Herbalists' Cache hoof trap

light pp! lmk if not ok <3 : after that BF confrontation thread!

the snow is crisp beneath her paws, biting cold gnawing at her limbs, but star eater hardly feels it. her mind is set on the task ahead—preparing the snow shelter, ensuring it is thick with warmth, sturdy against the wind, ready for what is coming. her belly is heavy now, the pups restless, and time is no longer her ally.
bundles of hides are slung over her back, cumbersome and slipping with each step. the weight strains her shoulders, but she presses on until she spots him—her husband, the black scar, the one who bound her fate to his. @Sun Eater stands ahead with a hide of his own, dark against the pale snow.
she draws near, breath curling in the air between them. will you help me carry these? she asks, nodding to the heap of thick, furred skins draped awkwardly over her back. her voice is light, teasing despite the ache in her bones. your wife is carrying quite the load.
a faint smile touches her lips as she waits, watching him with that knowing look she so often wears, already certain he will say yes.

sun eater had decided to say — nothing. 

his mate was round and heavy with their young, ready to bring them for firstbreath into the warming world. caribou cows gave birth through each day, the ripple of their pleased lowing in echo back and forth between their number.

soon she would add her own voice to their efforts, and sun eater did not wish for anything to affect his children. or her, if he was quite honest. having gathered much knowledge about her origin, about who she was and how coldly she might act, he found more pride in possessing her.

the unsurety lay in how long she would remain docile. once he had thought her a lovestuck, submissive woman; she certainly anticipated his needs and feathered her breath upon his ego. but now — now he did not know what was right and what was not.

her light voice brought him out of his thoughts. sun eater did not speak as he gathered every hide from the curve of her back and threw them in grunting over his shoulders, stalking toward the shelter he had built.

!!!

she watched him wordlessly as he took the weight from her back, strong as ever, his broad form disappearing momentarily into the snow shelter’s entrance. there were moments she thought she could read him—his pride, his certainty, his hunger for legacy—but others, like now, he seemed distant. watching the world from a place she couldn't quite reach.
thank you, she murmured after him, soft and sincere, the words carried lightly on the cold breeze as she began her work.
her paws moved over the hides with careful purpose, spreading them across the packed snow floor, layering them thick where her belly would rest. each one smoothed flat, the edges tucked in just so. when that was finished, she turned her attention to the perimeter.
dewclaws and tufts of caribou fur, bone fragments smoothed by time, and even an old, curved antler gnawed down by seasons of wind. she placed them like sentries, a circle of quiet protection. tokens of life taken and life to come. tokens to remind the spirits that these children belonged here, cradled by the tundra and watched over by the herd.
when she emerged from the entrance, shaking stray flakes of frost from her pelt, her eyes found him again. waiting. watching.
do you like it? she asked, voice carrying across the hush of snow. she gestured with a gentle sweep of her muzzle toward the little ring of offerings, her gaze seeking his approval more than she'd ever admit.

>D

had she lied? sun eater ran the moment in his mind again. blackfell had come from such a place as morwenna, but he was not like her. 

if they both were to be believed, blackbird and starwoman, then it was true. she was far worse than the man stood to be. and she had some fierce hold on them, some claim of familiarity to have them so close. sun eater did not respect how blackfell had not sought his revenge, how gjalla posted beside star eater as a sister.

there was much he did not understand.

the single eye roved over the shelter's interior. he did not like to stand inside it, this place flush with feminine energy, crowded by the spirits not yet born. "you have done well. it is a welcoming space," he told her, though he nearly stumbled in his eagerness to be out into the air again.

her ears tilt back, narrowing at the stiffness in his voice, the way his gaze refuses to linger on her for long, instead drifting restlessly over the den, over her belly, over the snow itself. always moving. always away.
she watches him for a beat, then another. the tension coils, tight and obvious, until finally, softly, her voice cuts through it.
what is it? she asks, brow creasing. she shifts where she lays, turning to face him fully. something weighs you down. tell me.
there is no demand in her tone, only quiet insistence, a gentleness reserved only for him. her gaze softens as she studies him—the flicker of his ear, the taut line of his jaw, the way he lingers at the threshold like a man chased from comfort.

perceptive as always.

he wanted to ask why she was so attentive. for what did she wait?

"it is this place," he said at last. "it is not made for me." that was not a lie; he stood beside its truth. behind it. did not she and he live a life of omission now? that was not fair. but he did not know how to be fair. 

