if you keep too distant. I think you have a friendship worth nurturing."

“Yeah...” he ponders. “And it’s not like we have to invite her back to the barn or my place if we neee to study, or hang out.” A glance at Brekke. “Why hasn’t some Elf lord whisked her off for ‘proper, noble’ fostering? No offense.”

"Count Hemlock granted Rivervale the honor of conducting her fostering." Her tone is carefully neutral. "I am sure she will benefit from the experience."

They reach the Lodge, and Brekke sets down the branch across the arms of a garden bench still layered with snow. "Now, come inside. I think there is food you may enjoy in the kitchen."

“Hmm.” Also neutral, as they come up to the lodge. “I know it’s stereotypical... but some tea would be great.” Flexing chilled hands in too- fuzzy mittens. “Uh, and... thanks, for the branch. And the talk.”

"Thank you for your service, Symon. You were a great help."

And they go inside.

-----------------------

(Another time, but the same fief)

"Young ladies, I can't thank you enough" the old woman says with relief.