Herbalists' Cache wooden doll

sun eater had come to appreciate the efforts of his wife on behalf of the captives. she kept the ghost talker's promise from starving; she taught a new skill to the captive and unmarried women.

a soft respect was forming around @Star Eater.

he came to find her with a rare treat: ptarmigan eggs set in the brains of a doe caribou. a very rich food, haphazardly mingled but borne with affection. he carried a skull of it, and set it down beside his wife.

"the green-eyed girl." his words were without preamble. "wolves of the moon did this to me." gesture to his maiming; "i believe she is one of them."

the chieftain switched the meat he had been chewing to his other jawline. "i mean to make a trade of her. the girl for the one who did this."

he looked at his wife now. "unless you have an idea for her that is better."

star eater’s eyes flickered to the gift, ears pricking as she took in the skull, the rich scent of ptarmigan eggs mingling with the warmth of caribou brain. her tail gave a small, eager wag—a treat.
without hesitation, she bent her head and ate, tearing into the meal with an appetite all-consuming. her hunger was a fire that could not be doused, and she cared little for appearances in the presence of her husband. he had brought this for her. he had thought of her.
when the skull was picked clean, she licked her lips, finally shifting her attention to the words that had accompanied the offering.
wolves of the moon? she echoed, lifting her gaze to him now, following the motion of his gesture. her eyes lingered on the place where his injury marked him, the maiming that had been done. his pride wounded with it.
the girl.
her expression darkened, and she exhaled sharply, licking a stray smear of blood from her muzzle.
she is timid. a pause, calculating. useful in many things, but not strong.
her tongue clicked against her teeth as she considered the weight of his words—the girl for the one who had done this.
her husband, avenged.
i would like to see it done, she admitted, voice smooth but edged. if she can be traded for the one who maimed you, then so be it.
her loyalty, unwavering. her decision, final.

sun eater was surprised, but not without displeasure. he would have though she would want to keep her slave through the hard days to come, when she would be bound to a shelter. yet she spoke for him, and on impulse possessed for no other, he leant forward to stroke her forehead with a kiss.

"wolves of the moon." the richness of her feast lay around them in tendrils. he liked that she had eaten with such zeal. "the clan nuiruk. sunshine people, they are also called. they have many packs, but the women are sprung from one mother. kukutux."

his face twisted. "it was she who ordered that i be taken from moontide to moonglow. and it was she who chose what i suffered. but it was her daughter who carried it out. i do not want the old woman, except to kill. i want the one whose teeth my flesh remembers."

rage filled the small space. he jerked down its billow. "i want to keep her for myself, star eater. for a time," he went on, rolling his shoulders, "until i tire of her."

did his wife condone this also? he was asking, as much as he was able to make himself do so.

400 for you heheheh

she did not pull from his kiss.
star eater met his touch with quiet acceptance, her breath steady beneath the weight of his affection. she listened—truly listened—as he spoke, absorbing every word, the unfettered access to what she had long craved to know of him.
wolves of the moon. clan nuiruk.
she committed the name to memory, tracing the story in her mind as he unraveled it before her. kukutux—mother of women, maker of suffering. but it was not the old woman he wanted. it was the daughter.
his rage swelled like a storm, thickening the air in the den, but star eater did not shrink from it. she watched, waited, raised a single brow as he rolled his shoulders, as he offered her the truth of his desires.
what will you do with her? her voice was quiet, measured—neither condemning nor condoning.
then, wry amusement flickered at the edges of her lips, her gaze cutting sharp despite the humor that laced her next words.
it might not be wise to ask to bed your enemy in front of your pregnant wife.

yay! <3 congrats

he did not need to say, and had the good sense to be chagrined. "sometimes i speak in the mind of a lanzadoii hunter alone on the long march." to humiliate one's enemy was important, but he had misstepped here.

perusal; consideration. 

"their suffering must happen. i want the old woman to know i possess her kin. they must — give something, give for what they have taken."

not only his eye, part of ghelan's life and red leaf as well. in memory was heard the laugh of chakliux, and knew at once that if he saw the seal hunter again, cen would kill him.

star eater had possessed a throne. 

he wished to ask what she might do, but found himself too proud to seek her aid, and too proud again to bow when others had bowed. he was chieftain. "i will trade the daughter, away. far from her clan. i will break their succession. then they will fall."

but would it be enough for his heart?

star eater scoffed, a sharp, humorful sound as she flicked her tail.
as long as i am not the one to be humiliated, she mused, glancing at him with the barest hint of amusement beneath the weight of their conversation.
her gaze lingered on him, tracing the hardened lines of his face, the tension that coiled beneath his skin. vengeance sat heavy in his chest, and she understood it well.
an eye for an eye, she murmured, naming it for what it was. that is what we call it.
vengeance met with equal suffering. retribution in its truest form. she had seen it before, had enacted it herself. but even so, she tilted her head, considering.
it is a good plan, my husband, she admitted, her voice measured. but might i ask—why not kill her? if you wish to end their succession, it cannot survive dead.
to take her, to trade her, to break her—yes, that would wound them. but death? death would make it final.
her pale eyes glinted, keen and knowing. will that not wound the mother most of all?
she spoke of reverence. of experience. she had lived it. the ending of her own succession— it broke her most of all. and here she was, considering the same fate upon another. but yet, she could not deny the simmer of her husband's vengeance. it would become her own, rapt and undeniable. together.

