Northstar Vale foalócë

Some hours after arrival on the 31st. Paging @Abedi, others are tagged just for reference (cameos welcome) ♡

She has taken to the crests presiding over the vale, having sent the snowbirthed @Agana and @Kukutux to the othermost reaches so that, eventually, they might meet somewhere in the middle in the amending their own premises. The rest have flurried into the sentinel, needled hold and its mists ...

... except for one.

He has spilt after them as if unassuming ink bleeding into the map she has forged 'cross with her caravan; phantasming in the way @Aiolos and @Wintersbane have proposed themselves to. And so the stricken, crescenting herself against the stripped bark of an elm  (a sighting of faux hope for cervine?), keeps her halfsight studious of all around her.

Hopefully, the darkling might soon show himself.

It had to be fate! Lured in with the promise of a feast only to be trapped between Nondofir's mighty slopes. It was a sign, yes it must be! The father of the earth knew of his intent to destroy and now the mountain range would fall upon him. Abedi was again forced to pray for mercy.

Oh bless'd father... The priest was bowed low on the peak. He practically kissed its jagged surface. Forgive me for my sinful thoughts. I have long since rid them from my mind. Do not send send your boulders to crush my crown. Let me live, let me serve you. He takes a deep breath, realizing his words had run rampant. Give me a second chance. Let me prove to your mate that I am worthy of a spot in Pepezi‘a sk-

A familiar scent wafts towards him. It's one of the wolves he had tracked. Abedi immediately shoots up, shaking his head of anxiety. He could not be seen like this. He had to look level-headed, humble, calm and collected. All the things a priest should be.

The shadow makes his way towards the wolf and when he sees her he bows. Silver one, he greets softly. His golden eyes examine her from head to toe. Scarred. Like a warrior. Was she the leader of this band? Back where he came from royalty didn't sport these imperfections, but other groups seemed to fancy a brutish ruler. Foolish they were. Are you the one who said Bahati had blessed these lands?

Godspeak; prayer-pale stars;
he is darker in hide and deeper in chord than her Dread, and yet when he looks upon her from crown to claw the stricken does not feel as perturbed as she once would have felt. She does not quail as the past-vessel favored to do; does not shroud into herself as a shy specter might wont for. No—
—her shorn chin rises with courtesy, and tilts with a bit of curiosity. She wonders what, exactly, this apostle might make of her; but then he speaks in a language that does not click and clack, and so she registers it as common.

Then ... 
"Forgive me,"  her tongue tread; a tad clumsy, as ever, when faced with notions such as these,  "I am a godless one. Would Bahati, however, be of your prayers?"  Remained lingering where she stood; unsure how severely she might have intruded upon a sacred space.

It always slips his mind, somehow, that there were few who knew of Nyokadini in these lands. It takes him a moment to realize this and his gaze softens as he does. Poor thing. Poor, lucky thing. Non believers always had their spot in the heavens. He envies her. A small part of him wanted to live his life as she, blissfully unaware of the power beneath their toes and over their ears. But who is he without the knowledge of the gods? Nothing.

Abedi nodded. Bahati, goddess of hunting and fortune. The name bought an electrified quiver down his spine. Oh what he would give for a good meal from her. I heard talk from the woods you came from. He thinks back to the weald. How lucky he was to come across the conversation at such a perfect time. I heard the prey had been driven here. Is that true?

She does not take note, notice the glint of pious pitying in that gaze;
for she has trained her thoughts instead of that which he speaks next: 
"Yes ... imprecisely so,"  is the low, lulling tones.  "Beasts such as they always flock to ze north, and further. I have chosen this cradle in ze spires for exactly this; it is my prediction that they meander through ze Taiga, which I know well of. It has been affirmed, too, by ze General who I am ... familiar with—"  (who still she must go to!)  "—so I may only hope that our herds have not gone further, farther than they are able to survive."  The icefields that she had wended down through, once upon a time ... she would not wish it even on prey.

