Herbalists' Cache mask off

for @Nutuyikruk: no rush! set after black hawk's return.

the snow shelter is quiet save for the soft breaths of her children, nestled close against her warmth. outside, the wind howls, a distant cry through the trees, but inside, it is still. safe. for now.
morwenna does not sleep. she watches the rise and fall of tiny chests, feels the ache in her bones, the weight in her heart. black hawk’s return lingers in her thoughts, a tether to something she cannot yet name.
in the hush of midnight, she lifts her head. then, a call—low, quiet, meant for nutuyikruk alone. she summons her.

Taking time in between her arrival, wondering of its urgency. Testing waters, to see just the patience she was put against. Gathering, moving slow through gray moonlight that trickled between the clouds of an eternal winterland. 

Leaves were parted. Blonde furs got stuck on the branches as her body squeezed between them. Nipping small purple fruits and dropping them into a small hide pouch of rabbit skin, she moved.

An owl perched on the low peak of Morwenna's den, calling. Here.

She heard. Arrived shortly after. 

Something in her grew mushy to hear the quiet cries of children. They were so..frail. Nutuyikruk tried to be quiet, examined them curiously.

"..I brought you some saskatoon berries for pain. I do not know the difficulties of childbearing, though." Nutuyikruk would never be good enough to hold the title of a mother. "You've called, Star Eater?"

morwenna's lips curve into a small, fleeting smile, gratitude slipping through the weariness settled deep in her bones. she leans down, gathering the offered berries with care, their scent earthy and sweet. thank you, nutuyikruk, she murmurs, her voice softer than the winds that whispered through the trees.
but her expression shifts, the quiet moment giving way to something heavier. she lifts her gaze, meeting the other's with quiet certainty.
i may have to move the children, she says, carefully, as if the words alone might set the world into motion. her heart clenches, but there is no hesitation in her voice. sun eater wants blood. war may come.
her ears flick back. the weight of it settles in her chest like stone.
children cannot be close.

War. And despite all her months of training to raid the villages and learning to be the feral to the domesticated, she had not known it. But had it not always been overhead?

There's something darker than the night over their heads. It brought goosebumps up her skin. Was Star Eater recovered enough to move far?

Time was ticking then. For all of them.

"I see."

Turning to the outside, she took in a moment of appreciation that it was not yet blood in the air. But how long would that be?

Swiveling attention back to Star Eater, her nose nudged the air at the direction of the pups. "Do you have an idea of where must we move them to? Anywhere that can be scouted by those you trust" Surely nowhere near. They would need to be slow enough to give them time, and not overexpose them for the elements. The cubs of Zharille crossed her memory.

morwenna watched nutuyikruk, observing the way her concern settled into something firm, something resolute. the weight of war was an invisible thing, draping itself over their shoulders like the first chill of an approaching storm.
maybe the sea, she murmured, the thought forming as she spoke it. her gaze drifted beyond the den, beyond the trees and the plains, to the distant unknown. the sea had always been a place of power, of mystery. it swallowed what it wanted, kept its secrets buried beneath shifting tides. if we go far enough, no war will follow.
but she knew better. war was not just men and blood—it was memory, it was vengeance. it lived in the hearts of those who refused to let go.
but i must choose carefully. her voice was steady, but there was an unspoken burden in it. they must be far, but not so far that they are lost to me. she could not leave them, would not, even if sun eater wanted her to run.
her silver eyes flickered back to nutuyikruk. do you know a place? somewhere hidden, where they will not be found? she did not trust many, but she trusted the girl before her. somewhere safe.

"I have seen a place." 

A motion was made to the far lands out there. Somewhere out there were hills that went above the small slopes of the taiga fields. Though she imagined now it had been pillaged by the montagne people.

"From the mountain tops." And it was not far from..

Inhaling, trying to push away the memory, or maybe let it devour her. She couldn't tell which of the two happened then. Sitting, she listened to the long calls of her cooing owl. Maybe it sensed the blood coming over the horizon one day. "The barrow fields are near the sea. It is surrounded by woodland and mountains. I imagine many places to hide children between nooks and..prey close by to keep fed."

the memory of mountaintops and blood called something forward in her—familiar, bitter, sacred.
you speak of a place like sanctuary, she said softly, as if to not disturb the stillness between them. a cradle tucked in stone. the kind of place the old gods would hide their wounded. her gaze flicked toward the owl’s distant cry, the sound lonesome and wise. a warning, perhaps. or a prayer.
we will find it. or something like it. she swallowed, glancing to where her children rested just beyond. if there is war… if my husband’s rage comes to shatter the ground we stand on, then we will not be caught in its ruin.
she turned her face back to nutuyikruk, voice low, steady, carved from something deeper than mere promise.
i will do all i can to protect you. a pause. you deserve that.

She did not trust it. No, far many had made such promise and too many had failed her to begin extending that heart once more. Again, it would fall short. But she found that maybe it made others feel better of themselves, looking at the face of a young girl with no home and thinking that they could be the difference. 

They had all fallen down the same story. Once Star Eater's children grew, Nutuyikruk would be at the wayside. It was only a mothers natural instinct, she knew.

Inhaling, she nodded. "I trust you." And.. "And them, they are only babies," she frowned, and looked to the outskirts again, thinking. Nuttuyikruk knew what the raiders did to cubs. "We'll keep them safe. Maybe they will not remember this."

morwenna turned toward her with a gentler slant to her expression, the tension in her jaw softening as she looked upon the girl. her eyes, though lined with weariness, held a quiet glow—hope, perhaps, or the fragile thing left in its wake.
i know you will, she said, and her voice was steady, warm in its truth. nutuyikruk might not have trusted her, not yet—not fully—but morwenna had lived long enough to see where trust bloomed slowly and still held value.
she glanced toward the den, to the pups nestled deep in the shadows. her children. they breathed, they lived, and that was enough. for now.
they’ll remember love before they remember war, she murmured, mostly to herself, but with a smile that touched her voice.

fade?