Herbalists' Cache tide bound

for @Other Shore :D

the snow lay thick outside the entrance of her shelter, muffling sound, swallowing the world in an eerie hush. morwenna stood at its mouth, staring out at the white expanse, her breath curling in the frigid air. somewhere nearby, ridgeback lingered—silent, steadfast, a shadow watching over her. she did not need to see him to know he was there. she could feel him.
ishmira was gone, gathering what herbs she could, though morwenna doubted even the strongest remedies could mend what had been broken. still, the girl tried.
and so did she.
tilting her head back, she let out a low, steady call—an invocation, a command. other shore. the ones she had nursed to health, the ones who had followed her here, who had trusted her to lead her into this strange land.
she could not stand alone.
here, in the snow shelter, the future remained uncertain.
as her voice faded into the silence, she waited, watching the pale horizon, her heart beating a slow, steady rhythm against her ribs.

She heard the melody of command rise over the trees. Snow quivered in the wake of the call.

To her relief, it was neither a howl of rage nor a pained, dire cry, yet still it sent her running. She had been lingering about the caribou, losing herself as she tested and observed the grand beasts, watching how they moved in response to her careful steps and sudden snaps of movement. But upon the call, she turned and sprinted into the trees, startling the caribou who had dared to be within a dozen wolf-lengths of her.

She swore she had seen that snow-girl picking herbs earlier, the one whose name sounded something like wind settling upon snow. And there was another name Star Eater had mentioned, a man with fur of dusted stone. If Star Eater trusted them both, then she, too, put her faith in them. The other Saatsine were unfamiliar to her; she had formed a rough outline of the war chief Nagruk in her mind, whose name she only knew from the whispers that floated here and there about her cold rationality and unyielding brutality.

Other Shore kept running - not at an urgent pace, but a brisk one nonetheless. Her usual spot for observing the caribou was an inconvenient distance from the snow shelter. She wove through the trees with more skill than she had when she first arrived in the cache; the needles interrupting the smooth blankets of snow no longer spoiled too much silence. 

And at last she arrived. The same snow shelter, with Sun Eater's dedication still apparent, although her view of him had changed much by now. She quietly slipped towards the den, not loud enough to disturb nor silent enough to frighten, then approached Star Eater. I am here now, she said. What do you wish to see me for?

star eater watches the way other shore moves, swift and light over the snow, carving a path back to her as though she belonged here. perhaps she did. perhaps she always had.
her body is still heavy with the weight of new motherhood, but she does not let it slow her. she moves from the shelter’s mouth to meet other shore, her presence an anchor amidst the storm of change swirling around them.
i want to let you know what has been going on, she says, her voice quiet but firm. her breath fogs in the cold, but there is warmth in the way she reaches out, brushing her muzzle gently against the younger woman’s shoulder. an instinct, a reassurance.
saatsine has made a great enemy, the words settle into the air like falling snow, slow and heavy. gjalla—my sister—was attacked by my husband. she lives, but she is gone to the glacier. she swallows, pushing past the ache, the anger, the grief. ridgeback and ishmira are sworn to me. black hawk is here. her gaze flickers toward the den, where the children sleep, nestled together, oblivious to the weight pressing upon their mother.
her breath stirs the fur along other shore’s neck as she lowers her voice. they only want him. darukaal, the war chief, they do not come for us. i have done all i can for my husband. his fate is up to the caribou spirits.
a pause. she exhales sharply, her ears pinning back. i will not fight for him. there is steel in her voice now, a finality. but i will fight for them. a glance toward the shelter. toward caan, ghe’naya, c’ede’, fa’liya—her blood, her future. her truth.
i need to know if you stand with me.

She had heard the whispers. How could she not have heard, being the one who wove silently among the wolves of Saatsine? But how could she want to believe them? Was it not better to stay in that foolish innocence of hers, the idea that maybe something little had gone wrong and nothing would sprout from it?

Star Eater's words shattered that grip on the stupid, shallow optimism. Other Shore tried not to let it show, but still it came about more than she would have liked - eyes widening a little, a twitch here, a sharp breath too loud. 

A brush, a touch by Star Eater. She could not tell if it brought her any reassurance or warmth, but still she appreciated greatly. Though she could not see the inner workings of the woman's pain, she could, at the very least, feel the weight that she carried. A weight that had been growing in her for a time now, but only now had the gall to explode.

