Shadow Mountain sulum

gimme all the germ threads <3

Wren was not lost on the monotony of travel. She remembered it well, the way she came to Swiftcurrent. Difficult paths through the mountains, getting up from breaks with feet just that little bit more angry than before. Sore muscles and boiling late June heat, heads ducked under crags, and all the while it is somehow more quiet than if she had done this alone. 
It's unusual for her to be this silent. Save for the occasional snarky comment, or an insult in foreign tongue spoken beneath breaths, she said little. To Germanicus, to Akavir, to anyone. And that was for the better. 

And now, as they come upon a crested overlook with dry eyes and clammy paws, Akavir is the one who breaks first. 
We should bathe, get rid of the Valley scents, she remarks, a wariness to an otherwise solid voice. just in case. 

She thinks of Silvertongue as her gaze is cast downward. Wren did not know how she would handle taking the steps she had among Akashingo's paths, knowing what she was there for; the image of her burning little body in the hands of tall men and women, the grease of their touch, an oilslick feeling she imagines she wakes in the night remembering.
And her jaw clenches with the desire to be wrapped around Germanicus's throat. And he would deserve it. But there is no pain that Wren or Akavir themselves could put him through that would ever be suitable enough.