Herbalists' Cache wooden doll

she laughed softly, a breathy sound, her head tipping back against the gentle press of his lips. that is the way, she murmured in return, warmth blooming in her chest despite the cold. all of the blood—you might pass out, came her tease, glancing at him with the glint of shared humor, though her gaze softened as she looked over him.
his tragedies, his sons lost to the sea and the deep, she knew them as only a wife might, held tight in the quiet places where grief was laid to rest but never forgotten. now here they stood, with the promise of life again, of new sons and daughters cradled by snow and caribou bone.
they will know the land better than any before them, she whispered. our children. born in snow. raised on the herds.
and when his breath moved over her brow, his voice promising to be near, always near—something inside her quieted. peace, for once. good, she said, nose nudging just beneath his chin, lingering there like she might steal more of his warmth. i would have you waiting. and when it’s done, you’ll carry them from the den yourself. let the spirits see how strong they are.