Sleepy Fox Hollow the old me's dead and gone

@Siarut

Despite the newfound quiet that has settled over her, the healer awoke with an underlying itch. An urge takes hold of her to move, to escape the walls of the Vale - if only for the opportunity to clear her mind and think. 

With Nayethi looped around the pale column of her throat, the soon-to-be leader steals away from the stability of the founding clan. Nothing more than a spirit of the forest, the pale form darts in and out of vision should any be watching - pale coat shimmering snow-white under the dim green aura of the forest's shadows.

Her mind drifted as she travelled - the burn of replenished muscles tugging upon her bones and the tingle of a phantom limb that was no more went ignored - to the carefully constructed web threaded together only recently. 

A question echoed in her mind, one that had gone unanswered and unfaced. 

Was she doing the right thing?

The secluded sierra was not wholly foreign, it was here she had encountered Lace some weeks ago, but as ivory paws traipsed over shale and green cushion alike they were placed cautiously. The scent of another lingered and the fae was reluctant to engage in conflict currently. 

Whomever might have paused in their travels here appeared to have continued on - else they were simply not in her immediate vicinity. 

Whatever the case, the fellow rogue was displaced from her thoughts as they again circled back to the pressing Question. 

Leea rested her pale haunches against the ground with a soft sigh, thoughtful gaze drawn out to the lightening sky and its pastel strokes of periwinkle and pale rose. 

The religion followed by the Norse people of Vangard's birthplace would be her own in time. She had long ago stopped hearing the whispers of her own people's spirits; it was only fitting Liri should turn from the tribal ways and adopt a new observance. The north was far from here and there was no place for its beliefs in Teekon - not if she must move forward, into a new destiny. 

"Odin is the king of gods but not only in name," he had explained, the slow spread of his grin across his features distracting her for a moment. 

The skeletal remains of a grouse lay betwixt them atop the stone-turned-table, the clinging pieces of meat cold and greasy. Dried herbs lay scattered about it - an earlier attempt at imparting basic medical training upon the Bjorkborn - the remnants of hours spent talking late into the night. 

"He rules over those things which are considered the epitome of life itself: ecstasy, furor, courage. He is not a just or fair god; he is selective in his favors, reckless, and sometimes selfish." Liri could not help but think the Allfather seemed a bit lacking in greatness but it was as Vangard had said, he was King.

Kings were rarely just and fair.

Something about the god reminded the healer of Vangard. From what she had gleaned of his culture, the pagan seemed to be every bit of what was expected from a Viking: a courageous shamanic warrior, a jubiliant and joyful man, a wild creature who seemed to teem with life. 

Was it so wrong that she desired to emulate that? 

It was not only the man's ways that would become her own; the norse would cement his new status as Kvasir by siring children with the northron - a litter of Newbloods to be raised as Vikings, a pride to the heathen clan as well as their parents. In her lands, such a bond was sealed with political union though the giantsblood seemed adverse to mating with the lady of winter. Odd, given how readily he accepted to father her pups but perhaps in time..

Liri pushed thoughts of marriage and the future away - gaze lingering upon the heavens as she truly considered for the first time if she had chosen the correct path. 

A soft wind rasped though the trees, tangling in her arctic pelt, and the sylph's eyes closed as a sense of peace enveloped her being.