sometimes the old ways are best

Siv Helsi · 07-04-2012, 09:42 PM

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It was without a doubt that Draugr would not remember the Hearg. She would not know how Siv was looked upon as a child, as a blasphemer, as anathema when she had spoken so boldly of her crime. The gods were not in their rock. Each god lived in the blood of the fallen, in sacrifice, and in the realms beyond those that her fool-counterparts had deigned to acquest from her. As far as she would tell it, and as far as she knew Reykr knew (for he had gone long before she had), she had left of her own choice and gone into the wilderness with the child in tow. Salsola had given them protection; wolves were made to live in groups and to function as a unit.

So when a snake like Siv, who twisted herself deep into the roots of such a place like the great serpent himself, called a land home she meant it with the possessive, manipulative desire of a harpy. Until she was satisfied, she would cut and poison and rot the whole of them to the core.

A chunk of her daughter’s hair, thick and dark-to-light as her own, fell from between her fingers. Siv smiled fondly down at the Associate, pleased to know she was not corrupted by the hubris of those who led them. “You are blood of my blood,” she affirmed, gently and intimately. “This is a path that will try you,” her voice hardened, warning the girl even as she continued to work through the tangles and knots of hair. “Your faith will be tested and you will learn truths that will steal the warmth from you. Our blood is of the first—our father is the All-Father, and even he suffered to learn the wisdom of the world.”

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