Bitterroot Valley by my own will

AW, intended for @Gjalla

The whispers of war, the outlines of faces, the tales of abandoned pasts. They lingered like ghosts within memory, filling the spaces which she had once devoted solely to duty. But here in the hills, their weight seemed to be lifted, and everything seemed so...distant.

The sun had barely peeked above the valley walls. Rays of light gently kissed Siofra's spine, casting away the cold of the night. The woman remained curled upon a patch of damp grass, her nose directed towards the earth, and her eyes closed. More meditation. Prayers that would be carried by the winds and delivered to the ears of a deity that she once thought she knew. In vain, but a habit that she refused to let wilt away by time regardless.

She was accompanied by nothing but silence and the spirit of a hare whose remains lay at her feet. By midmorning, she would be gone.

was lost but i'm here now — vague timeline!

---

gjalla passed through the vale like a shadow given shape, a toned frame slicing through the land with a familiar, unsparing grace—purposeful without direction, but powered all the same. the morning was still young enough that the air bit at the edges of her nose, and her paws pressed damp prints into the earth.

the scent of blood was faintly sweet on the breeze, a metallic tang of slightly stale hare. it was not alone; close with it was wolf—woman, basked in driftwood and sea lavender. she kept her distance at first, half-shrouded by the rise of a moss-covered stone.

the figure ahead hadn't moved much, and the posture was... prayerful.

for a long moment, the woman said nothing at all—merely stood, stared on until the woman was finished. gjalla was not one to interrupt prayer. at last, her voice came like gravel dragged over frost.

“who do you pray to?”

Words cut through the morning's silence, and her ears planed towards voice of...a woman. Unfamiliar. Yet she remained in her stance, as if the sound had merely risen by thought. So she wasn't alone within the valley. There was a small delay before her answer, and a wisp of a smile tugged at her lips-- discreet, as though she found the question faintly amusing.

"Anahera, Divina Dea Creationis et Benevolentiae," Siofra uttered the name with smooth certainty, her eyes opening.

Company had cloaked her in a renewed vigilance, her attention drawn to the figure carved from twilight. She was sturdy-- far from timid. Her appearance was as unfamiliar as her voice. Siofra's eyes narrowed briefly, her gaze snagging on the lady's cold divinity before she added, "Or whoever will listen." 

No more was given. A golden gaze lingered on the form of the lady for a heartbeat longer, subtle curiosity flickering within. Her demeanor remained reserved, composed...yet not unwelcoming. She would not condemn her presence. Not without reason.

"...Passing through, Baroness?"