Lost Creek Hollow my light

the scent of @Sun Eater lingered like a trail of smoke against the cold air, faint but unmistakable. morwenna followed it with steady determination, her steps measured but unrelenting. the caribou hide draped over her shoulders carried its familiar weight, its scent mingling with her own, as though it were now an extension of her.

she had made her decision.

clutched in her jaws was a token of her own making: a spire of antler bone from the caribou, chewed and carved into the likeness of a feather. its surface bore the subtle marks of her efforts, imperfections that made it uniquely hers. sinew wrapped around the base secured a few crow feathers that fluttered lightly in the wind, a small nod to her own traditions, her own story.

it was a gift. an answer.

the frosted ground crunched beneath her paws as she approached the edge of the clearing where she suspected he might be. her heart thudded steadily in her chest, not out of fear, but something more—anticipation, perhaps. her breath clouded the air in soft bursts as she paused, lifting her head to scan the horizon.

there, she thought, catching the faintest movement in the distance. the shape of a wolf, powerful and familiar, against the pale landscape. she swallowed her hesitation, the weight of her decision anchoring her steps as she moved forward.

chieftain? she called softly, her voice carrying through the crisp air, steady but tinged with something unspoken. she approached slowly, the carved antler feather swaying gently as she walked, its significance heavy between them.

!!!

cold was shadowynn, its land inhabited by winds of frost which keened with empty bellies. sun eater stood alone, watching the ever-moving parade of caribou with noting eye while his thoughts whirled and coalesced.

in time he walked, traveling for thicker trees and the surprising presence of emerald grass not yet eaten by deer or scorched by frost.

he should take suliya, muradoii blood or not. their children would be lanzadoii, and spirits forbid she attempted to teach them of love for the monsters of the great ice. if he took her to wife and grey man was bonded with meleys, every pup born would be a caribou hunter by immediate blood and birth.

it was nonsense to think otherwise, to imagine — no. he did indeed hear the footfalls of light step against frozen snow, and he turned, a jetstone silhouette against the lighter sky of the small morning hours, dawn not yet lightning the hour.

morwenna had not taken off the hide, sun eater noticed as almost automatically he began to walk toward the creek woman. those soft folds of fur and skin had conformed around her slender shoulders, and she carried something more of the caribou.

the single eye waited, his tall frame poised beside her own. wind rose to howl about the hollow, and he turned to block with broadside its icy teeth, a step bringing him close, close, their pelts mingling in the unwarmed morning.

morwenna’s breath misted in the cold air as she came to a halt before him, her pale eyes fixed on the figure of the chieftain. he towered, his shadow cast long over the frost-bitten ground, a guardian of this harsh, untamed world. the wind whipped around them, carrying the sharp scent of snow and caribou, the only witnesses to this moment.

her steps slowed further as she came close, and without a word, she lowered her head, carefully dropping the carving at his feet. the feather-shaped antler rested there, adorned with sinew and crow feathers, a piece of herself tied into its creation.

gift, she said simply, the word soft but steady, carried on the breath of frost.

the silence between them felt heavy, weighty with meaning unspoken. she shifted slightly under the caribou hide that wrapped her, the memory of his earlier gift grounding her even as her heart threatened to betray her calm facade.

her gaze lifted to his, seeking something in the dark depths of his single eye. the words swirled in her chest, tangled with the cold air and the faint thrum of anticipation. she let the moment stretch until she could bear it no longer.

would you take me? the question came quietly, but it carried everything. her voice, though soft, bore the weight of her decision, her hope, her fear.

gift.

without preamble he lowered his head, breath washing over the piece of caribou antler. bird spirits had breathed their life into its shape; his lips were soft against the good sinew and the fletch of black feathers.

an offering. an amulet. and though he did not wish the thought, it was red leaf who swam to mind, her sharadoii words in ghelan's own voice. but he must separate them. this was not that moment. he was no longer that man.

and this was morwenna, morwenna swathed in the caribou hide, her face uplifted to him.

take you for the saatsine? or take you for myself?

but he knew that no matter her meaning, his answer was "yes." slate-blue of his eye searched the moon-winnow of her own as the shadows around them shifted into a lightening charcoal.

to her offering in the snow he pointed. "i wear." sun eater murmured in a voice gentle, one unused, one tinged in vulnerability. "here," the saatsine man murmured, but it was over her own heart he demonstrated where she should tangle the tine into his own fur; his touch was light beneath her collarbones, the press of his claws only just separating her pelt.

