sometimes the old ways are best

Siv Helsi · 07-07-2012, 12:52 PM

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Storytellers, as was the way of the old world, were granted certain gifts. They were made to speak clearly, and to use their voice to lead others as a warrior might use his strength. Siv was not a true storyteller, but was a liar. This gave her the skills she needed for such talents, and so she could imitate them in her own way. There was much more to the tale—she recalled bits and pieces of Odin’s length journey, but did not find them relevant—but her stories were made to be simple. The dark woman suspected simple things would be best for her child, though she would never speak such fear aloud.

Her eyes, already a shade or two darker than her daughter’s, deepened to the color of thunderclouds. She was pleased by the girl’s intuition and that love she held for her was what made her eyes so dark. True passion, as one feels for a child of their blood, true passion as it never is for a lover or something as low and worthless as a man. Siv saw no worth in them save their body, and even then, they were few and far between to serve much use.

A log cracked in the fire and sent a rush of sparks high, where they sputtered out like dying fireflies. Siv paid it little mind. “You will,” she said lowly, and quietly, as if she knew this was the truth. “You will give everything and remake yourself, if that is what it takes. We are made of stronger blood than this pack, Draugr,” she added, her voice rising slightly. “Remember that, above all other things.”

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