Neverwinter Forest no lamb was lost

@Y'var'la — callyope had not forgot the woman.

akkunak she had thought the woman. she still thought of her as such even now! yet she wished to test this in full.

it would be good to have a woman — sly and quick — to send off if needed to other villages. perhaps this was not the storm cloud's want, though. she meant to find such out today.

searching through trees and clearings for the woman.

Y’var’la moved silently through the underbrush, her slender frame barely disturbing the leaves beneath her paws. The scent of earth and pine hung thick in the air, but there was something else too—a familiar scent, the  Seiðkona. The woman’s presence still lingered in Y’var’la’s mind, despite her efforts to cast it aside. 

Sólhárr's words echoed in her ear—'appease her and you may find your place among us.' The memory was sharp, a sudden crackle of lightning in a dry sky, quick and unsettling. And now, Callyope was seeking her out.

Paws slowed as Y’var’la slipped between the trees, her posture cool and composed, her mind calculating. She could feel Callyope’s presence before she saw her, and the woman turned on her heel to face the white figure in the distance.

"Seiðkona,"she greets with a breath, meeting the woman half-way.

it does something to her heart, her spirit, to hear such a title be breathed by one who is not her beloved.

surely it is the way it solidifies her place. that it was not only him who saw her as such. that she was not some spirit lingering in the forest.

ah, regardless —

i did not mean to have you wait so long, and she is genuine in this. how have you busied your days, Y’var’la? she gestures an invite for the woman to walk along with her.

Y’var’la’s gaze flickered briefly to the outstretched gesture, the invitation wrapped in a careful warmth that she did not miss.  Her lips twitched into a soft, noncommittal smile, the corners of her mouth curling but without the usual sharpness that often accompanied her expressions.

"I did not mind the wait," she said. As the other woman gestured for her to walk, Y’var’la hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping forward, her slender form gliding into motion beside her. "Wandering, mostly." she answered thoughtfully, casting her eyes to the horizon as they moved. "Still acquainting myself, with the land. And the people."

"And you? How do you spend your time when not hunting me down?" A flicker of humor danced in her eyes, though it was fleeting, quickly masked behind the a calculating poise.

quick woman!

yes, her thoughts around her and her place grew. thinking of the future for the land and the people. her smile was not coy now but warm and full. she thought of winter weddings and she thought of children of the winter.

is your heart in wandering? forneskja needs those who do not mind the roaming, the learning. it is a respectable thing to make paths between villages.

Her brows arched in genuine curiosity, a playful glint dancing in her eyes. "Really?" she exclaimed, her words curling around the paler woman like tendrils of smoke, woven together with a blend of intrigue and teasing mischief. "And what should Forneskja expect?" Y'var'la posed the question, driven more by her own curiosity than the interests of her pack.

The Rekker paused, allowing the weight of the moment to settle over her as her gaze drifted toward the distant clifftops, where rugged crags met the sky. A thoughtful expression crossed her face, and after a moment's contemplation, she shrugged.

"I don't see why not," she replied, her voice carrying the underlying sense of possibility. It sounded like a proposition in the making, but she would make no such assumptions. "Is that something you need? Envoys?"

growth from within. it was not pride that carried her voice. a promising winter. her faith commanded it, she felt it in her bones.

she guided their path towards the outer rim of forneskja, as if they might gaze upon the world beyond them.

i need women in my circle who are worldly. who bring many words with them when they sit near me. ones who will walk far but know that they are highly valued when they are near.

Y’var’la’s steps slowed as she followed Callyope, her gaze drifting over the landscape before them—an ever-expanding vista of forest and sky, as if the world were stretching out in silent promise. She inhaled deeply, drawing the cold air into her lungs. Growth from within. There was a power in Callyope's words, a certainty that resonated through her bones and danced on the breeze. Y’var’la, too, could sense it, feel it vibrating along her spine.

The vision of a future forged from within, built on the strength of those who were to come—women like her, who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders yet still sought to shape it, to steer it toward something greater. She could understand that drive—she had lived it, once. She could see the appeal of a circle, bound not by blood, but by shared ideals.

"Forneskja has the right to demand such things," Y’var’la mused softly, her words threading the spaces between them like the fine mist that curled around the trees. "To have those who carry knowledge and stories, who bring more than just the weight of their feet. A valuable thing, to be sure."

Y’var’la’s tone softened, a rare thread of respect woven into it. "And what would they bring you, these women? Besides their words and their ways of the world. What would you offer them in return for their loyalty?" She asked it simply, as if the answer were not only practical but necessary to complete the picture Callyope painted. Nothing could be done with nothing to gain.

it was more than just forneskja who asked for this.

it was her, it was Seiðkona. her dream was a circle within their claim. one filled with the minds of women. let their fine men hunt and train warriors.

let the women have their space for growth, as well.

good ranks, better husbands. there was a twinkling of something in her voice and gaze now. yet she was serious in such a thing!

i mean to help build their futures. it is a deeper thing than any rank or full belly — these things come with being in forneskja no matter what path. yet there are things women can build with one another that go deeper than that. things our men might not have the spirit to understand.

Y’var’la’s ears twitched slightly, her sharp eyes locking onto Callyope with a sudden intensity. Ambition was a language she knew well, and these words—these promises—resonated with the kind of fire that felt familiar. More than that, they kindled something in her—a spark of possibility, a vision of what she might shape for herself within Forneskja.

Y’var’la’s lips parted in a soft exhale, "It’s a fine thing to wish for." Y’var’la let the silence linger for a moment as she considered the woman’s words. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her gaze sharp and knowing. "A fine incentive, too."

Her tail flicked behind her, her poise unwavering as she spoke again, her voice low but laced with intrigue. "You’re right," she admitted, her words deliberate, "these are things men rarely see, let alone foster. But you do. You see it, and you mean to make it real."

She stopped, turning to face Callyope fully now, her expression a careful balance of curiosity and ambition.

"You will. I will help you."