Nova Peak existence

her ears flick as he speaks. skorpa. "ég er anoré." no title. no embellishment. before, she was hrímskóna, whitemoon matriarch, strategist, blade. and before that, humble healer. no such things mattered any more, but there was relief in loss. opportunity.
she straightens, and a slow breath of fog crisps the air, "ég leita ekki heimilis." perhaps too honest, but she would not mock jarl with lies, "aðeins staður til að vera á. að standa. að vera til meðal annarra."
"en ég dreg lóðina. stríð hrærist. ég get barist, ef þess er krafist. áætlun, ef þörf er á. og..." ink-tipped banner flicked as she inhaled a gust of his scent, carried by the nightbreeze. the faintest hint of unborn. the memory pulses beneath her ribs, where life once grew within her, too."hafa tilhneigingu til kvenna sem bera líf."