Bloody Good Time

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Åse moved like a phantom through the red woodland. What she had been searching for she had found an abundance of— Coneflowers and Buckwheat. She held a bouquet of them in her jaws, bite delicate enough so they didn't snap in half on her journey.

She had always wanted to be prepared for the worst. Stjörnuáti wouldn't ask her to go this far— hell, she was sure that he didn't want her to have to trek this far at all. But that wasn't her concern. What her concern was laid within what the pack had, and didn't have. What it had was members, but not the supplies to care for them.

It would be a duty she'd take on proudly.

Until she got a masculine whiff of mint her head turned, and feet stopped. From the distance she could see the white wolf sticking out sorely. Poor thing. He looked large— large enough to take his own, but her curiosity overwhelmed her. He had no stench of a pack. A loner. Rogue.

"Aluu," she'd call, her native Iñupiaq tongue left a soft greeting for him to take as she revealed her tall stature from the brush.

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The brute of a man turned around to face her. Scars littered his face, one convenitently making an 'x' shape over his muzzle, tempting his eye with a gash. One of his ears looked like they had been torn apart, too. A warrior, perhaps? It only intrigued Åse further as she took a step closer to seal the feet of their proximity. 

"Herbs...err, how do you say...med- medichinal? Herbs for wounds."Åse's common tongue had never been its strongest. There were words from her own language that she simply never knew— why would she ever risk helping an outsider? More or less talk to one? She supposed that things were changing, weren't they?

"My name is Åse." She would introduce herself to him with a light dip of her head. His scent was fresh. Clean. Mint? "You?"

 

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The man the color of snow barely gave her any room to object to his findings. Åse had no issue. She carried on quickly behind him, finding an easy pace. Her steps were elegant, and light as she took in the landscape of the crimson forest. Beautiful. 

Then, he introduced himself. Åse's ears twitched forward. Aarkron.

"Ahhrkron."She would attempt to test out his name on her tongue. It sounded even more foreign and, perhaps, distasteful. She tried her best, and she hoped that it wouldn't be the worst thing that he'd ever heard.

He mentioned an herb that she didn't know the meaning of in common tongue. She would need to smell it for herself to know exactly what it's properties were. In the meantime, there was little conversation to be had. Åse was never big on conversing. What she was doing here, with this Aarkron was a big enough step as is.

But she needed to stock there reserves. She would simply nod her head and follow him.

When they did stumble across a patch of herbs, Åse wasted no time letting her nose fall against the leaves and petals, inhaling them with fervor. She'd grumble to herself, finding a patch of weeds to be distasteful. Stay away, she wanted to say. But she thinks she knew what he mentioned. This smelled sweeter.

"This one—" She nudge with her nose. "One you speak of?"

 

---

up to you if its the right one!

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The brutish man aided her in a pronunciation. She'd repeat his name on her tongue once more, then again. The last time she attempted, she felt that she was successful enough. Enough, she guessed. 

When he shook his head at the herb, she frowned, confused. The language barrier between them served a large differentiation of plants and other herbal remedies. He stepped away from her, looking elsewhere for the herb he sought. She watched him carefully, head held high, then low, as she observed what he was doing.

Then her name came from his lips. A huff of air left her mouth in amusement at his butchered pronunciation. It would be good enough for now. She answered his beckoning command, trotting over, looking at the small bundle that he had picked.

Without hesitation, her nose dipped down to smell the bundle, and her face writhed in disgust. She gave a soft snort of a growl, her teeth baring. She knew this herb. In the past she has worked with it, unfavorable of its scent, but appreciative of its properties.

"Bad smell." She'd mumble, unamused and keeping her head away from the plant. "I use before. Helps lots." She'd get over herself and approach it again. "Poison? Mean...mean sick, yes?"

She cleared her throat. "I got sick before." She'd comment. "Not good."

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By the nod of his head and utter of affirmation, Åshe's translation had been confirmed. She went quiet then, along with him, picking at the stalks that he managed to miss with his teeth. She made no more fuss about the smell, knowing a great deal of what it means to have them ready.

She looked at him then, shocked, as he was taking bites of the plants. She thought he was grinding them up, maybe, for some use that she wasn't aware of. She was unexpected of the plant to be swallowed with a singular gulp.

When he spoke again, she listened. Her ears perked, wondering about the meaning of a few of his words. Depression? But then he clarified, thankfully. Great sadness. Åshe's expression turned concerned, but not overly so. The tension in her brow lifted and she looked toward Aakron.

She looked at the herbs, then to him. "Great sadness?" She would wonder, voice quiet, tender. "Why are you sad?"

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Around the bundle of herbs, Åshe would attempt to make her words as clear as possible. "I guess so." She had never really thought about it. Culturally, sadness would be shared amongst the people's. Åshe had consistently surrounded others in her life that benefited her—

but she remembered a time where she felt utterly alone, and that was where she felt a great sadness.

Her expression changed, a neutral satisfaction blossoming. A grateful sigh left her throat. Aakron had been a generous, thoughtful man— in her eyes, for now, anyways. With a nod of her head, she looked to the large bundle of herbs at her feet. Mix matched varieties of all sorts. "It is not far from here."

She took as much of the herbs as she could, leaving him about half of the amount left. She began to exit the red forest, looking over her shoulder at him once more, a beckoning nod of her head that said follow. If he did, she would take him all the way up to Morðfjall borders.

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