Larksong Grotto what gods desire

The welcoming committee had not been slow to arrive; a colossal man in black, before whom she seemed but a pale figure in comparison. A wretched woman, drenched in entrails, standing before an immense warrior—a man from the north who understood her dialect and spoke it.

The stranger had pricked up her ears in his direction, her head tilted to one side. She had slithered toward him, her invalid eye sizing him up with quiet intensity.

"Winsook and Darukaal," she repeated, letting the names settle in, her eyes closed. They were pleasant to pronounce, gliding across her tongue with such sweetness it almost felt like a treat. She closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

"Jeg er Aspa. Gudene hvisker i mit øre, og jeg lytter." she confided to him. "De ville, at jeg skulle være her, de kaldte på mig, og så kom jeg."

Slowly, she circled him, her gaze tracing his scars.

"Og du, hvem er du?" she asked without hesitation. "Hvad har guderne bestemt for dig, kriger?" Her voice softened for the last question. She pondered, though she did not expect an answer from him.