aiming for lovely and vacant

It was hot.

Why was it so hot?

The sky was clear today, painted with varied shades of blue and there were very few clouds to shield away the sun. It sat high in the skies, yellow and bursting with brightness and a warmth that beat down upon the dark woman’s locks. The air itself was torrid and each breath she took in seemed to itch at her insides and even the pads on her paws seemed to plead for relief.

Thankfully, her time on the mountains and training provided Tove with a strong body - one that was capable and unforgiving. Her dark paws were calloused, uncracking against the dry plains she strode over. It was more her mind that seemed breakable now, weak with the changes that had come their way. Or so, that’s what she told herself.

Viridescent eyes were lidded and she kept her head low with her tongue hanging from her mouth to keep herself cool against the beating sun. This is what she got for venturing out during the day time. Tove made a mental note to leave her adventures for when the moon shone above and the stars were there for guidance. The night sky was much more forgiving.

Dark ears twitched as a familiar sound caught her attention, her paces quickening in anticipation. Moving water. The sound was unmistakable and it spurred her forward, tongue dripping at the idea of a fresh drink. It didn't take her long and the panting woman was quick to drink her fill, greedy and mannerless. Her tail swayed behind her, and her eyes were closed with euphoria as she enjoyed the cold that flooded her body, even if only temporarily.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of birds rustling and clucking amongst themselves and if she really focused, footsteps?

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He watched her in the way that men watched beautiful women, intent and focused. His task at paw was momentarily forgotten — the gathering of a specific mushroom, fly argaric, piled at his feet while he watched the Kallista Drink so mightily from the stream. Was she not used to temperatures such as this? Perhaps it was her darker pelt, for the only time that Stjornuati found himself uncomfortable in heat had been the jungle.

Confident that none would bother his selected contribution to Åshe’s stores, the pale Jarl would pad towards the woman, eventually chuffing to announce his presence. “Tove is alright?” He would ask, using it as a reason to allow his eyes to flicker over her; he would need to find a release for this mounting tension soon, though he would not seek such solace in the woman of Velaris. He was no fool, after all. Just another man with two heads and not always enough blood.
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Even as the footsteps grew closer, Tove didn’t stop drinking until her thirst had been wholly quenched, the cold water sloshing around within her belly. It was a satisfying feeling and she swore she could feel the chill down the tips of her toes but she knew it wouldn’t last. The sun had other ideas.

As she lifted her head upwards, her paw lifted to wipe the water that dripped from her snout and she was quick to flick away any lingering droplets. While she didn’t mind the drink, the actual feeling of water still made her skin crawl and she was extra careful to step on dry ground when she set her leg down. Tove gave a shake of her head and her hazel orbs were quick to zero in on the golden man she’d met recently. It was the neighboring Jarl. The man who was both a chief and a shaman.

Small world, huh?

“Good day, Stjörnuáti.” she greeted with a dip of her head, a friendly smile tugging on the corner of her lips. She made sure to pronounce his name slowly and correctly, not wanting to offend him. Her gaze raked over him quickly, silently admiring the way his golden furs seemed to shine under the bright sky. He was much different than the men she’d grown up around. “I am alright now. I was not expecting the heat.” Her words were quiet, cheeks flush as embarrassment seeped from her. She should have known better, planned better.

"What are you doing out here?"

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He could only grin as she took such care to say his name, a streak of pride flashing through him and slinking down into places it should not have been. Not only did she remember his name, but she remembered how to say it. Better than most that he met.

“Heat is for misery making, ja? This one prefer the cold. Born for it.” Deep in the north, where they would so often dig dens into the snow and that would become warmer than laying in the sun.

“This one collecting sveppum. Ah… mooshroom?” His head swung, nose tossed to indicate where he had abandoned his collection for her. “Why is Tove out in such heat?”

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Tove took notice of his grin, his large and sharp teeth flashing in the sunlight. What was making him grin like that? She had merely said hello. It made her curious, nosy even. Part of her wished she could ask. If she were someone else, maybe.

She nodded, letting out a chuckle in agreement. Heat was for misery making, he was right. She would much rather venture out on a cloudy day, with gray and moody skies at her side. Or perhaps on a rainy day, when the ground was still damp and the air was crisp.

