Firefly Glen [PHE] uĝayaasix̂

Tag for reference—AW!

When Nantahala wasn’t exploring the hunting grounds, she stayed close to Moonglow’s camp to help @Kukukutx and her sisters ready the area for the healers. Even though they’d done a lot to prepare, there was still more to take care of before the big hunt began—and time was quickly escaping them.

She crouched in front of piles of herbs, and did her best to sort through them and organize them into individual mounds.

though by interests alone sobeille’s skills were better put towards the healing camp, she was relieved to have been assigned the high honor of the hunt. it was a chance to prove herself alongside her kin — and let out some of the budding anger she felt was dangerously close to being externally directed.

a lanky youngling possibly her younger sibling’s age was bundling herbs into individual mounds. while sobeille recognized some from maleah and sialuk’s teachings, others were unknown to her.

coming alongside the gilded girl, sobeille pointed to one pile. what dat one be?

Thanks for joining! <3

”What dat one be?” a voice asked.

Nantahala blanked as she turned towards the other wolf, her expression suddenly twisted in confusion as she quickly re-traced her memory for any names that Kukutux may have given her. Uh … she stalled, looking  towards the pile. Uh!!! Quick—something! Anything!

She sighed and shook her head, silently admitting defeat.

I don’t know, she finally admitted, sighing. I’m not good at this medicine stuff—not like my sister and grandmother. Then, after a beat, she wondered, Do you know what any of these are?

dat one is rosehip, sobeille navigated with a warmth that would not have been spared if the girl was male. it did not matter that she did not know. she was young, and in the tribe of many good healers. as she aged, she would learn it all. 

dat one looks like mebbe poppy. you can tell by de stems, dey brittle up fast. sobeille pointed to a mound of stringy, acrid smelling moss. an’ dat be mountain moss. good for packin’ wounds an’ also good for keeping de ‘erbs fresh. she peered down at the small pile that nantahala had assembled only moments before. i be sobeille. who is your maman?

Sorry for the wait!

Rosehip—she observed the herb, and tried to commit it to memory in that quick and fleeting moment. There were others that were listed off next, and Nantahala did her best to keep up while retaining the information that Sobielle provided.

Wow, she breathed, clearly impressed. You sure know a lot of herbs!

The question that was asked brought pause to Nantahala—what was a “maman”???—and she hesitated for a moment as her face scrunched up. I’m Nantahala, she answered at last, feeling confident in at least that part. What’s a “maman”??? she asked curiously. I’ve never heard that word before. While it almost sounded like Sobielle had said “mama”, there was that pesky “n” that confused Nantahala.

there was no wait! ur gucci!

sobeille didn’t hide the puff of her chest as her new pupil acknowledged how educated she was. of course she was knowledgeable — she came from sapphique.

not everyone carried the same proud blood for their maternal pack, though — sobeille was learning many did not fly their natal banners.

she tried to mentally repeat this girl’s name. like so many inland names, it was a jumble of consonants and syllables, lacking the fluidity of the ocean-tongue. but maybe, to nantahala, the same could be said of sobeille’s name.

maman be your — she groped around for the common equivalent; mother. de lady who takes care of you. the word seemed abrupt and contrived on her tongue. maman be your legacy, too.

<333 Thank you!

Oh! Nantahala breathed, her remark edged with a laugh. That makes sense! She shook her hear and placed her palm against her forehead—silly me! her expression read. My mother is Vairë, and, for good measure, she added: And my grandmother is Kukutux—Moonwoman. That was her pedigree—her legacy—and there was pride in her voice.

And you? she asked in turn, wondering if she’d recognize the name Sobielle shared.

nantahala brought her paw to her forehead in a gesture sobeille found endearing. sobeille had spent enough time in the moon tribe to know the names she shared, but nantahala earned the full bite of sobeille’s interest when she mentioned moonwoman herself.

dat is a powerful legacy, sobeille commented, allowing a moment of awe to suspend in the air between them. i be from mireille, who be out of rosalyn an’ erzulie. de sea wolves. she did not know if anyone would know these names — but sobeille’s goal was to sear them in the back of every wolf’s mind through her life’s campaign. they would know her name, and they would know the proud stock from whence she came.

do you know de story about the firemother?

While Nantahala had never really considered the strength and power of her legacy, she did sit a little taller when she was complimented. Thank you, she said with a wag of her tail.

She was then told of Sobielle’s legacy—de sea wolves—and asked if she knew the story of Firemother. To each, she shook her head in response, before asking, Can you also tell me about your family? I’d love to learn more about them.

sobeille would have no problem telling someone at length the impressive stock she hailed from -- but she paused as her companion shook her head.

she did not know firemother?

a purse of her lips. she had spent much time with the moonwolves. she had stayed in kukutux's camp, living close to sialuk -- and she wondered now if kukutux's story had been a lesson she'd failed to grasp.

perhaps this daughter of the moontribe did not need such lessons. perhaps she was perfectly normal.

your grandmere be de one dat told me about de firemot'er. perhaps you be askin' her, den. she flicked at a pebble, regaining the slip of her composure. i be from a long line of sea pirates and warrioresses. dey traveled de coast and raided, and dey fought a great war out by de soun'. against de cliff wolves. her eyes grew wistful recounting the imagined violence.

dey won and dey took dere lan' and chased dem out. now we be livin' in dere halls. pride in sobeille's voice then, for she knew no greater violence. nothing said 'war was won' like a victor assimilating the conquest's city, erasing the founder's culture for their own; sleeping with their wives and raising their own children in the hearth of an empire that now only existed in the memory of the dead.

such a thing tasted very sweet to sobeille.