The stricken deemed to sidle closer now, if only a smidgen; if only to wonder aloud, faux-accusatory:  "Is that why you have tread after us, then? ... I will not rest blame upon your shoulders, of course. We all hunger ... and I cannot say just when quarry will drift back south."

A combination of disappointment and concern caused his brow to furrow for a split moment. He had hoped, or rather expected, a herd to reside within this bowl. Now the woman speaks of a taiga further north. And what if the beasts do not wander closer to the mountain range? Abedi ponders over this for a moment and ultimately decides not to worry too much on the matter. Hopefully this taiga was within a few days travel. And hopefully the silver knew as much as she said she did. He would trust her word for now.

She goes on to question his presence here. He could not argue with her guess. Indeed I haven't eaten in... I'm not sure how long. Days, weeks maybe? He has lost track. And I will offer you and your group my services in return for a share of your kills— well of course if that sounds like a fair deal to you?

As the darkling's brow tousled in manner she had come to expect, the stricken mused of how expeditions to the Taiga would be held—
( hopefully with a General's agreement of jointed forces? )
—and there was much to talk about, to speak of; and each moment spent stalling upon such was a moment that would be better used for the bettering of her sworn; her vowed. Only when he speaks of his own offering do her doe-thin ears quiver as she returns to their current discussion.

... Fair enough, it seems. Although—  "What would your services entail, if I may ask? We are many sages, few soliders,"  and so perchance her wolves might find a priest welcome to this vale they wished to make their own.  "Your services ... and a name."  A lull. Then:  "Have you a birthsname? Or, I suppose, a name which your gods have given you?"

He is no doubt surprised to hear of who resides inside these walls. Sages, intelligent folk. It is the last thing he expects after gazing upon her imperfections. If this woman was no warrior then how did she obtain those scars. A question for another time. For now he took joy in the fact he had stumbled upon some like minded individuals.

I have spent most of my life learning of herbs and wildlife and stars. If anyone is in need of medical assistance I will be at their side with proper tools. If anyone loses their way in the wilderness I can guide them home with the night's sky. He paused for a moment. And of course I know how to hunt. Now as for fighting, that was something out of his skillset. He had never seen the fun in roughhousing.

As for my name, it is Abedi. And what shall I call you, silver one?

The softening of dark features;
had her statement taken him aback? She cannot be sure, can never be sure, again again again;
but he — Abedi, now — speaks of his services and therein she finds something of a kindred spirit. A greenseer, as she is; a starkindler, as she once was; a bloodbather, in the questing manner. He presents all of these propositions to her, and the stricken cannot find it within herself to refuse; perhaps, too, her wolves might wander his way to enquire of the exact nature of his polytheism; or if, like her beloved @Olive, he sees his gods in the stars who assist him upon homebound voyage. 

Again again again, the sibyl tugs herself from her reverie, all in time to hear Abedi  (eyes alighting, curiously and unquailing)  ask likewise—  "I intend for my Courtiers to address me by rank. However ..." — upon the twin scales tethered about his throat. Reforged by skies, refashioned from that past soul; she eases away from the inked male; invitation to her thinned side.  "You may call me Andraste."

A soft smile lifts his cheeks for the first time in these days of travel. Andraste. He repeats the name as to familiarize with it, and so it shall never stray from his mind. Hearing one's name was always a good sign. That meant they trusted you. She trusted him. Excellent, great. Don’t taint this Abedi. Hasina and Nea begin to stir.

The silence drew on far too long. Abedi blinked, and then he cleared his throat. Apologizes... He took to her side, leaving enough room for the two. May the stars shine bright on this kingdom. I am sure this court's future shall be plentiful.

& that is that on that folks!!1

The stricken is not one to let blessings, godsly or no, go unacknowledged; she is humbled, abysmally so, and concedes his words with a cant of the rubied crown. And as she draws him further into her Court's newest claim, she hopes the futures of those within would indeed be as bright as Abedi proffers;
all were deserving of it.