"there are stories of — of children. born wrong because a boy or a man lingered too close to the birthing shelter. it cannot be ours, wife. only yours. and theirs." he bent his head, put his crown against the curve of her flank.

but he would not walk away; instead he invited her beneath the cold sky, to walk.

and as once before, sun eater draped first a caribou hide around her fine shoulders. he could not stop how he responded to her, how he wished to treat her with affection. did she too have some hold over him?

star eater turns her head, the weight of his crown pressing to her side grounding her in a way little else could. her gaze traces the snowline beyond their shelter, to the pines, the sky—far, far beyond this small place they carved for themselves.
nothing is ever truly mine, she echoes softly, but there is no sorrow in it. only the quiet truth of a woman who has lived long enough to understand the shape of possession. these children are ours. the land is yours. and i am yours as wife.
and she means it—not as some small, wilted surrender, but as something firm. something safe. to be part of something greater than herself. to belong. her father’s halls had been cold, full of power but empty of comfort. here… at least here, there was warmth.
she allows him to drape the hide over her shoulders, nuzzling briefly into the fur. into him. the gesture stirs a rare, gentle smile from her. she falls into step beside him easily, walking beneath the expanse of the glacier sky.
uuts'taa is trying, she admits, voice quieter now. considering. so is nehzuunxel. they want to be lanzadoii, even if they do not know what that means yet. her eyes flick toward him, studying the shape of his face beneath the starlight. you might like him. if you give him the chance.
and maybe—just maybe—she hopes he will. for her sake. for all of theirs.

sun eater snorted. he did not like men. he liked less men who did not share his past and who had once held power of their own. 

a man, who, by his own admission, had belonged to her. to his wife! a woman! blackfell had been — lanzadoii hunter did not understand the dynamic of this ownership. in some way, uuts'taa had been a captive to star eater.

he did not like it.

he did not like it.

why did his wife wish for him to take this particular man to heart?

"i will speak to him. but we spoke before i came here," he began with caution. "he says now he does not know if he will be married to gjalla."

his eye touched her face with a caressing look that also sought any hidden knowledge.

star eater’s ears flick back, a subtle ripple of surprise tugging at the smoothness of her features. he said that to you? the words slip past her lips before she can stop them, carried on a breath of disbelief. her brows knit, thoughtfully, carefully, as if combing through the countless moments between gjalla and blackfell.
she knows the man’s temper. his pride. how easily anger can root and take hold. and yet… she had thought them steady, in their own, volatile way. but perhaps it is as she feared. perhaps gjalla feels the same, and neither of them will bend.
i have yet to speak to her, she admits quietly, shaking her head, as if to clear the snow gathering in her thoughts. but... maybe she feels the same. maybe they both feel it. her gaze drifts, unfocused, to the line of the glacier’s edge, where the wind rises and carries with it the sound of distant herds. they are alike in that way, aren’t they? neither knowing when to yield.
she breathes deep and looks back to him, studying the weight behind his gaze, that searching look she feels press into her skin. there is no lie to give. no truth to hide.

he rolled a shoulder. "i told him not to wait. if dark snow does not give him respect, why wait? you say he wants to be lanzadoii. i have given him suliya's name." he baited her with an even tone, conversational. for that was all this was, words shared between man and wife.

"i want to bring gjalla on my raid. if blackfell and her are tense, they cannot be here together. i will leave blackbird man when i go."

a test.

"saatsine husbands and saatsine wives should not fight. it is not good for hunting together. or living together." were he and she not the set example of harmony for the sun clan?

now baited, now tested, sun eater yawned a casual sound and waited for his mate to respond.

star eater’s ears swept back, not from anger, but from something quieter. a disappointment that slid down her spine like cold water. she hums, a low sound curling in her throat as her gaze drifts from sun eater to the pale sky beyond.
you take gjalla? the question is soft, but there is weight to it. a frown ghosts at her lips, delicate but lingering. i thought... she would be here. her eyes narrow faintly, not from malice, but from the ache of expectation unmet. to help with the pups. women's work, no? it is spoken plainly, as one might recite fact. as if she had envisioned her star-sister standing beside her when the time came, her steady presence filling the space between labor and new life.
she breathes through it, steadying the quiet stir of grief rising in her chest. perhaps she had been foolish to assume gjalla would stay. perhaps her heart was always meant to wander.
her gaze slides back to him, steady, unreadable. i suppose you are right. satsine men and women should not fight. harmony keeps the caribou near. she presses a touch of warmth to her words, but it is distant, like a fire seen from far off.
but what of me, then? her head tips, curiosity laced in gold and silk. i do not want stranger women upon the babes. not in that first week. gjalla is... harmony is what they sought, wasn't it? she is my sister. what use could blackfell be?

"you should have women."

but neither did he wish to delay his raid. sun eater gave a long sigh and closed the one eye remaining. "i will think more on it." it was all he would say now upon the matter. she pressed her wife's right and he must not speak against what she wished. not now.

there were many women here. they should all be present. but — he thought of the fleeing moon girl and his jaw became tight once more.

a letting go.

