The winter season had no mercy to give. The winds could be heard whipping against the walls of her hollow. It often became a distraction to her spirit talking; but like always, she made do.

In the center of the large, recently renovated den space, a collection of dry bones created an obvious circle. Lain within: the völva. She had been this way for many, long hours.

The spirits had much to say on this day. Each had their turn warning of the possibilities of dangerous snowfall — such that could all but near bury the strath. Then there was the threat of their prey supply. The herds migrated often to find where the grass was still rich. But in each place they ventured, the grazing was not so fruitful. 

There was more to be heard, but a faint sound disrupted the silence.

Khasni's head jerked sharply upward. Dark eyes turned toward the entrance to the hollow. She waited like this in silence, keen to know who or what had been so noisy and so near to her works.