Ouroboros Spine Under billowing sky

The painter had been wracking her mind since their last conversation, trying to come up with something she could ask Adrastus for -- something suitable for this vague notion that Kukutux had described as 'bride price'. She supposed she just felt wrong asking something of the pale icehunter, knowing that she likely wouldn't be allowed to give him anything in return in this custom. Or maybe it was that she was just used to being self-sufficient, having taken care of herself since her mother's death, and had never allowed herself to want something from another -- let alone a man. 

But the traditions were not so different from the land of Elms. Things just went unspoken. When a man wanted to take a woman for his own, he built a hearth for her to bring children to. If she found the male, and his home, desirable, then the girl moved her things from her parents' dwelling to her husband's. Relatives might bring small gifts but for the most part, it was simple and understated -- lacking in ceremony. Village Moonglow's culture was not exactly complex but there was more emphasis on such occasions as marriage and conception, symbolic rites to follow that the herd-watcher must follow. 

So the dove tried to adapt, as she had done so many times before. And she tried to think of what she might ask him for. 

When the spiritbear's howl echoed for her through the trees, the two-year wondered if she was ready. With the thoughts she'd so carefully assembled clutched close, and a deep inhale to steady her sudden nerves, the botanist set off through the ulax -- peridots flickering to the various encampments, wondering silently if the inhabitants could sense the importance of the occasion from her hurried trot or if they just saw the usual  Lótë going about her business as she always did.  

The tundrian smelt of lakewater when she came upon him, waiting for the herbalist on his threshold -- mossy and fresh like the air that surrounded the pool of water in the lower reaches of the Spine -- with the fur of some creature laid at his broad paws, an otter or weasel perhaps. It was not an unpleasant aroma, rather it helped to calm her as she slowed to a halt a few paces before him, breath somewhat short as if she had run the entire way. 

"Adrastus," the dove demurred by way of greeting, feeling it was too formal and too casual all at once. It was all that she could find to say, words failing her now that they were face to face.