Star Eater spoke, her breath entertaining the furs on Other Shore's neck. Her voice became a little quiet now, but the heaviness stayed. Then a change, a determination that flooded the mother's being, as she turned to the children who were too young, far to young, to know the meaning of war. The children whom she would die for.

If Star Eater was willing to protect these innocent ones with everything she could, then Other Shore, too, found herself willing. 

I will stand with you, she responded, quiet but resolute. You can have my trust.

star eater’s expression softened, her breath steadying as the words settled between them. she had felt the girl’s loyalty before, seen it in the way she lingered, in the way she listened, but to hear it spoken aloud warmed something deep inside her.
you are like a daughter to me, she murmured, and the admission came easily, naturally, as if it had always been true. and in a way, it had—other shore had been hers the moment she had nursed her back to strength, the moment she had chosen to stay when she could have left.
the war would come, but not here. not now. here, there was only them.
tell me something of your past, she said, settling in closer. i wish to know you.
it was a rare request. she did not ask lightly, did not ask without care. but she wanted to know—who other shore had been before she had become saatsine. before she had chosen her place at star eater’s side.

Daughter.

It struck something cold and warm in her, but when she searched for it, she found herself unable to recall much.

Her mother was dead to her. She had left home when she -when everyone - realized that to staying meant embracing death. And her mother had stayed and chose to starve. The enormity of that decision had hit her many moons ago, but still that empty loss had never quite left her. 

But here now there was another woman calling her daughter, and Other Shore realized she had long since instinctively thought of Star Eater as a mother but not acknowledged it until now. A presence that stilled her jumping curiosities and gave her the peace of rest. Not a replacement in the hole in her chest, but a new little sprout that she only now noticed and decided to nurture.

I see you as a mother, she replied, her voice a gentle wisp. I have since I met you by Qeya River. A pause. I did not realize it until now.

She searched her memories for something worth telling, and found little regarding her homeland. So instead she turned her focus to her journey here. Star Eater only knew the little details, but never knew what she had been searching for.

My mother once told me about tall spires, she murmured. Grand lofty things with rough skins and green and red and brown flakes spiraling outward. She said they were the mark of life - that when I found them, starvation would no longer chase me.

She turned outside, gaze flitting across the snowy world, then back to Star Eater’s silver eyes. I found out what they were called, she continued, a little excitement entering her voice. Trees - I think that is what they are. My mother said they followed the flows of water, so I followed one, and… Her breath hitched, her voice lowering to an exhilarated whisper. There are so many of them! So many! I feel spoiled by this place, really. I have not felt much hunger since we marched here. I did not think that trees or the place they call the sea were real, but I have found one of them and now I think the sea is not so distant from reality.

star eater listened, quiet, her expression unreadable save for the depth of warmth that softened the sharpness of her gaze.
the words settled in her chest like fresh snowfall, silent and heavy, but warm. a gift she had not expected, one she had not dared to claim. her throat tightened, but she swallowed it down, unwilling to show the rawness of such emotion.
instead, she moved with purpose, pressing a kiss to the crown of other shore’s head. a paw, steady and sure, cupped the girl's cheek, holding her there for a moment before she let go.
she would not let the girl walk alone.
when other shore spoke of the trees, of the journey that had brought her here, star eater listened with the patience of a woman who had learned to let the world speak before she did. she could see the excitement shimmering in the younger wolf’s eyes, the wonder that had not yet been beaten out of her by hardship.
the trees have always been there, she said, a small smile forming at the corner of her lips, but you had to walk far to see them.
her silver gaze flicked toward the snow-covered expanse beyond, where the pines stood tall against the sky.
the sea is real, too.
it was spoken with quiet certainty, the way one speaks of something inevitable. she had not seen it herself, but she had dreamed of it.
perhaps, one day, we will see it together.

A kiss upon her crown, and suddenly Other Shore was home again, breeze floating gently over tundra grasses, snow kissing the earth that laid at her feet. Then a paw cupped her face, and warmth dissolved into pulsating heartbeats, the exciting thrill of remembrance, the honey flavor of nostalgia.

And for the moment there it was just the two of them. 

