Shadowwyn Moor Hydrurga

suliya regarded the girl with a steady, measured gaze, her breath curling faintly in the icy air. these things you speak of, she began, voice low and deliberate, they are true.

she let the weight of her words settle before continuing, a flicker of something sharp and unspoken passing behind her pale eyes. but the women, they hold themselves firm to the ice. it is their strength, their shelter. they are not like those who wander. the words carried no malice, only a quiet, unshakable certainty, as though she spoke of something carved into her very bones.

inwardly, her thoughts turned to her mother— the spirit talker of the ice. she remembered the stories. their home had been the sheaths, endless and cold, and yet alive with the murmurs of spirits. the men had always returned with their biddings—tokens from raids, offerings of food. in return for children, they had brought these things, and the women had made their homes strong.

but suliya said none of this aloud. instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying the woman with a faint spark of curiosity. why do you ask of the everdark? she said, her tone careful, as if weighing the question’s significance. do you seek to know it, or does it call to you already?