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.”

Draugr Helsi · 07-10-2012, 05:57 AM

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(--) End here?

Draugr is by me!

The dark-furred hybrid knew she might never achieve the same powers as her mother. Physical strength was out of the question, of course -- Draugr would never be quite so tall nor quite so built as her mother, but this did not mean she was entirely weak. The woody-furred wolfdog resolved to make herself as good as possible, even if this was only a shadow of her mother's power and prowess. Her dark muzzle broke into a small, half-hidden smile at the woman's words, and she nodded. This is not something to make me smile, Draugr thought, though she could not help it -- in the face of this adversity and knowing she would be challenged, there was a serene calm within her -- almost eagerness for what was to come, even.

Yes mama, she murmured, reaching out with one hand to place it almost gingerly upon the older woman's leg. I will know, not remember, she corrected, albeit gentler a correction than a lamb might give. It would not be something easily forgotten -- their surname, their blood, was the strength which fueled the silver-tinged wolfdog.

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