Larksong Grotto what gods desire

Good question—did she hear them, those spirits? Did not all hear them? The strange, foul-smelling woman had cackled, amused by the inquiry, pleased by Ayovi’s curiosity, the Blizzard Lady’s keen interest.

"Ånderne? Hører du dem ikke?" she had asked in return. "Når vinden rejser sig, når rensdyrenes hove trommer mod jorden… Lyt, Ayovi, Blizzardske dame. Lyt for mig også, for jeg hører dem ikke." She had concluded more abruptly, her lips curling into a smile, teeth sharp as a blade.

"Jeg derimod lytter til mine hævngerrige guder, mine krigsguder, mine guder for velstand, vundet med blod!" she declared, casting a sidelong glance at Faust. Gods, madness, or deception—whatever force had guided her here, Aspa had arrived, and she meant to stay.

"Hvis nordens mænd, snestormens damer og de vandrende sjæle i disse lande ønsker at tale med guderne, så taler jeg på deres vegne." She bowed, slow and measured. "Jeg er deres ydmyge tjener, og dermed også jeres – hvis Darukaal og Winsoor tillader, at Aspa slår sig ned her."

After that, she straightened, her mirth fading. "Jeg beder jer, provokér ikke vores guder – imødekom min anmodning." She herself made no threats, yet her gods, perhaps, were less forgiving.