( closed. )

[wolfchild]

CHARACTERS: assorted foolhardy souls
DATE: spanning a few days
WARNINGS: none atm; but arya and nymeria are both terrible
SUMMARY: meetings and follow-ups; pm for a starter

[ every night since she was brought to this dead world, her dreams have been empty. a belly empty of dream meat. ears empty of the songs of her little grey cousins. a heart, empty. as if something that had always been there…abruptly gone.

the kindly man would be pleased if he knew. if she told him. she would not even if she could. she would never be able to lie well enough. if he asked her how it felt, she fears the tears would choke her voice. she goes to bed each night hoping. she wakes each morning disappointed.

she has been so many people. maybe it was only a matter of time before she truly began to lose her hold on arya stark. the kindly man would look on her proudly. a sorrowful nostalgia blooms blackened flowers in a chest left aching and hollow.

until she wakes to a hot puff of air across her face.

her room is dark, the bed warm. she can feel the presence, warmer even than the bed, smelling of pine and soil and air and something older, something deeper. it's the smell of the northern wind rattling her shutters. it's the smell of her favorite red blanket when she wrapped herself in it. it's the smell of the warm grey walls of winterfell. it's the smell of her wolf when she would sneak the pup into her bed and nymeria would sleep curled up at the foot of her bed.

a tear squeezes past eyes still closed, then another. a rough tongue laps at the salt on her cheek. arya sobs, her mouth stretching into a watery grin.

her eyes blink open. nymeria is a shadow darker than those behind her, but her eyes glimmer strangely gold.

arya throws her arms around the wolf's neck. trembling, she clings to nymeria. the wolf makes a noise low in her throat and noses sweetly at her hair and shoulder. arya cries and arya laughs, until, spent, she tangles her fingers through the long thick fur. she breathes a gentle, contented sigh. ]

Comments

[wolfchild]

[ the quirk of her lips that is almost a smile says sounds about right. for all of the easy humor with odinson or her jabbing her stick before at loki, she thinks neither as good or ill. gods are gods. they can be kind and they can be cruel. they can stand by while a man's head is removed and they can intervene in one's favor to return a gift.

the god of death is a silent god who does not seek excessive paean. there are no rituals, no crystals, no songs. the house of black and white had been quiet, a place to serve: her duty alone had been service unto him. those who sought his blessings came just as quietly, lit candles, prayed and sometimes wept. every day she passed by the shrine to the stranger who often had but one candle flickering at his feet, but the kindly man assured her that was enough.

a long time ago, the godswood had been quiet too, but not silent. never silent. the leaves were a thick carpet on the ground. steam rose from the black pools. the wind blowing through the red leaves of the heart tree spoke the words of the old gods. the face had scared her when she was a baby, with its terrible expression and the frozen red tears like blood. but the faces have held no terror for her in many years. were she to find the old gods again, she would greet them like old friends.

these gods she knows not what they expect. the kindly man never charged her with asking too many questions, and the doctor told her she should ask them all. ]

I didn't know you'd appear. I know gods hear, but… [ she bites her lip. the question is an upward lilt as she trails off.

coming to a decision, she draws herself to her full ( terribly not impressive ) height and lifts her chin. ]

If bacon is what you want, I'll have it for you.

[ nymeria might eat half of it, but nymeria is her baby and, if you say anything about it, nymeria's not the one who's going to bite you, god or not. ]

[selfimage]

[ the faint expression across his face screams I can hear you but I'm deliberately ignoring what you're saying as he ... well, ignores the whole exchange between them. there's a side-eye glance before he pushes himself from where he leans against the tree and saunters toward the exchange.

he wasn't serious, but he won't deny the offering, that was rude. ]

That's almost too easy. [ but there's a smile on his face that looks less than innocent. ] Though it's always good to get in with the gods. Up for a little bacon, Thor? [ to Arya: ] As long as you mean to share with us, of course.

[ there's a nudge against Thor's shoulder that's meant to emphasize that, but it does something else too. there's a hint of recognition that he communicates, something that he knows concerning this girl and her wolf.

he knows Thor feels much of the same: the wolf is a northern animal, sacred to Odin, harbinger of both feast and famine, and bringer of the end. ]

[deemed]

[Odinson's straightens, blue eyes shifting from the wolf to the girl. She would please their father, her fierce spirit and blunt approach would place her in his favour.

But their father isn't here. Just the sons, neither of them exactly what legend promised. Not that she knew the legends.

Nor that she would have expected them to come if she had. Many worlds had silent, distant gods, objects of worship rather than personalities to be interacted with.] Call to us from anywhere you choose and we will answer you. The offering is customary, a gift in return for assistance or wisdom imparted. It needs not be bacon. [Right brother? goes unspoken.]

Though you look a little young to offer mead or ale.

[wolfchild]

Anyone can offer drinks. [ a touch impatiently as if trying not to offend, but unable to keep herself correcting him. ]

I've had mead and ale anyway. And beer and wine. If I find any, I'll serve it too. Come on, you. Back to the castle.

[ the last is directed at nymeria still eyeing the gods warily. zokla's fingers scratch behind a grey ear. ]

[selfimage]

[ the look Thor gives him receives an innocent expression in return (it doesn't look good on his face, like he wasn't made for it). ]

It's as she says. [ there's a suspended shrug before he tucks his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and swaggers on after her. ] Come along, brother. It's time for breakfast!

[ it's late, but breakfast can be eaten at any time. ]