Manifesto

Tuwawi's dark lips upturned into a droll smile at the mention of her children, the faint light catching a shimmer in her gaze. It was true, like any doting mother, the auburn woman worried for her offspring and the viability of this land to provide and protect her blooming family. Yet, among the doubt and concerns stirred a challenge - one the mother was confident the Sveijarns could overcome. She, herself, was valley-born. A native southerner to the far stretches of vast scrim and lazy hills; it was evident in her svelte figure and the wild, untamed red locks which swathed it. However, her husband was a man born onto harsher mountains, and his hardy, northern blood thrived within their progeny... especially their daughters. "Perhaps for children of lesser heritage," she mused, "but mine are sired by a man of the North, and reared by a mother who has traversed many peaks." Her tone rang with genuine pride, and her sooty trail brushed against her rounded side, remembering the feeling of her family asleep besides her. "But why the concern, stranger?" she queried, fascinated by this woodland man and the familiarity of his voice.

She approached even closer with a neutral stance, eager to seek a whiff of his scent to better understand his travels. The aromas of misty crags, damp woods, and cold peaks welded together... and suddenly all the lights turned on. "Ah... you and I," she began with wonder in her voice, "we are Tartok."