Herbalists' Cache dewclaw mountain

star eater’s gaze lingers on the younger woman, watching the care with which she works. the precision, the little taps, the quiet ritual she’s created all her own—it brings a soft warmth to morwenna’s chest. she hums low, pleased, as the ring takes shape, a delicate guard of bone and spirit for the lives soon to enter the world.
perfect, she murmurs, her voice a hush, meant just for them, for the snow, for the unborn listening beneath her ribs. the caribou will see this and know they are honored.
she steps back to admire the shape they’ve made together. the soft lines, the symmetry of care laid out in the snow. we make a fine pair, you and i. there's a fondness there, the beginnings of something that feels very much like kinship. when they are born, i want them to know you, too. not just as a helper, but as someone they may trust.
her smile grows, touched with something maternal, though perhaps not for the babes alone. i am grateful you are here.