Swiftcurrent Creek when the moon sang,

Morwenna moved quietly through the winding paths of Swiftcurrent Creek, the dawn mist clinging to her dark fur like cobwebs. Her steps, though steady, carried the hesitance of one seeking help yet unsure of how it might be received. A faint breeze danced through the trees, bringing with it the rich scents of pine and earth, mingled with the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming along the banks. She knew she was close.

The memories of her children's laughter echoed faintly in her mind, an ache that never quite left her chest. But today, her focus was elsewhere—on the lingering soreness in her bones, the subtle strain that no amount of rest seemed to mend. She had heard whispers of @Gjalla’s skill with herbs and remedies, and though pride urged her to seek solitude, practicality had won out.

The sun began to crest over the treetops as she padded toward the healer's den, her icy eyes scanning the area. It had been a long time since she'd sought the guidance of another, but something about the aura of this place—this healer—seemed different. Less judgment, perhaps. Or so she hoped.

She tilted her head back and summoned her.

Gjalla stirred at the black queen’s call, ears swiveling toward the sound before her eyes opened. The summons had a weight to it, quiet but deliberate.

Rising to her paws, she stretched briefly, shaking off the remnants of sleep before dragging herself from her den. The dawn light filtered softly through the trees, catching on her dark fur as she moved. 

She found Morwenna standing just beyond the threshold, her tall, stoic figure haloed by the creeping sunlight. The expression on her face, however, was anything but stoic. Gjalla’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the stiffness in her posture, the way her weight shifted subtly to one side. 

“Wenna,” Gjalla breathed her name, calm and level, with a touch of curiosity. She stepped closer, gaze meeting Morwenna’s icy blue one, searching for unspoken truths. “Something wrong?” The weary look in her eye was enough settle Gjalla off-center, worried.

morwenna’s ears swiveled forward at the sound of gjalla’s approach, her piercing gaze softening as she regarded the woman before her. the question lingered in the air, but she brushed it aside for the moment. instead, she let her own concern thread through her words.

gjalla, she greeted warmly, her tail giving a slow, deliberate sway. how have you been settling in? the creek is not always the easiest place to adapt to. her voice was level, but there was an undertone of genuine interest, a quiet sincerity that marked her words.

she hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering away toward the tree line before returning to gjalla’s face. i worry for suzu's boy, she admitted finally, the name carrying a weight that hung heavy in the air. a boy his age… gone for this long… it troubles me.

morwenna’s voice cracked ever so slightly, a hint of the strain she carried. but her composure held, her stance steady even as her thoughts churned. it is a...sensitive topic. her plea was simple, but the depth of her worry shone through.

Gjalla studied Morwenna in silence, her sharp gaze catching the minute cracks beneath the woman’s composed surface. “Finding my footing,” Gjalla replied, her voice low but steady, meeting Morwenna’s sincerity with a tempered honesty. “The Creek has its challenges, but I’ve known worse.” Her lips tugged upward faintly. Adaptation had never been her weakness.

She’d heard whispers of the boy’s disappearance, but Morwenna’s admission cast it in a stark new light. Gjalla didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the distant treeline Morwenna had glanced at, the weight of the woods pressing softly against her thoughts.

“He is.. lost?” she questioned for confirmation. Gjalla’s steps carried her closer, a flicker of gentleness creeping into her usually guarded demeanor. “Your worry does you credit, but guilt can twist even the purest intentions into burdens. Let the Creek help carry it.” Let me.

“I will keep my ears open,” she offered, her tone steady as if to anchor Morwenna’s fraying resolve. “If there’s a trail to follow, we will find it.” She met Morwenna’s gaze fully, her expression leaving no room for doubt.

