Herbalists' Cache run, rabbit, run

@Star Eater

her sides heave. tears soak the soft fur of her cheeks, but she does not falter. eager as she is to leave, to run and find gjalla safe, star eater must know first. before the man draped in shadow wakes and sinks his teeth into her throat. she knows her place, knows that the hunter woman could punish her for entering uninvited, but she does so, and she does not wait for star eater to open her eyes before she speaks.

"sun eater. he tried to kill gjalla. i saw him. tried to..." she sets her jaw, blinking away the tears which threaten to spill. she will not wail like a child. not here."sun eater is laying in the snow now. not dead, but badly wounded. gjalla...i do not know the extent of her injuries. or where she is now."

star eater woke to the sound of her name.
a peaceful sleep, warm and safe, her newborns nestled against her belly, until it was shattered.
ishmira, what is it—
the words barely left her lips before she felt it. the tremor in the girl’s voice, the way her breath hitched, the way her grief and panic pressed into the space between them, thick and suffocating.
the words landed like a blow to the chest.
her breath caught. too many emotions. too many, too fast.
what?
no. no, he would not—
but ishmira’s voice did not waver. her tears did not lie.
her heart plummeted.
for a moment, she was frozen, caught between the war of what she knew and what had been torn apart before her.
then, instinct took over.
she rose.
her body moved before thought, the pups falling from her teats with warbling cries as she surged to her feet, heart hammering in her chest.
her husband.
her gjalla.
she fought back the chaos in her mind, fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. this was not the time to break.
ishmira, she said, voice tight but steady, listen to me. you will tend to him.
she could not. she would not. not until she saw gjalla safe.
she moved to her cache, fast, decisive, snatching herbs with a practiced touch, thrusting them into the girl’s grasp.
take yarrow. press it to his wounds. it will stop the bleeding. her voice was sharp, commanding, unshaken despite the grief she swallowed back. "or pain, use willow bark. chew it into a pulp, let him swallow it.
her paws found one more bundle.
for infection—goldenrod. and honey, if there is any left.
a pause.
do not let him die, ishmira. come back here and watch them. be fast. go, now!
and then, without another word, star eater turned, and ran.

ishmira whines softly, unwilling to tend to the man who so eagerly leapt at gjalla's throat moments ago. but star eater is desperate, frantic, and she will not deny a mourning wife her wish. she will tend to the husband, and she will do so only because he belongs to star eater. she is quick, rushing with the bundle in her mouth, and returns after a time without.

star eater has long gone, and ishmira curls around the mewling pups, forlorn. gjalla needs her. blackfell needs her. but above all, ishmira needs them, both of them.

for now, her place is with the babies, warming them where their mother cannot.

time skip!

time passed in a blur.
the blood had dried. the cold had settled.
the road back was long, endless, unforgiving. morwenna did not feel it.
she did not feel anything at all.
her limbs burned, her breath sharp against the frozen air, but she did not stop, did not falter, did not slow until the den came into view.
until home was beneath her feet.
she entered with the weight of the world draped across her shoulders, the scent of gjalla’s blood still clinging to her skin.
but there was warmth here.
the soft mewling of her children.
the familiar presence of ishmira.
she moved forward, gently, carefully, nuzzling the girl in a quiet greeting before stepping past her to return to where she belonged.
her body sank into the nest, and the pups responded instantly.
tiny mouths latched onto her swollen teats, suckling eagerly, unbothered by the cold that had followed their mother in. she breathed then, slow and deep, pressing her muzzle against their wriggling bodies.
alive.
whole.
still hers.
only then did she speak.
what of my husband?

it is a quiet relief when star eater returns. ishmira lifts her head and greets the older woman with a quiet chuff, gaze softly reverent. her tears have long dried, given way to hollow grief deep within the recesses of her chest. there is an ache within her now, a pain which will never leave her.

"you came back." she does not smile, but remains where she is on her belly, the children between them. her place is with star eater, for now. here, in the warmth of the cave, no man can harm her. not even sun eater.

"your husband lives, for now. better paws work to mend him where i cannot. but...his wounds are grave. i do not know if he will survive to see another sunrise."

gjalla fought well, she thinks fondly, a sharp pain piercing her heart.

