Herbalists' Cache song of time

maybe @Suliya ?

sivaak does not care for the inner politics of black scar's clan. she finds it annoying. she has been annoyed all day, in fact. it reminds her of her own past, the uprising against her—perhaps sivaak would have sympathized, been there to stand at black scar's side.

if she was not heavy with unborn. she did not like black scar enough to sacrifice her future.

he would understand. if he did not, she did not care.

now, she sniffs around the base of an old, thick tree. it is close to the herd but far enough away from the star eater's den that the tumultuous energy of her fiery children will not stress her soft lanzadoii spawn. here, the sky would turn red on the day her children came.

the seas would roar.

suliya’s steps were easy, drifting toward the dark figure beneath the old tree, pale eyes narrowing as she took in sivaak’s swollen sides, the way she lingered far from the shelter and its gathering chaos. the woman had always been sharp, colder than most—but even so, suliya had expected her closer to the heart of things.

she paused a few strides away, gaze cutting toward the distant den where star eater labored, then back to sivaak.

you are not with chieftain wife? she asked, voice quiet but edged with the curiosity she didn’t bother to hide. a tilt of her head, brow raising. thought all the women would be pressed in close like pups to milk.

her eyes lingered a moment longer on the other’s belly, thoughtful, before she looked away to the herd beyond.

or do you prefer the peace like me?

sivaak's eyes cut to narrow like sharp rubies when she hears the approaching crunch of pawsteps. they are quiet, belonging to a woman of the hunt, but she discerns them easily. a lifetime of listening. sivaak's head turns, sharply, to gaze upon her niece.

teeth show when she speaks. that is women's duty. comes her harsh reply, as she sniffs around the roots of the great tree, eyes slicing along the ice. then, her paws rake. rake away snow in great drags, uncaring as to whether or not suliya falls victim to any of her shoveling.

sivaak dig. sivaak rumbles. pups come in few days. future of muradoii. a pointed glance, then. sivaak not contaminate black scar pups with muradoii energy.

suliya pauses, ears flicking back at the sharpness, at the flash of teeth. the response stings more than she'd admit, but her face—her face remains still, unreadable as stone.

you are not contaminating, she says flatly, nose lifting just a touch. it is not defiance, but an assertion. a truth. the lanzadoii pups will breathe the same air as yours. the same snow will fall on their backs.

her gaze drops to the churned snow at sivaak's paws. after a beat, she moves closer, lowering herself without ceremony, starting to dig alongside the older woman. her own claws tear through the frost, swift and practiced.

let me help you. her voice softens, not from submission, but from practicality. the work would go faster together. the ground is hard today.

suliya does not look at her again, but works. silent, steady. proving herself in labor if not in words.

sivaak lifts her lip at this. it is true, but she is not fond to think that way. muradoii, lanzadoii, sharadoii; they are not meant to co-exist. she is here because she must be, because there is strength in numbers. but when she is able, she will leave.

she will make her band anew. her children her soldiers. soldiers she bred, raised, fed. they would be devoutly loyal. sivaak would never be turned upon again.

she digs.

your mother traitor. she says. it not your fault. suliya must prove she not mother.

suliya’s hackles flare, heat spiking sharp beneath her pale fur. the words bite—traitor—and yet she stands her ground, jaw tightening as she watches the elder woman tear at the earth.

i want to be muradoii, she repeats, firmer now, like stone laid upon stone. her voice does not waver. her blood burns for it. why else would she be here? why else would she stay by sivaak’s side, scraping out the frozen dirt, braving the weight of that sharp tongue?

her tail flicks, ears pinning.

i am not my mother.

it’s the only defense she gives. the only one she feels she needs.

then, with a grunt, she stoops and begins to dig beside sivaak. rough, strong sweeps of her forelimbs, claws carving deep into the snow-packed soil. they work in tandem.

your pups will have me. like sister, she adds after a long silence, quieter, but with the same iron behind her voice. i prove it.

it takes great effort to dig. effort that sivaak wishes to not exert, as her body burns. her back; burning. teeth grit as she exerts, swooping strong forelegs down and back up. she listens all the while, digesting suliya's words.

she wished to be muradoii. sivaak's chest burns to hear this. sivaak teach you. it is an offer. made from what love sivaak once held for her sister. she would redeem the daughter she abandoned to lanzadoii. sivaak teach you like pup.

she grins at this. then, she stops digging, heaving a deep breath as she waddles away some and sits upon her stinging haunches. tired. she complains. you keep dig.

yes. it feels good to order someone around. what you know of muradoii?

suliya says nothing at first. only flicks an ear, flattens them next. the wind bites through her fur, but the work warms her as she slips into the place sivaak left. digging deep. pulling snow and dirt with strong shoulders, hoarfrost clinging to her whiskers.

everdark, she finally says, voice low, more to the earth than to sivaak. mother told me stories. women make songs in glacier. drown weak pups for better keep.

she doesn’t pause the digging, only snorts through her nose, breath curling in silver ribbons. men swim to glacier. impress women. then leave.

the words taste bitter. not because she doesn't believe them, but because she does. because she's thought of them many times, wondering which side of the story her mother truly belonged to.

suliya lifts her chin toward sivaak then. what do you know? a sharp, sideways grin. you stay. didn’t swim. didn’t leave.

snow flies from her paw as she works, steady, tireless. the work is good. it distracts from the ache in her chest.

her eyes narrow, crinkled by age and blood-heat, her breath heaving in thick fogs through flared nostrils. she leans against the tree trunk, glaring upward at the red sky like it owes her something.
your mother leave because she weak. not because she wise. comes the growl. her head turns, blood-red eyes fixed now on suliya’s back as the girl digs. suliya know our stories. but stories not enough. muradoii not just songs. not just glacier. it is pain. it is teeth. it is hunger that never leaves mouth.
a pause. she shifts, belly sagging, breath rattling with effort. suliya want to be muradoii? then drown what soft in you. drown your mother from your blood. crush it. kill it.
she chuckles—dry, cracked.
then you swim. maybe not to glacier. maybe not today. but someday. if you live long enough, you swim. and if you strong, women let you stay. then, quieter, more like wind through dead trees:
sivaak stay because she killed the ones who try make her leave.

suliya doesn't turn.

her paws work slow, steady, digging into the half-frozen earth as though the marrow of muradoii herself lies buried just beneath the surface. she listens. she always listens. to the wind. to the blood. to sivaak's voice, old as the bones of the mountain.

but when the silence falls, she speaks.

then i’ll drown her.
her voice is quiet. not meek. not broken. quiet like still water with a storm beneath it.

i’ll drown her in the cold. in the dark. until nothing soft is left.
a beat. claws pause mid-dig.
but i’ll remember she gave me teeth first.

now, she turns. frost-bitten eyes meet red ones.