A beat of silence passed, the murmur of the creek filling the space between them. Then Gjalla gestured subtly toward the den, regaining her edge. “But first, let’s see to you. You’re no use to the boy—or anyone—if you let yourself fall apart.”

morwenna’s shoulders sagged beneath gjalla’s steady gaze, the weight of her words settling in her chest. she hated that she was right—hated more that she had to hear it aloud.

he is, morwenna confirmed quietly, her voice strained but even. her pale eyes lingered on the treeline as if willing it to yield some clue, some sign of the boy’s fate. but the forest, ever stoic, gave her nothing.

she exhaled deeply, the sound catching faintly in her throat. you’re right, she admitted, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. guilt is a cruel thing, isn’t it? her gaze softened as she looked to gjalla. thank you. for reminding me of what i already know but cannot seem to accept.

morwenna took a step toward the den at gjalla’s subtle gesture, but not without reaching to brush her muzzle lightly against her sister’s shoulder—a quiet expression of gratitude.

i’ll rest. i’ll try, she added, her voice quiet yet resolute. and then, with a glance back to the woods: if you catch the faintest whisper of him, gjalla… tell me.

Her gaze followed Morwenna’s as she turned toward the den, her own thoughts briefly flickering to paths she’d chosen in the past, where guilt had threatened to swallow her whole. "I’m here," she added quietly, as much to reassure Morwenna as herself. "Whenever you need to talk or—"

The brush of Morwenna’s muzzle against her shoulder silenced her words, the gesture small yet profound in its simplicity. It was an intimate act, one that drew the two of them closer in a way that words could not. Gjalla’s heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar warmth flooding her chest. For a moment, she stood still, allowing the touch to anchor her, grounding her in something she hadn’t realized she needed.

Her lips parted to offer something, anything, but Morwenna’s quiet resolve stole the breath from her lungs. Gjalla swallowed her thoughts, nodding in response, her own expression softening with quiet determination.

“If there’s a whisper, I’ll hear it,” she assured, her voice steady despite the lingering weight of the conversation. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She paused a moment, letting the moment linger between them before adding, “Anything I can remedy before you do?”

morwenna tilted her head slightly, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. thank you, gjalla, she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of gratitude. you’ve been the one constant through all of this... the one woman i can rely on.

she shifted her stance, her icy gaze turning back to the den with a faint trace of weariness. lay with me? the question was gentle, almost hesitant. we can talk of herbs... of what we’ve seen and what we might use. it would be good to share what we know.

her tail swayed faintly as she glanced back at gjalla, a rare warmth flickering in her expression. it helps, having you here.

Gjalla felt the weight of Morwenna’s words settle over her like a soft cloak. She was accustomed to solitude, to standing apart from others, keeping herself a few steps removed from the tenderness that often accompanied the closeness of kinship. But for once, she didn’t recoil or cringe at the notion. Instead, she allowed it to sit in her chest, allowed herself to feel the warmth of it.

She met Morwenna’s eyes, her own gaze softening, and a subtle but genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Of course,” Gjalla replied quietly. Her tail swayed once, as she approached, stepping closer to Morwenna’s side, letting her gaze drift toward the den. Her body curled around Morwenna's, happy to be the warmth at her back.

It was an unfamiliar comfort, the kind that settled into her bones and coaxed out the weariness she hadn’t noticed until it had been acknowledged. “I’ve seen some new plants along the creek—ones with properties that could ease exhaustion, or perhaps—” She hesitated, thinking of the aches in Morwenna’s bones, “—perhaps ones that might help with your discomfort. I’ll show you in the morning.”

She glanced back at the woman, then, as Morwenna’s tail swayed, her own posture softened in turn. The warmth in the other female’s expression was a rare thing, and Gjalla recognized it for what it was: a fragile moment of connection. Something neither of them had been used to, but both of them quietly needed.

“It does me good, too,” Gjalla murmured, her words low and sincere.

morwenna sat in silence for a moment, her thoughts swirling like the winter winds outside. the weight of gjalla’s warmth pressed gently against her back, grounding her. it was this closeness, this quiet understanding, that made her blur out the words she’d been keeping locked away.

i’m thinking of joining the caribou hunters.

she hadn’t meant to say it like that—so blunt, so out of the blue—but there it was. her chest tightened, and she glanced at gjalla, searching for her reaction.

the saatsine, she added softly, as though clarifying would ease the weight of her words. it’s… i don’t know. they feel… wild. untamed. her voice trailed off, unsure if it was excitement or fear knotting her stomach. like something i need to be part of.

her moonlit eyes flicked to gjalla again, almost apologetic. what do you think?

Gjalla’s ears swiveled slightly at Morwenna’s words, her eyes narrowing in thought as she processed the unexpected confession. The Caribou Hunters—the Saatsine. She had heard whispers of them, though nothing weighty enough to make a judgement outright.