"if we stay," emphasizing the first, "then when eightweeks has finished, we march. toward the sea. toward the moon tribes." far too young for a raid, their children would nevertheless see justice given, and remember it.

thank you, star eater said first, her voice low, shaped by the quiet reverence of his consideration. her gaze shifted, sweeping across the lands beyond their snow shelter, to the wandering shapes of those young women—girls still, really. i do not want to keep you from going, she added, thoughtful, her words curling like smoke in the cold. there are many women here, but they are young girls. they do not know what it takes to be mother.
her eyes flicked back to him, serious now. gjalla is older. wiser. i am strong woman, but even i must be prepared. why no take blackfell with you? he will give you the vengeance you deserve— man's task.
indent]it was not said lightly. she knew what it meant, what it would cost. but if blood must be paid, let it be by those willing, those able.
he exhaled softly through her nose, watching him carefully as he sighed, the weight of leadership heavy between them. her ears tipped forward, brushing the air. i trust you to do what is right. for saatsine.
a pause, and then a slow, approving nod when he spoke of eightweeks.
toward the sea. toward the moon tribes, she echoed, the promise carried like an ember in her chest. our children will see it. they will know the strength of their father... and the purpose of our name.

"gjalla killed for me. i know her mind." perhaps it was a man's task, and it mollified him to hear that she wanted only women with her. not blackfell. "i need a new war chief. there are three i am looking at. she is one."

the others must prove. and be proven again. times had changed since the first time he had come to the river; saatsine and sun eater demanded more of those who would be bloodhunter. "she is a bloodhunter and has status. i want to see her in fighting."

he did not need to give her a reason. she was his wife. but he did all the same, and found some measure of comfort in it.

he stooped then to kiss her belly, to straighten with a smile of desire and anticipation down into her starwoven face. "and the loyalty of their mother. do not forget that a clan is built upon it."

her breath trembles beneath his touch, soft and steadying, as though his warmth alone might anchor the frayed edges of her heart. sun eater had been the constant where so little else had endured. and though his hands, his voice, his rule could sometimes weigh heavy, star eater had always been loyal to a fault—if nothing else.
her gaze softens as he speaks of gjalla, of the blood she had spilled in her name. her tail gives a faint flick. reassuring not just him, but herself. and i would see her lead, if the spirits will it. she has earned the right to try.
but she does not press further. it soothes him to hear she wanted only women near, and so she lets him believe that. lets him have his peace in the notion that her circle, tight and small, held no threat to him.
her gaze falls fondly to where his nose brushes her belly, to the tender press of his lips. a breath leaves her, slow and quiet, threading through the chill. they will know loyalty, she agrees, voice little more than a whisper. because i have known it. because we have built it.
her head tilts, the faintest smile ghosting over her tired features as she studies him. a clan of blood. a clan of spirit. a clan of name, she hums. but first, a clan of loyalty.
and it is for him. for them. for these small, unseen lives shifting beneath her ribs.
and still, as her gaze lingers on him, there is something unspoken in her eyes—a question unasked.
would loyalty be enough?

loyalty was not enough. but it was quickly becoming foremost. he gazed long at her, framed in the soft light with the snow flung around them, the caribou hide about her shoulders. again that fierce leap of emotion, that thud just under his breastbone.

he kissed her, softly at first and then with a growing insistence; he broke them apart only to behold her once more. "no woman has been so loyal to me as you, dzaeyaqsaa." not even gheli, though it could be argued that she had been given no chance for disloyalty; they had loved each other with too much fierceness.

guilt then, for thoughts upon other things; he offered a small rare smile to her, there in the landscape trodden by sacred caribou. "they will learn many things from you. not only loyalty. pride. knowledge."

her heart softened beneath the weight of him, his gaze, his praise, though her eyes flitted down as if shy of it. the caribou hide settled heavy across her back, but his words heavier still, draping her in something warmer than any fur.
no man has deserved it more, she returned, voice quiet but firm, shaped by the crisp air between them. loyalty, yes—but more than that. reverence. devotion. not just for him, but for what they built, for what they would leave behind.
his kiss lingered on her lips long after he’d pulled away, and star eater searched his face with something tender in her own, as if memorizing the way the snow lit his features, the way the wilderness bowed around them as witness.
they will be lanzadoii, she said, almost in a whisper. of the ice, of the hunt. but they will be ours first.
she leaned into him then, pressing her muzzle briefly to the curve of his throat, breathing him in like she might never get the chance again.
and what greater gift is there, she murmured, than to be taught by the sun himself?

ours first, taught by the sun. he was roused for her, moved; every time he thought that his wife had reached the summit of her loyalty, she had another ascension to show him. "i wish you to know of the worth you give me. i do not have the words," he said with clear honesty.

a smile then, brushing her belly once more.

he hoped fervently that she understood all of what he did was for her. all — all that had gone on, and all that would be. they did not fight, and that mattered much to sun eater.

"go and rest," he urged softly. "tell me what you wish to eat. i will hunt it for you and have another bring it." he did fear the power now; it rejected him, and he must heed its repulse of his masculine presence.