Her ears perked upright at the mention of mushrooms and she couldn’t help but interject, the words tumbling out with excitement. She took a step towards him and then another, eyes sparkling. “Mushrooms? Would you show me? I haven’t come across many since we came here and I would love to see, if you wouldn't mind?” As soon she finished, Tove’s gaze dropped, her cheeks still flush. She was making a fool out of herself already and that was unlike her.

She was just excited. There was still so much to discover here; so many plants, so many places. Tove was impatient, she wanted to have done it all by now.

”I was exploring,” she admitted to him, gesturing around them. ”Mostly looking for plants… All of this is new."

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There was something about a woman's enthusiasm that drew Stjörnuáti in. Perhaps that was why @Valmúa had always been his favorite sister; her enthusiasm — even to just be annoying — was admirable. It was certainly why he'd been drawn to @Hothieriel. While Tove was not so fiery as the two of them, it was a different kind of energy she showed him, and yet he was pulled in by it all the same.

And yet... she seemed to grow bashful afterwards. The stareater frowned at this, moving to close the distance between them for a moment to lift her wet muzzle up with his own, water from her drink dripping down to run over the bridge of his nose and down to the ground from his chin. “This one minds none. Koma — Come.” With that, the gilded man would turn and lead her to his pile.

“Exploring good. Many plants to aid those in needing. This one is not for lækningu. Healing. It is for...” Stjornuati paused, thinking of how to say it in the common language. Astruggle for the man who still thought in his natal tongue. “Við notum það til að framkalla sýn. — We use it to induce visions.” Hm. “Used for rituals. Seiðr.” He told her nothing of the mountain, nothing of their pack or those that lived there. Only of the fungi itself.

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Tove blinked.

Surprise etched its way across her face, green eyes widening when the golden man brought his muzzle to hers, her breath hitching in her throat. Were they all so forward, so bold where he was from? Crossing boundaries, bursting personal bubbles? She said nothing at first, her mind stalled, the wheels spinning and spinning. Part of her wished to snap at him with a flash of teeth but there was another part of her - one that didn’t seem to mind.

She forced a smile then, watching him carefully and cautiously, full of uncertainty. Her piercing gaze followed the droplet that fell from his chin, cheeks ablaze. Tove was thankful when he started off and she was quick to follow behind him, tail low and swaying between her hindlimbs.

The earthy woman ignored how strong his icy scent was as they walked, focusing on the sound of the stream, the sky, the ground - literally anything else. Why was she so nervous? Why had he rattled her so? Tove had no clue and it frustrated her.

When they reached his pile, Tove was quick to take a peak, nose twitching. She memorized the look, locking it away in her mind for safe keeps. She listened intently as Stjörnuáti spoke, focused and thankful for the distraction. His language was familiar not one she spoke often but was familiar with and she’d tilt her head, a curious look on her pointed face. He switched back to common and she’d huff at him but did not complain. “Not for healing?” A pause, brows furrowing. Not for poison either? Hmm. “What are these rituals?” Straight to the point, driven by her thirst for knowledge.

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“Nei — No,” He confirmed, voice a touch stern. They were not for healing, not for anything past inducing visions and hallucinations. And even though she asked, the Northman would be no help in her search for answers, in her search for knowledge, for this knowledge was of his hearth and heritage. It was not for those who were not his own.

“Many things.” Cryptic, but an answer all the same. “Too many to talk of.” His tail flicked behind him and instead remembered her excitement over mushrooms in general. “This one can show Tove where mooshrooms are, if Tove likes.”

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The Kallista couldn't help the frown that tugged at her lips, disappointment finding home upon her speckled face. No? He wouldn't tell her anything? She had hoped he would have given her something, anything, but she would merely nod at him, huffing quietly, her previous exuberant outlook visibility deflated.

Secrets were important, pack rituals, rules - all of it, she understood, even if she did not like it. Tove decided she wouldn’t push or plead, respecting his silence enough. He had a pack to protect, after all.

His follow up offer had her eyeing him, a newfound vivacity sparkling in her hazel gaze. Even with the heat that clung to her dark furs, she was willing to withstand it a bit longer. "Yes please," she replied with a smile now, nodding eagerly. Yes yes. Lead the way, she seemed to say, her long tail swaying behind her happily, ready to follow him again. “Show me the mooshrooms.” A tease, playful and light, at his pronunciation. Her smile stayed on her face, showing she meant no ill will.