It made sense, in a way, that Morwenna would find herself drawn to them. The quiet restlessness she carried, like a storm waiting for release, had always hinted at something greater—something more untamed—lurking beneath her composure. Gjalla remained silent for a moment, the weight of Morwenna’s words settling between them like freshly fallen snow.

Her pale gaze drifted toward the entrance of the den, where the wind whispered through the trees, as if searching for an answer among the shadows. “Wildness calls to those who feel caged,” she said finally, her voice steady but laced with understanding. “If the creek is stifling, I do not see why you could not try.”

She shifted slightly, the warmth of her body brushing against Morwenna’s as she turned her gaze to meet the other woman’s moonlit eyes. There was no judgment in her expression, only quiet contemplation and a trace of something softer—concern, perhaps. “It is certainly.. sudden. What has changed?” Her question hung in the air, sharp yet gentle, like the first breath of frost in the morning. Gjalla’s gaze lingered on Morwenna, searching for the truth behind her words, her heart steady but braced for whatever answer might come.

morwenna swallowed hard, her gaze dropping as silence curled between them like smoke. the words sat heavy on her tongue before she dared to speak them aloud, her voice quieter than usual. a man has... wooed me.

her ears twitched, her shoulders stiff as though bracing for an unseen force. he gave me a pelt. her tone wavered, a flicker of something almost tender threading through the admission. he cares.

she fell silent again, the confession hanging in the air like a fragile thread. but then her voice returned, firmer, though laced with a vulnerable edge. i cannot go through what i did before. i must— she hesitated, swallowing once more, —i must choose my own husband.

her eyes finally lifted to meet gjalla’s, searching for understanding, though she knew no one else could fully carry the weight of this choice for her.

Gjalla’s expression remained still, an unreadable mask carved from ice and stone as Morwenna's confession unfolded. Her ears flicked at the mention of a pelt, yet it was the vulnerability in Morwenna’s voice that drew her attention, like the fragile crack of a thawing river.

"..wooed you," Gjalla repeated incredulously. It is not intended as a judgement, mere surprise. Morwenna was not a woman easily enthralled. The silence that followed was deliberate, giving her the space to speak further.

When Morwenna met her gaze at last, Gjalla's eyes softened—not in pity, but in something deeper, more complex. "To choose is your right," Gjalla said at last, her voice firm but not unkind. "No one—not family, nor tradition—should force your hand where your heart is concerned." Her tail gave the faintest twitch, a rare and subtle gesture of encouragement.

"But you hesitate." It was not an accusation, merely an observation, as sharp and precise as her tone. "This man—does he ease your burdens? Or does he add to them? Does his care feel... true?" Her voice dropped lower, quieter, as if the question itself might shatter the delicate thread between them.

She let her words settle, her gaze steady on Morwenna. "If the Saatsine calls to you for its own sake—for the wildness and the freedom—then perhaps it’s exactly where you belong."

Gjalla’s voice softened as she added, "You don’t have to go through anything alone, Morwenna. Not this time. Not with me here." She nudged the darker wolf’s shoulder gently, a rare show of affection meant to anchor her. "Whatever you decide, know that I will stand by you."

morwenna’s ears flicked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let out a soft laugh. her head tilted toward gjalla, a flicker of light returning to her eyes. i feel young again, she admitted, her voice carrying a strange mixture of wonder and apprehension. like i’ve been given a fresh start. a chance to live... not just survive.

she looked down at the caribou pelt draped over her shoulders, her paw brushing its edge almost reverently. it’s not just him, you know, she said after a moment, her tone quieter now. it’s the way they live, the way they move with the herds, free of borders and rules. it’s... untamed. and i want to be untamed again.

the pause that followed was thick with something unspoken, a hesitation wrapped in hope. when her gaze returned to gjalla, it held a rare vulnerability, a quiet plea.

would you come with me? she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. to live amongst the herds? to be truly, utterly free?

Gjalla’s gaze didn’t waver, though the quiet plea in Morwenna’s voice struck something deep within her. To live amongst the herds. To be free. The words swirled like wind against her ears. She studied Morwenna closely, the flicker of light in her eyes, the reverence with which she touched the caribou pelt. It was as if the dream of this life had already begun to take root within her, growing stronger with each word she spoke.