This was not home, she knew, but it was now. 

Star Eater let go, and with the release came cold - a wave of ice that no longer invaded her bones but let the new home sink into her marrow. She inhaled the wind, and exhaled the world.

The sea... they could both imagine it. She had heard of the terrifying tranquility, the endless border, the warm sorrow. It embodied a sort of everlasting impermanence, others had said. And Other Shore decided that they would see it for themselves, and Star Eater had been certain about it, so it must happen.

She wondered for a moment there - would the sea be like home to them? Or would it be something more foreign? What did Star Eater perceive to be a home? What do you think of as a home? she asked. Was your old home - 

She cut herself off. Star Eater seemed to hold her past with a heaviness Other Shore could not understand, but she would not tear open old wounds if she could avoid it. Instead, she added, What kind of home do you think is the most beautiful?

home is... she begins, but the words fall, caught between thought and breath. what was home to her? evenspire was the name of where she was born, but it had not kept her. saatsine had taken her in, but it had torn her apart. the snow shelter where her children lay—was that home?
her gaze softens as she looks at other shore, the girl who had come to her as something frail, who now stood taller, steadier.
home is surrounded by those who love you, she murmurs, reaching to smooth a wayward strand of fur along other shore's cheek. no matter where it is.
she does not answer the second question, the one about beauty, because she is not sure she knows the answer. she had never thought of home as beautiful, only as something fleeting, something to be lost. but here, with other shore—perhaps it did not have to be.
my kingdom was beautiful, she reminisced. the summer brought lemons and peaches. she thought of @Gjalla, then, with the lemon tarts. a delicious snack.

I never thought of it that way, but I like that.

She really had not. Home had always been a location to her, and hence she never had a true home ever since leaving her birthplace. But home being people, rather than a place... it somehow clicked in her mind.

Other Shore lingered for a moment, trying to answer her own question. I... am not sure what I consider to be a beautiful home. She paused. I saw many beautiful mountains before I came to Saatsine. Many distant valleys, too. Qeya River was not exceptional, but it was calm. Nice, mostly. But then again, I would like to see what kind of home the sea makes Another pause, a little more deliberate. Can you live in the sea? Or by the sea? Is the see beautiful? I suppose we will find out.

Then she remembered back to what Star Eater had mentioned. A kingdom? Some of them still remain? Does yours still stand? Confusion came in harmony with curiosity. Also - what are lemons and peaches? I have never heard of them.

morwenna listened as a mother listens—patiently, with eyes like still water and an expression unreadable but warm. her silence was never cold. it was the silence of thought, of careful reflection, of one who knew too much and still bore it gracefully.
you will see the sea, she murmured at last, voice low and rich as dusk. you will smell its brine in your fur and feel it roar in your bones. it will humble you, other shore. it will make you feel small—but never unloved. she smiled softly, as if the salt breeze had passed through her just now, lifting her from memory. you can live by the sea. you must never turn your back on it, but if you honor it, it will honor you.
at the question of kingdoms, something flickered in her gaze. she did not flinch, but there was a stillness that took her briefly—a breath drawn and held.
no, she said gently, finally. mine fell. it was beautiful once, golden-roofed and green with gardens, and the halls rang with voices that meant something. but even the strongest stone may be cracked if you strike at the same place long enough. she didn’t name it. didn’t speak of evenspire, nor of the blood that washed down its steps.
then, to soften the edge of that wound, she offered, lemons are sour—sharp little suns that grow in warm lands. they wake your tongue. peaches, and here her voice warmed like sun through winter mist, are soft as kisses. golden-pink, with flesh that melts on the teeth. they come in summer. they taste like laughter.
she glanced at her, affection in her gaze, and brushed her tail lightly against the girl’s leg.
one day, we will find you a tree heavy with both.

Honor? How do you honor the...

Something clicked.

She did not know what the ocean sounded or looked like. But she found an image resting in her mind, as if it had always been there, engrained into the fabric of her subconscious. A home not like home. Brine and waves were foreign to what little grasp she had on the world, and yet the mention of the sea seemed oddly familiar. As if she had been there before, even though she knew she had yet to even gaze upon its being.

She had an answer to her question, one she could not condense in words.

