Log 001; Around the tree over the course of the last few days

[hairsay]

01) By the Raspberry Patch, Twilight, July 4th

As the sun sets, Jolene finally decides to emerge from her hiding place somewhere near the mist's edge. She's been lurking around the berry patch since nearly the first day she arrived here five days ago, as nasty things sometimes do, but much like some nasty things: re, spiders or other distasteful insects, Jolene has been doing her own sort of good for the plants.

She is not a gardener, not by a long shot, however she is a vehement opponent of ants. Many, having already been busy throughout the day with collecting fallen fruit, are beginning to pack it in for the evening... and Jolene's here to chase them off. She zips clumsily about on wings like drab brown rinds of formica, pouncing from above on worker drones, and with her sharing-stone she has been doing the ichorous work of bashing them over the head.

It's pretty gory work, but she's clearing out ant activity around the bases of the raspberry patch's canes and, she thinks at least, that's probably a good thing. Ants are pests, right? Scourge of the earth? Little nipping bastards?

In any case, as the dappled light finally settles to a dim glow, she finds herself in the company of a few hovering fireflies as she tries to find a peach-sized drupelet that hasn't begun to rot or been crushed by larger animals. If anyone stumbles across her, now's probably a better time to sidle on up to her than when she'd been using her killing-stone. She's got a rifle slung over one shoulder, though strangely has not been using it all evening.



02) Stream's Edge, Late Morning, July 5th

The next day, Jolene does everybody the favour of heading down to the stream to wash herself and her clothing. Though it's been raining off and on everywhere around the tree, for once right here and now it's sunny, and she's taking advantage of that for more than just the sake of maintaining hygiene.

Speccing out potential threats--like fish, birds, and other surprises--she's also hopping from faerie-sized boulder to boulder. A small pile of little rocks, each a little shinier and prettier than the last, has been assembled among the mossy shore-line. She's currently down in the shallows with her pants rolled up to reveal unshaven, darkly haired legs, water gripping with unfamiliar physics at her calves as she pulls up a piece of stream-smoothed quartz nearly the size of her forearm. Though her face is badly bruised and her nose just a little disfigured, she seems unphased; pleased even! If anyone's had a chance to tune in to her earlier amber broadcasts, they'll know that seeing her grinning with that kind of satisfaction is very unusual.



03) Quest Branch, Evening, July 6th
Jo's various tasks are finally coming together, as she's been working hard to faerie ferry all those parts into place. Thosenot on their quest may have seen her resolutely zipping in and out all day. Now, the light of day having faded out of the sky and the interior of the tree mainly aglow with bugs and that infernal blue light, she's perched on top of a pile of pebbles, raspberries, and a selection of trophies: mandibles of soldier ants and half-shells of cooked unmentionable bug bodies, care of a firefly that she'd discovered hot enough to sear skin.

She looks less proud tonight, more uncertain.

"Chime?" She calls, not having spotted the alleged Tree Spirit on her purported floor, but feeling it important to make the effort. "I heard a lot of dickbags did some shit to you. I don't know if you're in charge of that beam there, but I... God, this is stupid. I brought you these. If it's not enough to make the light change back to... to something that's better, or whatever it is that it's been... then I'll keep looking."

She clears her throat and then carefully places her hands over her face. Her nose still hurts plenty, but moreover coming into such close contact with that life stream has been setting her head abuzz and she's not sure she's feeling completely herself. She's tentative and afraid and ready to scatter, holding herself together for the sake of trying to... to not be 'one of those dickbags'.