we cannot be created for this sort of suffering;

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Olive was a healer, but she had not suffered much wounding in this lifetime.

Olive was a midwife, but she had never birthed babies through her own body.

Both of these facts weighed heavily on her mind as Olive convalesced, and learned much in the way of both of these modalities. In her own body, she experienced the ravages of trauma and malnourishment — given nothing but sea trash to eat for a fortnight — and she became intimately familiar with exhaustion in its most all-consuming form, sometimes sleeping in solitude for days. Besides her twisted ankle, it was her luck that most of her ailments were treated by a combination of sleep, sun, and safety. With these three pillars holding up her waifish body and weak psyche — the woman began to stitch together some semblance of herself that she once-again recognized.

She knew of her Sotaherra's pregnancy but did not know much about it, and certainly did not know of the guilt the spectre harbored about her role in the rescue; but here was her superior, seeking her company, and Olive responded in kind. The fur upon her shoulders raised at her whuff, and she shuffled over, making space for the widening woman to take repose and, like she, take in some of the world's most splendid sunshine.

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At first, there was nothing between them but sunbathing. But as Riannons stirred, so did her thoughts. Olive's gaze tracks that of her leader's as what boiled beneath the surface bubbled over; at first, Riannon's meaning was so veiled that Olive continued to regard the topic with a sense of deference and leisure, but when the name of her shadowed, lucid titan was brought forth, her expectations began to metamorphose. Her ivy gaze tightened.

Then, it was all out on the table.

Olive let her attention drift away from the mirror-like waif who lay lopsided, abreast — and she looked past her, to the summered pines that lay just beyond them, and then the darkened underbrush beneath that, until she wasn't even looking at anything, she eyes were just settled. unfocused. “Oh…” she allowed to eek out of her throat, more to acknowledge that the transmission was received, and to beg for another moment of silence before a response was necessitated, and she must reckon with this new truth —

Her feelings towards such a thing were layered and complicated. At the surface, Olive steamed and wondered what might be persuading Riannon to enforce this mandate now? It felt as though it were a punishment (for being so reckless, for endangering Frostchant, for engaging in liaisons outside of the pack), but when she dove a little deeper, Olive knew that this was out of her hands. Within a pack, she was not the arbiter of her own fate. She must play by the rules of the game she was in, and if the Sotaherra believed her to better befit another rank other than seer...

Well, Olive would just have to trust that this was done for the best of Frostchant, and for the best of herself.

Even as the opposite sky-sister began to cry, Olive pressed herself against the other but could not will herself to look, or speak. Only when the other was finished did she proceed, ready to face the paradox. “I am not born of Northern culture, and cannot claim it as my own”, she began at long last, her voice low and carefully paced. A sigh came before her verdict. "I don't agree with this part of it," she said, “but I have vowed to respect and abide by the law you impose.” This was all there was so be said, wasn't it? What was Olive to do; challenge the pregnant woman who had housed her small family and come to her rescue, as best she could?

Still, the pain of having her meaning and intention stolen from her was a keen wound. "Though some might say that a gravid woman is more closely aligned with the meaning of life itself," she claimed, as this was how she understood it to be. “I can still see how motherhood might distract one from their duties.” This, too, was true. The more she thought of this, the more it couldn't be rationalized either way, so Olive deferred to the values of her superior. This was what she meant when she said "I suppose you will soon know that better than I," although maybe there was more snark coloring her words than was truly needed.

Olive shifted over her midline and lay on her opposite side, giving space to visibly glance over the gentle curves of her belly. She could not deny the pull she felt towards this fate, or the desire to continue her love story in the only way the spring would bade her, but still Olive grasped for what she felt slipping away; the god-sense that meant more to her soul than a family did to her biology " I am not yet espoused or ripe for the season, must the decision be made now?" the waif nearly whined, her gaze dropping. What was the use? To what end did she desire these responsibilities?

"The Gods; they offer no protection, anyways—" she intoned quietly, the truth pricking behind her eyes. "Or perhaps I have indeed gone truly blind,"

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There was truth to what Riannon was positing, and Olive could put up no fight against truth. The simple facts were that there was an established structure to Frostchant and their northern, nordic ways — it existed long before Riannon or Olive, and would bend to the wants and wishes of neither. The Sotaherra was no more responsible for upholding this law as she was for creating it. As the pack grew, so changed its needs; and so did their roles.

"If I cannot fully embrace a calling," the woman admitted humbly, blinking the emotion from her eyes, "then I am not it's truest vicar." If one could see past their ego, they could see that this had nothing to do with their worth or value, and that nothing was truly being stripped from her. The prophet Esra could practice her her magic and clairvoyance in whichever way she saw fit; so why attempt to practice a closed modality that she had not been born into, nor biologically chosen for by the Gods?

—why did she feel so defeated by this?

It was a good reminder that not all spirituality was as open as she proclaimed herself to be, but if Olive couldn't match such perameters; then who amongst these wilds could? "But who is, Riannon?" she questioned with an earnest tone tingling upon her lips, wondering who could possibly hold this torch, this flame. Did Riannon hope to carry all this burden herself; or perhaps, this was part of Eira's influence?

Olive looked down at her paws, and murmured towards the earth, "You are certain that my children would be welcome, in addition to your own?" and then all that came to her was silence, internally acknowledging that it was all for the good of Frostchant — you have more than earned your life with us Riannon had said, but Olive felt uncertain what place such a life life was allowed to fill.

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