Sunset Valley Tspēsh

vague timeline!

Inch by slow inch she draws to her paws, the distended dome of her womb hindering a gait which was once graceful. The trek down into the lowlands is laborious, marked by plentiful rest and measured steps, until at last she is padding out into the woods she had dreamed of so often; and the sorceress who lodges here.
The deep shadows of the weald hide her and the spring’s mossy ground is soft under swollen paws. She sets the image of @Aspa in her mind’s eye and treads towards it. The day’s air tingles across her cheeks. The grass here is green and strong in spring’s low chill. Ayovi finds a hill and halts upon its slope, eyes and nose searching.

you summon, she appears!

Whenever one sought her, Aspa was never far. A mere thought was enough to summon her. Preceded by a low chuckle and the musky trace of her scent, she emerged from the plains, leaving behind a sinuous path through the grass.

Nå, hvilken herlig overraskelse... she murmured, greeting the White Lady—the Blizzardske Dame. Jeg havde ikke forventet at se dig. Ikke sådan her.Her gaze drifted, lingering on the great weight she carried before her.

Nordens børn kræver deres plads… Nogle er så utålmodige efter at opsluge verden, at de selv baner sig vej ud af det skjul, der var meningen at beskytte dem… Reassuring words, as always, accompanied by a mirthful smile. Men frygt ikke, Ayovi. Guderne har talt…

Her right ear flicked, a brief disturbance. Then, with a slight tilt of her head and a touch of irritation, she reached up to scratch it. Unless, of course, the gods had something more to say?

So suddenly does the sage manifest, her honeyed coats in a tousle but the amber eyes bright and knowing and seemingly lit from within.
“Hej, Aspa,” comes Ayovi in greeting, though the sorceress’ own takes an ominous tone and the huntress fights apprehension from appearing in her face. She pads only two steps closer, and from the mount of her shoulders pulls a pair of fisher pelts in mixed hues of auburn, presenting them to the northwoman.
“Jeg vil vi ses. Jeg har medbring pels for dine huler. Gør det godt bosættelse her?”
It was not only why she had come. Since meeting the woman in the gorge she could not cut questions from her mind.

A delicate gesture, one that had not failed to amuse the soothsayer. She had studied the skins—an exquisite work, the mark of seasoned hunters who wielded the art of flaying with practiced mastery. She herself was wholly incapable of such a craft.

Prøver du at vinde gudernes gunst, Ayovi? she mused, laughter dancing in her voice. De bekymrer sig kun lidt om materielle goder, og de er ligeglade med, hvem der vælger at overøse mig med gaver. she remarked with a hint of amusement.

Men det er en betænksom gestus. she conceded before letting her gaze settle upon the Blizzardske Dame's. Hvad er det, du ønsker af mig?

Aspa had little faith in the purity of goodwill or the generosity of those who gave without expecting in return. She knew the northern folk too well for that. Yet perhaps the White Lady’s kin was cut from a different cloth?

With slow, deliberate steps, she began to circle her guest, her keen gaze tracing every detail, as was her custom—to observe, to study, to unravel.

Velsignelser? Løfter? Et glimt af fremtiden? Sejr? The woman intrigued her, entertained her. Aspa had crossed paths with many peoples before—enough to have forced herself to grasp fragments of the common tongue. Yet few had ever turned their affections toward northern men of their own free will.

“Ja, vind naboens gunst,”  she confesses, eyes smoking with a little amusement. But Ayovi is watchful; captivated in the way one dares not turn their eyes from a viper lest she see fit to strike. The woman had not forgotten her husband’s warning. Conditions, constrainment; this was the currency of a sorceress.
Still, outshining all other unknowns is her full belly, the precious life that’s guarded there, and as the mother-to-be grew she had found a deep desire within herself to see the unborn blessed; if not in the way of her people, in the way of their father’s. To protect them from the war and strife of the bitter north beyond her mountain.
Small Aspa was, but crafty, with a mind like a spike-taloned owl. If she was like the shaman of her nome, she could see where paths of power lay for Ayovi's children.
A glance from womb to soothsayer, slow and reverent.
“Hvad sige guder?” She asks, eyes gleaming now with a certain innocent naivety that comes with new motherhood.

Hvad sige guder?
For a moment, Aspa feigned indifference, pretending not to hear as she examined the furs laid before her, revealing a more meticulous, almost vain side of her nature. The witch brushed the fabric first with a paw, then with the tip of her nose, before finally gathering it up and draping it over her shoulders. Later, she would tuck them away in her den.

Guderne... she murmured at last. De taler på de mærkeligste måder, ved du. Og de svarer aldrig på de spørgsmål, vi stiller dem. she declared.

