Larksong Grotto where gods want

This takes place after this thread and this thread
AW!
@Skorpa

She had returned from the northern plains, after several journeys back and forth. Though scavengers had claimed their share, she carried back the severed heads of hares and rabbits, their bodies long stripped away. With careful intent, Aspa stacked them all, face-down against the earth.

She turned upon herself, gliding through the space where she meant to raise her hut, gauging whether the place would also find favor with her gods.

Her paws came to rest upon old stumps, trees so ancient and withered they stood on the brink of collapse. The soothsayer pressed against them lightly—she would not fell them alone.

Jeg ventede dig, Bjørnemand. she declared, as the shadow of a presence reached her senses, hoping she had not mistaken the visitor.

cameo!

siamiituuq did not make a sound.
flat to the earth, she watched from a tangle of root and snow-bitten scrub, her belly pressed tight to the cold. her legs, long and awkward, coiled beneath her like a trapped insect, ready to skitter if the wind turned. gangly frame hidden by silence and stillness, only her breath misted faintly in the pale air.
she had followed the scent trail long before the angakkuq arrived. not to speak. not to be seen. just to watch. to listen.
rabbit heads. strange songs. a woman who moved like the sky had whispered her name first.
siamiituuq’s nostrils flared.
she did not blink. did not shift. her tail, stiff as bone, lay flat behind her. only the flick of one ear betrayed her presence—one small, trembling signal.
she would wait. not brave enough to step forward. not curious enough to turn back.

---

skorpa brought to the sorceress some few squirrel pelts and saved venison. he did not trust her, and it was in this mistrust that he was bound to assist her. she had chosen to pitch her hut near their mountain, and any dane knew to respect the land now hallowed by magick's step.

silently he set aside the bundle of skins and regarded her with a nod. "jeg er her." warriorhide prickled with awareness of unseen birdwatch, but brutal senses reaching found no crouched danger.

maybe only a creature then, warned away by gathering wolves.

skorpa waited.

---

As for Aspa, although the gods were, in her words, loquacious, they had neglected to warn her of an additional presence. In truth, Aspa had never known solitude; there were always voices, murmurs, whispers that reached her ears.

Og ikke med hænderne tomme, she had smiled, her lips curled and her gaze mischievous. Er du virkelig så besluttet på ikke at vrede guderne, bjørnemand? Hvad kunne de dog have gjort imod dig i dine tidligere liv? She had laughed softly.

Der er en kløft mod den sten, det er der, jeg vil slå mig ned. More of an opening, as if the gods themselves had carved it. Jeg har brug for, at du hjælper mig med at fælde disse træer. Old stumps clinging to life by some unknown miracle, waiting only for a gust of wind or the muscled shoulder of a great warrior to topple. Aspa was neither, but Skorpa...

Meanwhile, she had already busied herself adorning the entrance with tasteless decorations—lagomorph heads, plants whose scent promised ill fortune for mortals, and other soothsayer's trinkets.

Det er godt, at du kom for at hjælpe mig... she declared.

---

when aspa indicated, skorpa moved, throwing off his bearpelt to the earth. he braced his shoulder against one such stump, feeling it creak after a moment's sustained heave. "jeg blev opdraget godt. ordentligt, troldkvinde." in the old ways. in the only ways.

too close did aspa's knowing claw idle to the heart of skorpa, which was what he had done to einor. not even ayovi knew this story. one day she would know enough of his words to ask, and he was unprepared for how it would be to answer.

a splintering sound; the first stump, shoved slowly to the ground. "jeg ved, hvad der forventes af en nordmand." scrubbing dirt from his face, skorpa wrapped his arms around a second.

---

She was still sneering, her good eye watching the bear-like man at his task from the corner of her sight, while she too lingered over her work.

Dog... jeg ser dig gemme dig på toppen af dit bjerg... she hummed, her tone light, still probing the man's boundaries. Not content with merely stirring the wrath of the gods, she relished in venturing into that of mortals.

Langt fra konflikt, langt fra erobringer og slag... she continued, pausing her task to turn toward Skorpa, her gaze playful, perhaps mocking. Er det, hvad der forventes af en nordmand? At skælve for krigens kald, i en kvindes arme?

---

"jeg gemmer mig ikke." a calm voice. another stump, this one taking more grunts and harder shoves of his shoulder to bring it down. crumbling its side beneath hard paw, skorpa drew a breath.

"guderne må vide, hvor meget blod mine tænder har udgydt." he stalked to another upstand of wood, dug his claws into it. "de ved helt sikkert, hvor mange jeg har sendt på flugt, og hvor mange jeg har dræbt."

feral grin, curled with filth. "ulve løber, når de hører navnet skorpa fra den hvide kæbe."

"hvis der kommer kamp, vil jeg svare. men enhver nordmands drøm er at have et ildsted og et hjem. jeg har disse ting. jeg vil forsvare dem."

he smeared more dirt against a muddied cheekbone. "jeg bliver ikke yngre, troldkvinde. erobring er en beskæftigelse for unge mænd."

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