in that same place over his own heart he asked morwenna to twist her talisman, sun eater breathing in the good nearness of her, of her scent mingled with the soft leathery fragrance of the hide.

her movements gentle as she heeded him, tying the talisman into the dense fur over his heart. she was deliberate, mindful not to pull too tightly, her pale eyes flickering up to meet his as she worked. the soft murmur of his voice, the light touch of his claws against her chest—it all struck something deep and tender within her, a feeling that she dared not name.

his vulnerability was not lost on her. it softened her own edges, made her steps lighter, her words quieter. was this for her, this offering of himself? the thought coiled around her heart, warm and cautious. her fingers—no, her paws—lingered briefly against his fur once the task was done, as if committing the moment to memory.

when she finally spoke, her voice was low, steady, but held a hint of something hopeful. will you teach me saatsine ways? the words fell between them like a quiet plea, her eyes searching his for an answer she was almost certain she already knew.

she let the silence sit for a moment before adding, softer still, i am a fast learner. there was a flicker of a smile on her lips, small but genuine, as if to reassure him—and herself—that she was ready for this, ready for the weight of all that it would mean.

her gaze fell briefly to the carving she had tied to his fur, a quiet satisfaction settling in her chest. and then, once again, her eyes found his, steady and full of a kind of trust she hadn’t dared offer before.

saatsine ways — a place of impasse.

for a moment sun eater only let their gazes touch, watching her with an intensity that threatened to become hunger. the tine was tangled; he would pluck at it with his teeth to set it further, but for now it was twined prettily in his fur, immediately a prized possession. and perhaps the only one he owned.

his ways.

"my ways are hard, morwenna." heavily accented voice moved with care over syllables not made for his tongue, for he saw her trust and cradled it softly in his grasp. no desire now to break it. to let it fall. "not yours. the caribou," he gestured to their numbers threading even now among these dark green trees, "they are everything. life. blood. breath. birth. is hard to be lanzadoii. is harder to be lanzadoii mother," he insisted gently, breath mingling in their nearness.

"there is death. there is — losing. if children are not strong, we leave them." never had he felt regret before this moment, but sun eater fought the clawing guilt. tradition had built his spine and made the caribou hunters of the long march powerful in the eyes of both their clans and the others.

and yet; single eye softened; "i do not want — hurting for you."

eyes on the forest floor as sun eater's words wove a heavy tapestry of duty, survival, and sacrifice. she had known loss; she had known the weight of death and the unyielding march of tradition. his voice carried a rawness that she had not expected, and it cracked something in her. a pang that echoed deep, deeper still.

her gaze lifted to meet his, lingering on the way the tine rested against his chest, woven with care. a symbol of her offering. her trust. something she had not given lightly. his single eye, softened now, held her in place as his words settled into her bones.

leave them.

her mind drifted unbidden to rhaegon. his promises had been full of grandeur, but his love had been hollow. fleeting. she had learned, in that time, how fragile affection could be when not rooted in something deeper. when it was built on appearances, expectations, and pride. he had spoken of children— yearned for them, then put them to the torch.

and now, here was sun eater, speaking truths raw and brutal. there was no pretense in him. no facade. and yet, with his honesty, came a tenderness that surprised her—a desire not to see her hurt, despite the weight of his traditions. despite the weight of his life.

after a long pause, morwenna tilted her head, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the cold, still air between them. would you love them?

the words hung there, heavy with meaning, her gaze searching his face for an answer she feared, and yet yearned, to hear. the ache in her chest, a phantom of old wounds, sharpened in the stillness. this, she thought, was the only part that mattered to her. as a mother before, her own lover refuted the love he claimed to hold.

would you mourn children that we could lose?

this was the question that mattered most. not tradition. not the caribou. love. it was the only thing she could not compromise.

ghaden.

ghelan.

two boys failed. one son lived, born into chaotic arms with cen's angered voice overhead. the pieces of love present had been lost in the splintered bitterness between two opposites. love. love. he knew not its form nor its nature, but wordless in his spirit was its fierce nature.

morwenna did not speak for the lives of the children yet to be born; she asked only for his heart. "yes," he said hoarsely, untethered by the question for its unexpected sound. "i will love them. but they will walk with us. with saatsine," and headlong he fell into the dreaming, the cadence of the future.

he had no right to embrace the fantastic images that a third time might be the final, the lasting, and yet they warmed him.

