Herbalists' Cache so I can watch your face as I take it all away

Wardruna hears the singing: the low, drowsy warble of indiscernible words though whether it is the woman’s state or his failure to correctly translate them into words and sentences that he best understands he does not know. He comes across her on accident. The sylph is charcoal with ash and bits of rust and at first, through a trick of the shadows and only one functioning eye Wardruna ( dangerously! ) mistakes her for a rock at a quick, first glimpse. It comes to his attention though that it is she that sings the song and his attention — for better or for worse — is captivated. She stares skyward at the painting of starlight upon the velveteen colors of night, entranced. He has seen similar effects of the young Völva’s growing up in Jötunn’s Spine. The seeresses that would lead the rituals the pack conducted: those that held the gift of communing with the Gods. He wonders what she sees, as he casually and slowly, as not to disturb her, settles upon his haunches. There is plenty of amiable distance between them: he is a firm believer in personal space when meeting strangers if only to protect himself. His blindside leaves him all but entirely vulnerable and though his other senses have since heightened to sharpen and attempt to make up for the lack of sight in that eye to give him a better chance of survival it is still not the same. Not yet. Perhaps in time. For the moment he is content to let her to her trance.

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