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looking for sharadoii! Iona & Geirmundr for ref/joining! <3

no noted skill

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fragranced in lemon balm and bearing a hide slung full of picked plants, elk charm and the others at last came across a valley so spacious and delightful she was compelled to stop and look. great mounds of moss and flowers proclaimed a rolling land, but she saw emerald forests hugging the fertile curves, and knew caribou would be among those woods.
so contented was her heart at the sight of so lovely a place that the girl called out, birdlike and high; a song of sharadoii blessing.
over her left shoulder bristled a red cardinal feather, and over the left, a white tuft from a stream-fleeing goose.
scarlet and alabaster. may the spirits be pleased.

he was never far from his elk charm. he had carried whatever hides she wished, whatever berries and trinkets she had found. wordlessly, he heeded her and those sapphiric eyes. he could not escape them, but yet— he had not even bothered to try.
the valley was plentiful. old northern soul could find the appeal to this. moreso, the appeal to raid it for its goods. a surplus of herds, surely women that lurked around—
he cast a glance to elk charm. waiting.
geirmundr found no want for other women.

the sharadoii girl had been busy around the valley. laying down markers and trinkets at every corner. indicators that sharadoii had claimed this. a goose feather mount with caribou claws enshrined around a stone. riverstones embued into tree trunks that glimmered in the afternoon sun.
but where her brother had been— there was no answer. she had been used to being alone, now. with luke meandering, the other women she had met spread out through her valley. Naltagh tested her voraciously. and so did the cliffs.
but there was a scent then, a song?
words, words that she recognized!
she bounded through the woodland. shrike feathers entertwined to her nape, caribou sack of herbs upon her back. racing, racing until she came to a clearing.
there was a man. large. towering. she swallowed—
but then a woman. small, with— goose feathers? cardinals?
skedzay has answered. she muttered, quiet, but enough to be heard.

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clay follows.

he finds in his heart there is a fracturing, one that is a dangerous calamity. he wishes nothing more than to be with his sister, elk charm. and yet he does not feel he belongs anymore. yes, she tells him! he's a sharadoii warrior, a hunter of the caribou.

but something in him is broken, and that is something not even his sister can salve—no matter how she might try. he goes anyway. he follows, head lowered often, as he sinks into himself. teeth clapsed firm around deer skin pouch carrying things he sought fit to collect.

the skull of a mockingjay. the feathers of many birds; two shrike feathers, one raven, one cardinal. the velveteen fur of a young hare stripped, but not yet treated. he was a collector of many things, and always had been. but it was not for trade! these were his possessions.

he does not like the large man who shadows his sister. looking upon her with voracious eyes that seek to devour. and perhaps, most hypocritical of all, he is not sharadoii! clay would not allow for him to dampen the purity of his sister. so arrogantly, the gray-pelt man moves between Geirmundr and his cherished sister, interjecting himself pointedly with a curl of his top lip.

only to have his sparkling emerald stare torn from him and to the stranger girl who appears upon doe's graceful loping and wearing such an amulet only a practiced sharadoii woman could craft.

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