quietly he wondered how the sun wolves would accept her, but it did not matter. if she stood at his side as wife, there would be no dissent he could hear, such was his belief.

perhaps he did not deserve that either.

quietly he let slip those few inches of space still between he and she, lightly lowering his chin over the crown of her head if she allowed; all the while his tail swung to and fro, a dominant flare, a welcome. a possessiveness. breath ruffled tiny hairs at the base of one ear. "what i need to take you from here?"

he would give what was asked. but she had not spoken of a father nor even brothers; he knew nothing about her, and she knew nothing of him save what he called himself and this bloodied way of his people — thrilling in that, to be only sun eater as he stood beside her now.

a breath left her as though she had held it too long. his answer, simple but firm, swirled in her chest, easing the knot of worry she had not known she carried. the words wrapped themselves around her like the pelt she bore, a comfort, a binding fate. they would walk with the saatsine. she would walk with him.

her gaze lowered, a rare softness overtaking her features. morwenna did not shy from his touch; instead, she leaned into it, the weight of his chin against her crown grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. his possessiveness wasn’t unwelcome—she met it with her own quiet submission, her muzzle brushing the underside of his neck. a promise without words.

we will need to speak with my chieftain, she murmured after a long silence, her voice steady, though her mind raced. akavir... or arlette. her heart lingered on the latter name, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. she would understand, wouldn’t she?

arlette. a mother. a woman who knew the weight of choices that bound lives together. surely, she would see this for what it was—a decision not of impulse, but of necessity, of destiny.

she shifted slightly, her gaze lifting to meet sun eater’s. there was resolve there now, clear and unwavering. whatever they ask, i will give. this is what i choose.

she would leave the creek, her family, the remnants of her past. and in doing so, she would walk forward, soul entwined with his, into the unknown.

"i bring my war chief when i speak. maybe the ghost talker," sun eater mused, his thoughts galloping to the potential outcome of this meeting. morwenna was not some foolish girl; if she wished to walk with him now then she was able to choose this for herself.

his saatsine would stand against any teeth presented, but sun eater did not see why their parting must be marked by strife. morwenna wished to break from her current people to join his own. he would make smooth the way for her.

he caught himself now in this thinking; a feeling of delight spread hesitantly inside his chest, sap from a gumtree. "when?" impatient, but not for the act of asking; impatient to see her beneath the heavier snows, to see her coat's pattern blurred by the drifts; to see how she ran the caribou, to bring her back to the river.

were it possible, he might have nipped her heels in the manner of an antlered bull, chivvying with gentle affection the starweaver who had reached into his chest.

against thumping heart lay the tine and the feathers, bristling as he moved to trace the line of her throat, controlled in his touch yet with want simmering now that they had spoken of this attunement.

morwenna drew in a breath, her eyes casting skyward for a moment as if to gather her thoughts among the sparse stars that winked through the shifting clouds. when her gaze returned to sun eater, it was alight, a flicker of something both certain and spirited sparking there.

your people, she murmured, her voice softer but brimming with curiosity. then her tone lifted, clear with a sudden exclamation that carried with it a note of excitement. i want to meet them. all of them. the saatsine. her tail flicked slightly behind her, the movement small but betraying her eagerness.

a pause followed as she weighed her next words, her thoughts moving like quicksilver, darting and settling. we go at first light, she decided, her voice firmer now, the declaration sealing her bright idea. the threads of her choice were weaving tightly, pulling her closer to a future she could only glimpse in the quiet of her mind.

her gaze softened as she looked at him, noting the way his movements held both strength and restraint. there was something grounding in his presence, something solid and untamed all at once. i want to know the path i'll walk, she added quietly, a rare vulnerability touching her voice. to see it with my own eyes.

first light. "is not enough time. when sun comes, you go. i go," opposite directions. "i make — show, with others. wait. when i come back, is for first time and last time." he would have her with him no matter what happened, for no other leader might deny him what he knew to be his.

"you meet them. tonight, only hunt with one saatsine man."

she offered to belong to the sun clan. he heard to you in those words, and pride gleamed in his blood at the imagining of a travel home

steady. "i show." had he hands he might have taken her own, drawn her to the edge of the verdant forest standing in cold green beauty. as it were, they came there all the same, and as morning raised its head in slow elegance, sun eater pushed aside lowflung branches with broad shoulder, showing morwenna the caribou beyond, the closest so near that its liquid eyes caught the snow's glowing.

theirs, the herds. all of them, bound in cyclical eternality.