Hideaway Strath [M] Offerings of Blood, Sweat and Tears

Vein had mentioned the ceremony of the solstice, once not long after his arrival in the Strath. Much had occurred since to distract them both but even the streamlined sighthound of ivory had to admit that there was much to thank the gods for -- even if she was only just beginning to learn of them with Vein. There had been many hours during her seclusion in their dwelling to speak of the gods, and for Vein to show her how to worship them in the ways that the druids had shown reverence for their world. His dogma was the darker side of the coin but there was harsh truth in its realities; there was beauty in the gifts the gods had given her (a mate, love, the possibility of life stirring in her womb) and there was cruelty in what they asked in return. Blood, death, sacrifice.

She detoured from the gardens where she furrowed loam for their herbs when the howl sounded throughout the forest, stopping at a bend of slow roiling creekwater to gather a few stalks of soaproot. The midwife washed the dirt from the plant before placing it upon a damp, flat stretch of stone along the shores. A quick hunt along the rocky banks led her to select a good, fist-sized stone that would roll nicely beneath one's paw -- taking it gingerly in her maw to carry it over to the soaproot. The Priestess bent willow curves over the root, placing the stone atop it and straightened -- pausing to shake a few stray drops of water from her dripping auds of cloudtrail. Rolling the rock over the stalks, she crushed the saponin-rich plant to release the slippery juices within. After a moment, she nosed aside the rock and then gracefully dropped down onto her side to roll in the crushed flora not unlike a white mare. Once thoroughly coated in the homemade lather, she rose again with care not to slip on the leftover juice and treaded out to the middle of the stream. A few quick dunks and shakes of her pale pelt washed out the cleansing solution and the Saluki was satisfied that she had washed away most of the musky scents left in her coat from where she had been holed away consummating her marriage to the shaman. Though some wild, primitive aspect of her felt a thrill at the thought of leaving such a scandalous perfume upon her skin, she'd also been dirtied from her work in the fields. It would not do to show up to a celebration for the gods, unpurified and dirtied though Vein had often assured her that the gods held no shred of vanity -- assured and confident in their otherwordly beauty.

Despite the fact that the ice nymph stopped along the way to roll her drying coat in a patch of green-flushed clover, which left her silky plumage tangled with bits of spring and small blooms of violet, she was amongst the first to arrive. A warm smile graced her rosy lips as she trotted up to Nyra, bumping her temple against the other blanchard's shoulder -- though she had to strain a bit due to her short height. The Battle Phoenix was beginning to really show now, her snow-blanketed sides swelling with a cute, little baby bump. 

Aerin's emerald-kissed gaze lifted then to her mate, registering the baby fawn beneath his paw with a tic of motherly concern that was soon repressed when she thought of her own children (if they were truly in there, perhaps her last delivery had truly ruined her), and she felt a swell of pride as her gibeon moonstones greeted him with silent affection. Waiting and watching, The Priestess could feel her breath catch with anticipation, her limbs quivering occasionally with the charge of change that crackled in the air like electricity.