“To be free,” Gjalla repeated softly, as if tasting the words for herself. Her tail stilled, and her pale eyes turned inward for a brief moment, brushing against memories long buried: the bitter cold of isolation, the sharp sting of loss, the relentless pursuit of purpose that had once driven her.

Freedom had always been a distant, elusive thing, tangled in the constraints of duty and survival. Now, here it was, offered in the quiet of Morwenna’s question—a life untethered, shaped only by the rhythms of nature and the bonds they chose to forge.

Her gaze softened, and her voice dipped lower, carrying a rare tenderness. “If this is what you want, I would go. Not for the herds, not for the dream of untamed life. But for you.” She tilted her head, her eyes meeting Morwenna’s with quiet resolve.

"You are not alone in this, Morwenna. I’ll be with you. Wherever you go." Gjalla said at last, her voice low and deliberate.

she could always be sweet when it came to gjalla, her steadfast friend. memories of lemon tarts surfaced briefly, a sweetness that lingered on her tongue even now.

you should try it, she murmured, the idea of freedom, of living among the herds, still intoxicating to her. but one day, gjalla, i want you to find your own path. a husband of your own. something that’s yours. her words were tender, encouraging, a quiet push toward something she believed her friend deserved.

she nudged gjalla gently with her nose, a fleeting gesture that carried more than words ever could. promise me you’ll find it.

Gjalla’s breath caught for a moment as Morwenna’s words settled into the air. There was a tenderness in them, a quiet plea that she could feel deep in her bones. A husband of your own. Something that’s yours.

A husband of her own?

The idea was a foreign one, wrapped in a blanket of discomfort. The words echoed in her mind, an offer of something that seemed so distant that it almost felt unattainable. Undesirable. For a long while, she said nothing, her mind drifting to a faraway place, thoughts weaving in tangled threads. The idea of a path—of choosing something for herself—was one she hadn’t entertained in far too long, much less someone. Her life had been consumed by the responsibilities of others, by duty and survival.

Morwenna’s gentle nudge pulled her back, and she blinked, refocusing on the woman beside her. Her icy eyes softened, the walls she had so carefully constructed beginning to crack just a little. "I have everything I need right here." Gjalla said finally, her voice rough with something unspoken—anything to change the subject. She turned her head slightly, meeting Morwenna’s gaze with a resolute intensity.

"But you…" Gjalla hesitated, her gaze softening further. "You deserve everything you’re seeking, Morwenna. Everything. Don’t settle for less than what you’ve always wanted."

Her words were firm, but there was a warmth to them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the journey they both still had ahead—of finding the freedom to be untamed, yet never alone.

morwenna’s lips pressed into a thin line, trembling just slightly as she absorbed gjalla’s words. a promise, quiet yet weighty, settled between them. it was enough. more than enough.

without another word, morwenna leaned forward, the soft, furred curve of her forehead meeting gjalla’s. the contact was deliberate, an intimate connection that held everything unspoken. a tether. a vow. her breath mingled with gjalla’s in the still air, her pale eyes closing briefly to anchor the moment in her heart.

you’ll find me, she murmured, her voice steady, yet wrapped in an undercurrent of emotion. in the valley, with the caribou.

a declaration of certainty. morwenna pulled back just slightly, her gaze searching gjalla’s for an understanding they did not need words to share. their paths would always intertwine, no matter the miles or the herds that lay between them.

exit mo

Gjalla’s breath hitched in her throat as Morwenna’s forehead met hers, the quiet pressure speaking more than any words could. There was no need for more—no need for further promises or explanations.

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into her bones. It was rare, this kind of closeness, and even rarer to let it in without hesitation. But here, with Morwenna, there was no room for doubt. It was a bond forged over time, built from the shared weight of their lives, their pain, and their hopes.

When Morwenna spoke, her words were like a soft, inevitable truth—one that Gjalla knew deep down, even before they were said aloud. Yes, it would always be this way. Their paths would always cross, intertwine, no matter where they went, no matter where the herds might take them.

Gjalla nodded affirmingly. There was no question in her heart, no hesitation in her soul. You’ll never be alone.

---

exit gjalla