"it does not end their line. the moon woman has many daughters. she would suffer. but break?" many daughters. many descendants. "you did not —" a muscle jumped in his cheek; he shook his head.

there was no way to convey the pain and the fear of that moment, the terrified rage of his exiling. how he had been a man alone save for @Sulukinak, and how he was realizing how much he needed her close. meleeys was his sister, but in his niece was the hope of many bands, many cousins, brothers.

he made a harsh sound low in his throat, a scoff. a growl. "either way, it will be war." he reached a paw gingerly, placed it hovering over the promising curve of her belly. "and i must walk soon."

he studied star eater, her face soft with a beautiful resolution. "i do this so that their father's spirit may rest more easily in them."

an eye for an eye. 

he thought again of the captive.

"ah. the one who is meant to be wife when our ghost talker calls for her. i have given her the name of xel kon ts'akae." a roguish look climbed his features. "i gave her a name that will be fitting to the spirits. she says she will be saatsine. i have made her free."

"this means, if she has lied, she will be put to death."

star eater's eyes snapped to him, sharp as the crack of ice underfoot.
"you did not—"
but oh, hadn’t she? hadn't she been shattered to a throttled mess, a twirling rage of defeated thunders.
you put me back together, she murmured, softer now, though no less certain. it was not just war that reforged him. it was not just his own hatred that carried him to power.
her gaze flickered to where his paw hovered over her belly, where the weight of their future pressed between them.
it will be any day now. she breathed, quiet, but knowing. whatever war he wished to rage, he would see it done, for the sake of their sons, for the spirits that watched over them.
but when he spoke of the girl, her breath steadied, and she tilted her head slightly.
xel kon ts'akae, she tested the name, thoughtful. night fire woman.
a fitting title. and yet, as with all things, a claim came with a price.
am i to ready her to be a bride?
her gaze lifted back to his, unreadable but unwavering. was this her fate now? to guide the girl into the hands of another, just as she had once been?

"any day? then i cannot go so soon," sun eater murmured, reluctantly taking his touch from her belly. it felt surreal; he had watched red leaf grow with ghelan. now he watched star eater grow with the new life they had planted.

he did not quite feel fatherly. not yet.

perhaps these children represented his opportunity to be more. ghelan inherited much from the caribou man, all but affection.

"yes. make her ready. she will learn to hunt. make her see her good place. wife to ghost talker will keep all her children if he wills it."

he raised his eye to her face. "and you were not broken when you came to me."

skirting, sidestepping the fact of her queenship.

less than a moon, star eater murmured, watching the way his paw drifted from her belly, how the weight of his choices settled onto his broad shoulders. two weeks at most.
it was a short window, but if he thought his vengeance could be swift, she would not stand in his way.
if you think it can be done, go.
her voice held no hesitation, only certainty. she would not stop him, nor would she plead for him to stay. this was the path he had chosen, and she had chosen him.
his eye lifted to her, words meant to remind her of what she had been before she came to him.
and neither were you, she countered, quiet but firm.
whatever had been taken from him, whatever had been stripped, shattered, left to fester—it had not broken him. it had reforged him into the man before her now, just as her own trials had reforged her into the woman she had become.
she did not give him time to argue. instead, she stepped forward, tilting her head to press her lips to his, slow and sure.
i will ready her, she whispered against his mouth. and you will do what you must.

"i will." a smirk laced his lips. "i did not think the ghost talker interested in women." in fact, he did not think of such spiritual men as carnal in nature at all, and still found himself surprised when someone dedicated to the farther realms wished for more trite experience.

"they are young yet. much can happen." sun eater might have taken this moment to depart, but he had a better air in his mind, and therefore had become almost talkative. it was another facet of self exposed only to his mate.

two weeks! "i will build you a shelter of snow. you tell to me where."

"i do not know how lanzadoii women are prepared," the hunter admitted. "it was not for me to know." briefly he pondered. "meleeys and suliya, they will know."

women, working as one; women. perhaps some part of cen feared them also.

you think him interested in, what, men?
star eater cracked a smile, something teasing in the curl of her lips, though her eyes remained sharp, thoughtful.
the ghost talker did not seem a man of fleshly desires, nor one to be swayed by the charms of women—or men. but she had seen stranger things unfold in this world.
her gaze softened as he spoke of the shelter, the way he was already thinking ahead, making space for her, for their children. she appreciated it.
somewhere hidden, she murmured, that you and i can reach. so that the babes may hear the hoofbeats as they are born.
she did not want strangers upon her whelping site, did not want uninvited eyes watching where she would be at her most vulnerable. only those she deemed worthy would be permitted near.
he pondered the preparation of the girl, admitting his lack of knowledge. her smirk returned, smaller this time, but no less amused.
she stepped closer, pressing another kiss to his lips, slow and knowing.
that is for women to know, husband, she murmured against his mouth. and worry not—you have many who will see it done.

a laugh! he had never thought of such things. "holy men. often they do not take wives. or lay with others. it hurts the power of their spirit."

to think of his young born beside the caribou; it stirred him. "my first son drowned. my second was delivered by the sea."

emotion gripped the lanzadoii hunter. "they will be the first of my children to be born in snow, beside the caribou. as is our way."

and she had given this to him! star eater.