"gjalla...i smell her blood on you. what of her? is she alive?" she turns to meet star eater's gaze, blue eyes watering. she does not know what she will do if gjalla is gone. she is not sure she wants to.

listen carefully, ishmira.
morwenna’s voice was not unkind, but it was firm—unyielding as the ice outside their shelter. she moved forward, her body heavy with exhaustion, with blood that had dried into the pale fur of her chest, with the scent of battle still clinging to her like smoke. her bones ached. her heart ached. but she did not break. she could not break.
she lowered herself beside the children, nudging each one, counting them as if she had not left them, as if they had not been abandoned while she went to summon a storm that would change all their lives. her gaze flickered back to ishmira, finding the glistening blue of her eyes.
war is here.
it was not a question. it was not a warning. it was a fact, one written in the blood upon her coat, in the wrath curling in blackfell’s voice, in the way the wildling had stood with him at dawn, prepared to bring the tundra to ruin.
gjalla lives. but the glacier wolves are angry. blackfell is angry.
and he had every right to be. she had called for this.
she inhaled, slow, deep, and the words felt like stone upon her tongue.
and it was i who called their banners.
she had done this.
her throat tightened, but she did not waver. she had known the moment she stepped upon the glacier, the moment she found her sister bleeding in the snow, that there would be no peace, no quiet end to this. they had taken too much. they had struck at the wrong wolves. and now, there would be war.
her eyes burned into ishmira’s, pleading and commanding all at once.
if the time comes and even i must fight, you will take the children.
the weight of those words settled between them, heavier than any battle call. she knew what she asked. she knew what it would cost the girl. but this was not a choice. this was survival.
i know you want to be there.
ishmira had earned her place beside them, had stood with her and gjalla and black hawk when others had not. morwenna knew what it meant to her, what it would mean to leave. but there were things greater than pride, greater than vengeance.
but i am trusting you with the hope of the future.
her voice softened, the first crack in the iron of her resolve.
do you understand?
this was not a duty given lightly. it was a command, yes, but more than that—it was faith. the most precious thing morwenna had to give.

gjalla lives.

the words pierce ishmira's heart, and she lets loose a soft sob. worry and relief spill from her eyes, falling down her face and wetting her paws. gjalla lives. gjalla lives. that man did not kill her. he could not.

and now drone the drums of war.

her gaze is hard, serious-- a wisdom beyond her years shines in them. she will flee. she will go against every instinct in her body, and she will run when the time comes because morwenna wants her to. she does not know how she will carry all four, how she will escape the bloodshed untouched. only that she must, and she will.

as she gazes down at the babies, the next generation, she feels a kinship to them. they are not hers by blood, but already she knows them as family.

"i understand. i will take them." and she does not speak the words, but morwenna knows that she will die defending them.

morwenna watched the quiet tremble in ishmira’s frame, the way relief shattered her into something raw, something real. she saw the wisdom in her eyes, far too old for a girl so young. she had been forced to grow up too quickly, to carry burdens that should not have been hers.
thank you, darling girl.
her voice was soft, weary, but heavy with meaning. with trust.
ishmira would do this. she would take the children, bear them away from the blood and ruin if the time came. morwenna did not doubt her. but the thought of it, of losing them—even to safety—twisted something deep inside her.
she lowered her head, pressing her forehead gently against ishmira’s, a silent promise. i will not let it come to that. but even as she thought it, she knew it might.
they are yours as they are mine. her voice barely above a whisper. protect them.
she lingered only a moment more before she exhaled, pulling away. her gaze was tired, but fierce, locked onto ishmira’s as if to etch this moment into her soul.
if the time comes, you run. you do not look back.
her throat clenched.
but if you must fight—
her breath hitched, but she steeled herself.
then you make sure you win.

she will not turn to look in the heat of battle. because she knows if she dares to look back, if she sees morwenna fall, she will never forgive herself. the image will remain burned into her memory, an eternal regret.

ishmira's rapid breathing slows, comforted by the gentle bump of the hunter woman's head against her own. a sense of belonging, of love, overwhelms her. this is what it is to be family. it is blood and it is sacrifice and it is the knowledge that above all, you are one. morwenna pulls away after a moment, and ishmira meets her gaze firmly. she does not waver.

"they are my family now, as are you. no harm will come to them. i will not allow it." a fierce look makes itself at home, molds itself into her features as if it has always belonged there. no longer does the heart of a child beat within her chest. she will flay skin from bone without remorse, and she will do it all for the whelps squirming at her side. for morwenna, for blackfell.

for gjalla.