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The lovely Kallista seemed to accept his answer, even if she didn't want to. This was good, as the gilded male did not want to be harsh with her, delicate as she was. Pretty, yes, but Tove did not look to be a shieldmaiden. Not a fighter, physically anyway. Of the mind, he was sure she was. Sharp as a feline's claws, this one.

He would begin their short journey over to where his pile was, taking care to not just leave her behind but walk with her. She was shorter than him, making his steps slower as his strides were longer. Once the arrived, Stjörnuáti would gesture with a paw, to the trove of mushrooms that hid in the small and damp hollows of the larger trees. “Never eat anywhere except for safe place. Home. And only eat tiny number. Too many and hugurinn splundrast — mind shatters.”

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They were silent beside each other as they journeyed to his stockpile, but it wasn't an uncomfortable or stagnant silence. It didn't suffocate her. It was pleasant and Tove didn't mind it as they strode beside each other.

She noticed the way he held back, slowing his steps to stay beside her but she didn't comment; she merely huffed at him, a playful roll of her eyes. He was ever so polite, wasn't he? If it had been one of the men from back home then she would have complained but she held her tongue, let him have this one. He meant no harm.

Their journey was short, which she appreciated with the overbearing heat that taunted them, the sun warming their pelts. Tove was quick to trot forward, eyes wide as she took in his secret trove. She glanced back at him, a childish grin on her face, before leaning in to inspect, her nose twitching with wonder. She listened as he warned her, nodding her head. Easy enough to remember.

She wished to ask him if he'd eaten too many before, what it felt like and more but she remembered how he'd clammed up before when she inquired and the Kallista resisted and instead settled for an easy one. A simple yes or no. “May I take some back home with me?”

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He could not help but smile. It was obvious that Tove had a penchant for learning and a passion for her craft. It was something Stjörnuáti did not see often enough. There were many healers in the world, surely, but many simply healed, and went on. Healed, and went on. Lost a life, and went on. An inkling, an itch in the back of his mind told Stjörnuáti that this was not so for the wonder-eyed girl next to him who so fawned over the new discovery. Such passion kindled his own in many ways, and it brought a warmth from him that few could illicit.

“Wait here,” He would reply to her after a moment, pale form moving further into the forest-hidden cluster only to pick up something gingerly with his teeth. In quick order, the Northman would return to her, and it was as he slowed before her and the collection he had amassed that Stjor would lower his head to put the weathered, leathery rabbit pelt on the ground. With practiced motions, he would move a mushroom with a cage of teeth from the pile to the pelt, taking care to not bite down upon the fungus.

Only when there was a small collection upon the makeshift carrier did he step back to allow her room to retrieve it. “If Tove picks up kanínuskinn — rabbit skin with teeth, she can carry home in safety, ja?. A gift from this one to Tove.”

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She let out a deep breath, one that she hadn't even known she was holding when he spoke. She had been worried he would say no, offended by her silly request, offended by her forwardness. Instead, he told her to wait, a smile on his face.

So wait she did.

Tove stayed patient as the Jarl ventured deeper within the cover of the trees, her gaze going back to the mushrooms he'd so graciously showed her. She wondered if he'd have done the same for anyone passing by? Was he always so friendly, or was she special? Was it their shared love for medicine? Or something else? It left her curious but she had no intention of asking him. They were only another batch of questions she’d keep to herself.

The Kallista’s face lit up when she heard the rustle of leaves and nearing footsteps and her gaze quickly found Stjor’s alabaster form, lingering on his tall stature for a few dragged out moments before movement caught her attention. A dried rabbit pelt hung from his jaws and it left her head tilting. Why had he bought that?

Before she could inquire, he had already answered her question by the time he reached her. Tove watched intently as he carefully moved a mushroom onto the rabbit pelt with great care. She would have to remember that, she realized. There was a reason he did not break the stem or let his teeth sink into the soft flesh of the shroom.

Tove grinned at him, meeting his gaze. “Thank you,” she couldn't help the hum of lingering excitement that clung from her words, her tail swaying behind her. "You have been more than kind, Stjornuati." She took a step towards him, leaning her head down to try and scoop up the pelt, carefully, as to make sure nothing fell out. When she had it down, sure she would have no problem on the journey home, she set it back down and gestured at him with a paw. "Would you like to walk me?" She figured the two of them could at least walk back to the stream before she began the journey back home. She wouldn't mind a little more time with the Jarl.

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