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.