Herbalists' Cache dewclaw mountain

my husband named me, morwenna admitted, voice softened by memory, though it did not lack its usual steel. the star on my forehead. a touch of reverence lingered there, an echo of the past.
she did not speak of the moment itself, of the warmth in his eye when he had declared it hers. of the way her name had not been hers until it came from his lips, until it was stitched into her by the weight of the saatsine tongue. "dzaeyaqsaa." a name shaped by the north, by the long nights and the gleam of silver upon the ice. by a man who had once held her at his side as something sacred.
a name that had bound her to this place, to its people. and yet… now it felt like shackles. her teeth pressed together as she swallowed the thought.
you are wise to wait, she told other shore, exhaling slowly, watching the younger woman with something between approval and sorrow. a name carries the weight of all who came before you. it does not simply belong to you—it belongs to them, to the blood that shaped it.
her gaze flickered, unreadable in the dim light. but when you are ready… i will name you myself.