De går direkte til sagens kerne, så meget at vores dødelige sind ofte er for træge til at forstå deres mening. Så vi famler, og samler de få brudstykker, vi kan, af deres ældgamle sprog. she went on, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. Then, with a knowing gleam in her eye, she pressed forward, uninvited, into the Blizzardske dame's space, her nose pushing against hers.

Var det for bjørnemanden, at du lærte vores sprog? Var det kærlighed...?

"Ja,” the hesitation now, clear in a voice which fights off a quiver. Ayovi is a healer, a huntress, a woman with strong faculties in her own right, and somehow in the midst of the sorceress, dressed in ethereal dignity, her skills feel rudimentary at best.
“Mine børn, halvbjørn. De hører til norse så meget som tilhøre pauite.” She goes on, taking a distancing step back, chin wresting to escape the soothsayer’s touch. Was she being evaluated? She felt so, on display; worthiness tested against the patience of a viking’s deities.
“Dine guder, tænker jeg, ja – vidunder hvis ikke det samme som min ånd, af et andet navn - hvis guder velsigne hvalpen,” Ayovi motions, wafting a paw in a bid for ease; to reveal the true reason why she had come to Aspa.

Aspa’s golden gaze brightened with a smile she could not contain. This was what she had come to seek, what all mothers sought: the assurance of a prosperous and blessed lineage.

De kan give velsignelser. she declared. Men hvorfor skulle de? Aspa advanced once more, reclaiming the space Ayovi had carved between them.

Gudene... mine guder, dine... vores guder. De er legesyge, deres vilje er uden for os... og hvad de giver, kommer med en pris. She spoke with a tone that grew graver, more foreboding. Hvad ønsker du for disse børn? Hvad kunne de have ud over en Pauite-mor og en bjørn af en far? Eager, her ears stood attentively in the direction of the lady clad in white, curious.

Why? It seemed such an innocuous question, and yet Ayovi struggles to answer it. She had always lived in communion with the spirits; those rooted in good and kindness, and those more malevolent beings. Ayovi meant to raise her children with the concept of such deities.
"Skorpa og jeg er... venligst ånd. Devout. Jeg vil lave særligt sted for dem på stjernebjerg, hvor stemmer høres. Til jagt og helbrede og fejre."
But then she must think on what she truly desires for her cubs.  She gazes down at her flank, a protective paw curling around them, feeling for gentle taps that must have been mighty kicks. Already Ayovi knows she will move heaven and hearth for these unborn flames within her belly, the depth of such a love glossing over her eyes.
"Mine børn… Jeg ønsker, at de skal være uberørte af krige af verden. Sund. Jeg ønsker for sund." Her nose levels once more, gaze searching.
"Hvad er omkostninger, Aspa?" She would pay it. For her children, there was nothing she wouldn't do.

Her ears had melted into her nape as she listened to the woman in white. She was not the first mother to plead, nor would she be the last. Aspa knew well what was required to earn the gods’ favor—or at least to catch their gaze upon the children of the bear and the huntress.

Jeg beder om intet. Men guderne vil kræve… Det virkelige spørgsmål er, hvad er du villig til at miste?

She turned sharply, her eyes sweeping the surroundings, searching for what she would need.

... Er det virkelig, hvad du ønsker for alle dine små? No question from the gods was ever without consequence. Aspa knew that the path she was about to tread was fraught with peril, one that would surely awaken the fury of the Bjrørnmanden. But, as she had said, she was nothing more than a servant—both to them and to the gods.

Hvis du er parat til at give afkald på noget dyrebart… noget så kær, at du endnu ikke kan fatte dets værdi… så kan jeg hjælpe dig. she murmured. Bring mig fire unge dyr—harer, mår, det er ligegyldigt. Fire, det er det, der behøves.

She was already moving, her steps light and certain as she made her way toward her hut.

Jeg vil vente. Der er meget at forberede. She had not given her the chance to dwell on it any further. Ayovi seemed resolute in offering her children this blessing, and Aspa had made up her mind to be the intermediary between her and the gods.

what gods win, what you lose... ~>

The mother eyes her retreat; a sort of quicksilver sashay that commands the wood far after she’s vanished. Ayovi’s blue gaze gleams in worry as she moves a paw to support that rounded swell upon her slender frame, drawing all light between she and her unborn cubs.
Aspa was no shaman. The spirits would not ask a mother for such a sacrifice! They were beings for good and benevolence, who desired great prosperity for their acolytes!
The huntress’ lip curls upon the empty path. Let the crone wait. Let her gather wares and devise her spells.
Ayovi would not come.