Lost Creek Hollow nope (2022)

No! Please, take all the time you need. ;w; <3

The dark woman said a word that he did not understand. He wondered if this was her name. It made him queasy to think of speaking it, butchering it with his tongue.

But the woman did not stop with one word. She began to tell him a story that was filled with similar-sounding words, things he had never heard before. Crowfeather listened to her with an intent face, ears drawn to a tall point on his dark head. Hel, Ibenholtravn, Trolkvinne, all spoken with a tongue that had been fashioned for such words. The uncertain tripod thought that they could have been names, perhaps.

The dark woman cackled with elation? Crowfeather wasn’t certain. He peered at her with concern brimming in the gold of his eyes.

Ibenholtravn is ash. A place, then! Trolkvinne could not be deciphered, yet. She said that it had been ripped apart. The tripod winced.

But she said something next that opened a crack in his defensive, fearful state. Sadness began to creep in like water through a crack in the wall. She asked what good a name was if there was no one who would speak it. Then she seemed to laugh, or cry. Crowfeather could not tell. He felt the drip, drip, drip, of sorrow in his heart.

I will speak it.

His voice was soft, earnest.