Nova Peak blessed be our descendants

@Skorpa @Ayovi

it is under the mask of night now, that ulfric comes to the peak. holding strong under the weight of the pregnant woman who drapes his back, feeling the seeping of stag's blood into the dirted backside.
drawing cold breath, seeing as it visibly curls from his nostrils and agape jaws, flirting with the air and night sky. eyes of ice searching forwards, seeking the peak, touching the stars just briefly.
there has come some sort of clarity. his mind is quiet, as is his soul. he hears nothing but the sounds of night life, the hoot of an owl, and the drumming beat of his own heart in his chest.
he does not step far onto the lands of the winsook people; but feels terribly now the weight of the woman on his back, hearing the faint of her breathing now. his eyes sweep the area for any sight of life, but now, the hour of the wolf is nigh; many rest.
ulfric's howl pierces the early morning hours.

She had been floating down a blue river stream, illuminated in the hanging moon’s light. Her body was at peace, cradled in the thrumming course. But then thunder strikes— a fierce cry and her eyes open to utter darkness. Her head pounds; nearly too heavy to lift but she sees herself draped across the shoulders of a man she doesn’t know.
“Please— no. No. I don’t want to wake them,” the words are a shock in her new, ragged voice. Ayovi waits to be laid upon the ground before she tests the use of her paws, clenching one and then another. A thousand tiny pricks numb her legs. Attempts to stand are futile, at most the woman can lift her jaw, and she does so, to gaze only upon the dark feet of the stranger who’s brought her home.
“T-thank you,” a murmur, voice shallow as vague memories dapple her mind. They are mixed with dreams and fire and she cannot be certain of all that's happened.

the woman stirs, and ulfric is taken by mild surprise. blue eyes furling to look at her, but he wastes no time in lowering a thick shoulder to allow her to slip with ease from his backside.
her words are taken into consideration, a grunt offered in response, though he is reluctant to leave her here alone. he would prefer that someone were there to recieve her; to ensure she ventured home and into the safety of her bed.
you are sure? ulfric asks, taking a step away; a wide berth, respectful distance, offered in a thrumming wake of what has been experienced together. he feels he has seen of this woman things no stranger should have; but ulfric would not speak of them to anyone.
shoulders sink and a head lowers to dip. you are welcome. northerner's grit thick upon the tongue of the huntsman. ears pulling up, hearing the songs of the night's wind. a strong woman, you are. ulfric says in note.
he should turn to leave now, return to his own hut.

She feels it too– that an irretrievable piece of herself had been bared before this man, and with what little she can do with her body, in everything but language, she asks him to stay. A paw flares outwards. Who was this  northern stranger?
She listens to him speak, maw slumped again against the ground. Heavy; her limbs felt like lead. Even the cage of her chest threatened collapse over her heart.
“Det skal vi være for vores børn,” Ayovi pants, eyes wrenching as far as they can go; to the length of cedar-wood calf. “Har du…?”
“Jeg fik aldrig dit navn,” A nose wavers, making every effort to meet the face of Aspa's acolyte, that she might look upon him.

a paw to silence him, to stop what had been the beginning of his retreat. ulfric's ice eyes settle upon it with tentative measure, flirting upwards to lay upon her face. he ignores a wince of the unknown; it is a homesickness.
she speaks his tongue in a way that is not natural—an accent not right, even if words are there. ulfric notes this. his head remaining level with his chest, a presence meant to be as small as possible—not meant to overwhelm, to be bigger than.
i have no children. he says quick in response. it is a half-truth. he had no children that he knew of. there had been plenty of women in passing—no one could say what came of those fleeting bonds. ulfric takes a step forward, letting his eyes now roam the rise of her peak, and the dark woodlands that sit beneath it.
his name. he sees the stars, and looks to the pointed mountain. i am ulfric, he exhales, of skarvheim. eyes flash to hers. you are ayovi. he smiles, a stiff smile. i made my hut in the grotto, not far from the witch. i hear things. he says.
a more casual tone to his demeanor now, an ear flicking, a crass face. mostly her mumblings.