She realized she might have touched a memory still fresh with wounds when she saw the subtle shift in Star Eater's gaze the moment she was questioned about her old kingdom. Yet her reply was still soft, not revealing much of whatever she suppressed beneath. 

Other Shore tried to imagine what Star Eater described, but found it much harder than creating an image of the sea. "Gardens" and "halls" seemed plausible enough, and the luxury Lemons - golden things, with sharp, striking sourness... she had rarely ever tasted anything sour before, and mostly disliked it. How could such a "snack" be enjoyable? And peaches seemed to heavenly to exist. Sweetness, too, was not in her regular palette of tastes and flavors, and for something to contain so much of it... it did not quite seem real. 

Then Star Eater brushed her tail against Other Shore's leg, and she realized - if Star Eater said it, it must be true, right? The sea was not a fantasy, so lemons and peaches must exist as well.

She chuckled a little. I am rather curious. Can a tree grow both? But never mind that - we will find one with both anyway.

morwenna watched her daughter’s wonder like a flame catching kindling, her own eyes softening despite the lingering weight in her chest. other shore’s questions stirred up ghosts—yes—but they also stirred something else. a reason to keep walking.
no tree grows both, she murmured with a smile, voice low and rich like distant thunder, but perhaps we will find a place foolish enough to try.
her tail brushed again, a small affection, steadying them both in the stillness of the snow.
the sea is not always kind, she said after a moment, gaze fixed on the horizon as if it might part to reveal that brined edge, that place of salt and sky. but it holds truth. it carves stone into softness, devours what cannot yield. it is not a place of ease, but one of change. and survival.
she looked down at other shore then, truly looked—at the young strength in her bones, the glimmer of curiosity in her gaze.
perhaps that is why it calls to you. you are not made to stay buried in the mountains forever.
a pause.
when the snow melts, we will follow the rivers. her words were not promise, but prophecy. we will go find your tree.

You speak as if you have seen the sea before, she mused. Have you? Or if not, then can I borrow your imagination for a little while? A small, warm laugh.

Then, a long pause.

I… do not think anyone is meant to remain stagnant in the mountains, Other Shore remarked with a small hint of humor largely overshadowed by contemplation. Who can? Whoever does not thrive will suffocate there. Though of course, the same thing can be said for anywhere.

She listened, letting Star Eater’s words sink in her mind, yet still found herself confused. My tree… what does that mean? Have you found your tree yet? Is it filled with lemons and peaches both?

morwenna’s eyes crinkle with the softest of smiles. she lifts her head slightly, gaze sweeping out toward the distant hills—toward something that is not there, but remembered.
i have seen it, she murmurs. the sea. endless, unruly, full of breath. the way it curls against the shore—like fingers that never stop reaching. it sings in a voice too ancient for words. i loved it once. and perhaps i still do.
a pause. a breath.
you may borrow my imagination, if you like, she offers gently, eyes drifting toward the pale shape of other shore. but the sea will outgrow even that. it’s too big to keep in your head for long.
she quiets for a moment, reflecting. then, with a wry smile: my tree… is heavy. old-limbed and bent by storms. but yes, it bears lemons. and peaches. and pomegranates, and wild figs, and strange fruits with names i’ve forgotten. she huffs, amused by her own metaphor. because it has lived many lives. and been grafted with the hands of those i’ve loved.
she looks at other shore then, something steady in her gaze.
when your tree grows, let it grow wild. let it hold every kind of fruit you dream of. and don’t let anyone tell you what belongs on its branches.

The mind was infinite, she had once heard, but now the sea was bigger than that, expanding past the unknown bounds of imagination. A strange thing to behold. Is it bigger than infinity? she asked. That is not… quite understandable. But again, I will not keep it in my head too long.

A tree with so many fruits in strange forms. That tree does not grow naturally, does it? It is not possible. But then again, impossibility was no longer as easy to define as she believed. Fine, I suppose it is possible if it is the tree of a wolf and not of nature’s will, given that is was shaped by many things other than mere luck.

She tried to search for the meaning of “my tree”, and found none that she knew as of now. But perhaps she would know fully when the time came. I will remember your advice when I find that tree. I suppose even reality can no longer limit it. She laughed to herself, finding it funny for whatever reason. Impossibility would not prevent her from growing lemons and peaches at once.