Chaele’s arm retreats toward herself the moment it is freed, fingers flexing through a mild flourish in what might be a warding gesture. There is a strained sort of haste in the movements that follow, fear and relief riding a dark undercurrent that perhaps even she might not recognize. The hair is entwined around the two sprigs like a ribbon, which she continues to pinch close as she retrieves a red candle from the same box as before.
Meanwhile the eyes behind the mask’s shadows tilt pointedly toward Nate, voice pitched in a failed attempt at levity. [say]“Would you have given it if I asked?”[/say] Her attempt to meet his gaze results in her following it toward the embroideries, one of which draws her eye in particular. The rune is said to evoke the remembrance of stories: the lessons passed between parent and child, mentor and apprentice.
She shakes her head as his questions pour out. [say]“This talisman is given freely, as its pieces were given freely to me.”[/say] Almost. [say]“Or... I could say that you have already paid its price.”[/say] After the candle is twisted upright into the dirt, Chaele retrieves a small flintsteel device and lights the wick. The wax melts quickly, pooling brightly beneath the flame. [say]“It will do what you will it to do, Nate. But it is incomplete if it does not represent everything you care about. So. What else?”[/say]
Blue eyes glare petulantly at the skull for a moment longer before Nate lets a breath huff out through his nose and looks away. Settling into the snow more completely, he lifts and drops a shoulder in a silent shrug. "[say]Maybe.[/say]" He offers petulantly, "[say]If you'd said what it was for right away.[/say]" Glancing up again, the Demi-god focuses on the small bundle in Chaele's hands, the quick work they do. Slowly, the hard line of tension and anger bleeds out of his shoulders, eased by the answer the shaman gives. If a little bit of hair is all he needs to trade for... whatever this is, then sure.
The molten wax draws his eyes next, Nate fighting to keep his fingers knitted neatly together, to not reach out and disturb whatever threads the other needs to tug together for her work. "[say]What else do I care about?[/say]" He clarifies, raising a brow and not actually waiting for an answer before he starts in. "[say]My family. Both of them, mostly. Living, but not... I'd die again, if I needed to, if it meant I'd keep living later.[/say]" The admission comes out of him unbidden, Nate blinking with surprise to hear it in his own voice, but not surprised by the sentiment. He purses his lips, then glances up again, searching for some indication that that's what she needs.
Family. It means different things to different people, and there are as many ways to represent it in Chaele’s wilting talisman. She does not understand the nuances of his answer, of Ascended non-death or the pains of resurrection, but she clearly hopes to help in this little way. After a moment’s consideration of the herb box, her hand emerges clasping a soft, wrinkled leaf.
[say]“Motherwort, for the survival of the long-lived,” [/say]she explains, attaching it tenderly to the others. The little bouquet spins between twisting fingers as she points out the rest. [say]“Poppy, for the trials of the self. Labyrinth hedge, for the sake of the Hollowed Ground. And a bit of you, because it is yours.”[/say]
She crosses the lot of it over the flame four times, in each of the four cardinal directions, then lays it beside the candle. Hot wax is dripped over the stems, where it quickly dries and fastens the individual pieces into one. [say]“Burn it, if you truly do not care. If you wish to be rid of the burden. Or bury it, to join your intention with the land and make it whole.”[/say] Picking it up, she considers it one final time before holding it out for him to take. [say]“Or do whatever else you like.”[/say]
It is with no small amount of solemn interest that Nate watches the plants, listens to their explanations. It's not quite what he'd been raised in, but Caido was different, was alive in a way home had never really been. Maybe it was worth listening to the person in a deer skull.
Nate takes the bundle of herbs and wax gingerly, nervous still despite knowing it was more than cool enough to handle. It rests pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his lips pursed as he stares at it, listens to the options offered. He doesn't care. "[say]I don't care.[/say]" The words are quiet, mumbled under his breath just so he can say he said them when he remembers this meeting later. Despite the bluster, the charm is tucked carefully into an inner pocket, safe from the elements or his own forgetful hands.
"[say]You're really, really sure that there isn't some other trade we need to do, right?[/say]" Nate can't stop himself from asking, paranoid about being caught out somehow, about leaving favours open.
Chaele cannot sympathize. There are many things she cares about, many causes that she would stand for, many lines she would never cross. But she does not know his grief, or what it is like to die. The despair in him is fascinating, if nothing else, a silent suffocation glassed beneath a brining layer of exhaustion. It is almost like death is not a thing a person is meant to come back from.
What she does know is the ache of an unnamed debt. The herbs are worth little to her, their value gained in the context that only Nate could provide. And the truth that she simply enjoyed the act of ritual is not one that would ever leave her mouth. So after a crooked pause of contemplation, she relents a shrug.
There is a sly grin in the cadence of her words, antlers tilted forward like a dare. [say]“What is it worth to you?”[/say]
There is a shrewd look on Nate’s face as he considers, a lifetime of practice keeping his cards close to his chest, save for the ones he’s already tipped. The things he would offer normally are either out of his reach, or seem incompatible with his new bone clad friend, and leaves him with little more than “[say]A favour.[/say]”
Bright eyes bore into the shadowed eye sockets, Nate accepting that as the face without hesitation. “[say]Within reason, obviously. But you gave me something you can do, so… it’s only fair if it’s an open street.[/say]” His jaw twitches as his face settles into something neutral, appraising the reaction to his offer. There’s no doubt that it’s enough, but he has memories enough of his family to know it’s not always as simple as a matter of enough.
|