She had to laugh at that— lips curling as much as the paralysis allows.
“Jeg hører også ting. Mange på bjerget. Ånderne her er højlydte,” she sighs. "Måske, engang, kan jeg bringe dig til dem,” she goes on, “sige forskellige ting til forskellige væsener.”  The world takes a sickening spins around her. Focus can only be kept on Ulfric’s two legs; that which grounds her.
“Du er nordlig ligesom min mand. Vil du fortælle mig om hjemmet? Om Skarvheim,” Ayovi murmurs. She is slipping away, back down the stream. Does Ulfric of Skarvheim know?

ulfric listens as she speaks. telling of spirits, to which she earns his undivided attention. but it is faltering, as he notices the sway in her stature. the man frowns.
a request to tell her of his home. there threatens a grim cast of storm clouds over his expression; but she would not see it, watery blue eyes dancing between the ground and his rooted paws. ulfric heaves a gentle sigh, and moves to her side.
he would help her further into her territory, but if she did not wish for anyone to know of her state, then there was little else ulfric could do. he would respect her wishes—only if they did not bring her danger.
my story is not a happy one. he tells her with a laugh meant to dissuade any sympathy or bad feelings. but skarvheim was beautiful, keeping focus upon the incline they walk upon, frozen lakes that shine like glass. pine forests thick with snow, where the wind sings through the trees like a dirge.
when he talks of it, it is almost like he misses it. the high mountains where the birds flew and the air was clear were the only place i ever knew peace.
my father was styr bjornsson of the hafniring. a bastard who made himself with blood. my mother an apsáalooke woman called sakari who he stole from the south. my brothers fought; hallkell died for the crime of being first-born. veigr slew him—and then my father slew veigr. ulfric does not know if this story is any help to her mental condition, but she had asked—and if talking kept her conscious, he would speak. i leave behind that life in favor of a simpler one. a nomad, a huntsman. i will not kill again.

“A lifetime of pain,” her words fumble into bluntness, a ceremonial side effect. Or perhaps not; she feels for the man from a fractured home, the one he so clearly loves but cannot return to. Her legs stretch outwards but it is still only the eyes which can meet with the warrior’s splay of paw.
“It is why the divine choose you, to speak through you,” the huntress murmurs, “it is a sight given only in suffering.” Lethargy weighs her tongue, but for the passing of several breaths Ayovi’s mind is almost clear. His story was not a happy one, but it did not always need to be that way. They had more in common than the huntsman understood, but the raveling explanation is caught and knotted by Aspa's witchcraft upon her tongue.

---

— for a moment, the huntsman frowns. looking with icy eyes to the woman, seeing in her a reflection of something familiar. fondly, he thinks of his sister. yes, that is who she reminds him of.
he had asked her to follow him—and she had declined. she could not abandon their father, their mother, no matter how lost to their minds they had become. it was respectable.
ulfric pays close mind to ayovi now as he leads her. careful to not let her fall, careful to slow when he thinks she might. hearing her words and only offering a soft chuckle, before he replies. i was unaware they spoke through me. he says to her in jest.
but in serious note: i will not sleep tonight if i leave you alone. i will stay until you are safe.
safe not from anyone on the peak, for they would surely bring her no harm—but safe from her own mind. and safe for her children.

<3

He stays, will not leave her alone in this hour of secrecy.

“Takke... du” is the last of what her soul manages to impart against a cessation of pinpricks. The spirits of the dead, who stand in life at these foothills are again thrumming. The huntress shifts, freeing her head from the earth and for the first time truly seeing his face against the night. Stars cling to strands of northern fur, shadowy, yet with eyes that pierce through dark. No breeze then, the breath of the gods is still. “Ulfric.”

They wish to speak, she feels it— what they mean to say is another mystery.