Sunset Valley Tspēsh

“Ja, vind naboens gunst,”  she confesses, eyes smoking with a little amusement. But Ayovi is watchful; captivated in the way one dares not turn their eyes from a viper lest she see fit to strike. The woman had not forgotten her husband’s warning. Conditions, constrainment; this was the currency of a sorceress.
Still, outshining all other unknowns is her full belly, the precious life that’s guarded there, and as the mother-to-be grew she had found a deep desire within herself to see the unborn blessed; if not in the way of her people, in the way of their father’s. To protect them from the war and strife of the bitter north beyond her mountain.
Small Aspa was, but crafty, with a mind like a spike-taloned owl. If she was like the shaman of her nome, she could see where paths of power lay for Ayovi's children.
A glance from womb to soothsayer, slow and reverent.
“Hvad sige guder?” She asks, eyes gleaming now with a certain innocent naivety that comes with new motherhood.