Nova Peak Wēkenben

“Husband,” she names in affection as soon as the bear emerges from the trees. Ayovi had been relieved to find it was not the fire’s pull which bound them. Though she'd needed time to adapt to new womanhood, she is surprised to feel what vinous and immediate effect Skorpa’s approach has on her body.
With a flush, she redirects to the sunken tree, lest the northman scent such tinglings at bloom beneath her coat. Endearingly and with little understanding, her mate aims to help, setting her bundle within the protection of the tree-home. For this she cannot quell the tender tail-ticks, nor the reach of her kiss as she fusses about his cheeks and jaw. It did not escape her that any other man might dismiss this as strictly women’s work, while her own chosen sought to encourage her.
“Do you smell them?” Still flush against his side, Ayovi makes audible sniffs into the musty air. “There are spirit-beings here. They will trade protection in exchange for a home. We must create a consecrated place on Stjerneberg. A hjem for moor. ”
Do northerners believe such things? Are they bound by a higher power? Ayovi thinks of Faust and nurses her doubts.
She raises a paw against her husband’s chest, “Moor. Spirit,” repeating the two words as the hand finds her own. Last a call is lifted for the sky where spirits too lived within the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind.