The wind whipped through the trees with a soft, whispering hiss, and Y’var’la stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes narrowing as she surveyed the space. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the earth, and she let the stillness of the evening sink into her bones. It was a rare moment of peace, and yet, something buzzed at the edges of her thoughts—something that gnawed at the corners of her mind.
Callyope. The woman who had carved a new path in Y’var’la’s own ambitions. The vision she had shared of a circle built by women, for women, had lingered like the faintest scent on the breeze, refusing to be forgotten. It was a delicate thing, this plan of hers, but it had caught Y’var’la’s attention more than she cared to admit. She had walked many paths in her life, but few had offered such promise.
Tonight, she would find her again.
Her footsteps were quiet as she approached, her presence a shadow against the fading light. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost as though it were meant only for Callyope. "Seiðkona," Y’var’la said, her eyes gleaming with that same careful amusement that always hovered just beneath her surface. "I was hoping we could speak."
Her lips curved in a faint smile, a gesture that spoke more of quiet satisfaction than anything else. Y’var’la wasn’t one to rush; patience had always been a strength of hers. She was content to let things unfold at their own pace, but she was also never one to let opportunities slip through her fingers without ensuring they were within reach.
Callyope. The woman who had carved a new path in Y’var’la’s own ambitions. The vision she had shared of a circle built by women, for women, had lingered like the faintest scent on the breeze, refusing to be forgotten. It was a delicate thing, this plan of hers, but it had caught Y’var’la’s attention more than she cared to admit. She had walked many paths in her life, but few had offered such promise.
Tonight, she would find her again.
Her footsteps were quiet as she approached, her presence a shadow against the fading light. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost as though it were meant only for Callyope. "Seiðkona," Y’var’la said, her eyes gleaming with that same careful amusement that always hovered just beneath her surface. "I was hoping we could speak."
Her lips curved in a faint smile, a gesture that spoke more of quiet satisfaction than anything else. Y’var’la wasn’t one to rush; patience had always been a strength of hers. She was content to let things unfold at their own pace, but she was also never one to let opportunities slip through her fingers without ensuring they were within reach.
for @Callyope ! sorry for the delay <3
speaks norse, common, greek, and latin fluently.
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