"i will not be here when it is your time. it is for women to know, as you said." forehead breathed upon; his lips pressed to the star there. "but i will be close. and all the hours, i will listen. and when they call me, i will be here to see."

she laughed softly, a breathy sound, her head tipping back against the gentle press of his lips. that is the way, she murmured in return, warmth blooming in her chest despite the cold. all of the blood—you might pass out, came her tease, glancing at him with the glint of shared humor, though her gaze softened as she looked over him.
his tragedies, his sons lost to the sea and the deep, she knew them as only a wife might, held tight in the quiet places where grief was laid to rest but never forgotten. now here they stood, with the promise of life again, of new sons and daughters cradled by snow and caribou bone.
they will know the land better than any before them, she whispered. our children. born in snow. raised on the herds.
and when his breath moved over her brow, his voice promising to be near, always near—something inside her quieted. peace, for once. good, she said, nose nudging just beneath his chin, lingering there like she might steal more of his warmth. i would have you waiting. and when it’s done, you’ll carry them from the den yourself. let the spirits see how strong they are.

"pass out?" he inquired in wondering. did he mean he would be sickened by blood? "i have killed much," he reminded her, more than caribou. "but this time — my spirit will make you less. take your strength. it is why i must stay away."

born in snow. he wanted her now, his body tightening with the control he must exercise. now, and for several moons after. it was what he had been taught, and the taboo of enjoying her body so close to the time of life bound him away.

lips pressed to her collarbone; a low rumble told her she was desirable, that her continued support of him made the chieftain wish to truly embrace her. 

"i will. i will name them then, before the caribou."

what was this emotion burning beneath the breastplate, in his veins; in mind; in veins? a surge of feeling for star eater and for their young; love.

star eater smiles softly, the glow of it faint beneath the weight of winter and her swelling sides. a different kind of blood, she agrees, voice low and dreamy. blood that gives life, instead of taking. her eyes drift toward the sky, to the frostbitten clouds that swirled above the glacier’s rim. have you ever seen such a sight? her tone is thoughtful, as if the idea itself is sacred. the first cries of your children? the way they come into this world... fighting, gasping, alive. she breathes in deeply, the cold air sharp in her chest. it is no easy thing.
her eyes fall to him again, softened by something tender. you may stay away. but know you will be the first i call for.
when he speaks of names, a smile curls again at her lips, a touch more playful. then tell me some, she murmurs, tilting her head. if we have girls. what names shall they carry?
she leans into his touch, the rumble of his approval warming her from the inside out. she feels the restraint in him—the pull, the ache, the distance his customs force upon him now. it makes her want to tease, to pull him closer still, but instead she lets her nose brush along the line of his jaw. make them strong names, she adds, quieter, as if sharing a secret. names the caribou will hear and know who chase them.

he shook his head, repulsed by the pulse of spirit-warding. "no," he said at last, thinking of how gheli had screamed with ghaden, how red leaf's cries had pierced the sea air. "i believe it takes power. your power, wife. but it is not for me to watch."

lanzadoii children entered the world surrounded by the women of their band. the caribou spirits formed the first protective circle. the men the last. it was often that a man did not interact with the young until they were strong enough to walk from the snow shelter. 

this distance, though this had never been said, preserved the hearts of each father from the potential of having to leave one or more of his children behind. their mothers suffered. the man could not bear the same pain; he must exist for her despite his own.

they carried it together, but in ways disparate.

"when i see their faces, then i will know their names." as he had done with each son, he would do for a daughter or a new boy born to his starweave wife.

"but i promise. they will be strong names. the caribou spirits will hear."

she does not argue, though her heart yearns to have him closer when the time comes. but this is the way. the lanzadoii way. the saatsine way. the way of men who are made to survive, and women who are made to bear the weight of life and death alike.
star eater leans into him, brushing her muzzle against his jaw, lingering there as if trying to memorize the shape of him beneath the coarse black fur. then we will do it as it has always been done, she murmurs, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. you will stay near enough to hear their cries, and when you see their faces... you will give them names strong enough to shake the bones of the mountain.
her tail sweeps gently over the snow as she pulls back to study him. the man who had put her back together. the man who would never watch her break. and i will make sure they know their father is the fiercest thing the tundra has ever birthed.
she inhales, slow and deep, and the wind carries their mingled scents over the snow. her belly shifts with the life inside her, a reminder of how near the time has come.
rest when you can, husband, she says, voice softer than it had been all day. your work begins when mine is finished.
and with one last kiss pressed into the curve of his neck, she turns toward the snow shelter, leaving behind only the softest glance over her shoulder, as if to say—
we will be waiting for you.