[she doesn't know that the world is turning just for her]

Svajone

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It had happened again. There was another of Vidarr’s conquests in Dawnbreak.

– and even Euphemia, at her worst, could recognize that was a harsh position to take on a woman who was doubly wounded; a broken leg, and the trauma of recovering from a stillbirth.

However, if one could look at it from Euphemia’s perspective, the new woman’s presence was a continual reminder that Vidarr had not chosen her, and was continuing not to choose her. In fact, he would rather shack up with this broken thing and her fatherless pup than choose her. He would not share her den, and likely never would, and it was ultimately clear that it was because of who she was because there was no circumstantial evidence she could blame it on.

Still, sometimes at night, she told herself that he was just oblivious. He was too dutiful to consider her a real option – too loyal to Father, even in his absence. She was a cub to him, as young and nascent as the newborn that mewled on the floor of his home.

This was not the astounding, astonishing, soul-shattering news as it might have once been. Euphemia was largely becoming used to this, and was trying to be more mature about it all. It didn’t matter that she was the unchosen one, not when there was a woman who was likely in need of support and female companionship.

It wasn’t this woman’s fault she felt so shitty.
Honestly, it was Vidarr’s.
Euphemia was certain to assign blame as such.

In one of her better moments, the silver maiden deigned to swallow her ire – for the betterment of Dawnbreak. She thought about bringing something, but she could not figure out what she wanted for, so Euphemia arrived empty-handed. She could bring herbs later, when she was more aware of the pertinent health conditions. Perhaps her presence would be enough, for now.

She was sharing her homeland, was there truly more that was required of her?

Euphemia stood awkwardly outside of the den, sniffing the earth to ensure that the occupants were inside. However, uncertain what to say, Euphemia just stood there, waiting for the words to fill her and intention to move her.

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SKILL: ORATOR (1/5)

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Svajonė lifted her head at the faint crunch of steps outside, the motion slow and careful because everything still hurt. Her leg throbbed in a dull rhythm, and the tiny body nursing at her belly was the only anchor keeping her from drifting into sleep again. The den smelled so strongly of Vidarr it felt almost like leaning against him, and that alone gave her enough courage to stay awake.

She hadn’t quite expected a visitor.

A soft, uncertain presence hovered at the mouth of the den, and Svajonė’s ear flicked toward it. She knew it wasn't Vidarr for if it was he would have entered the den rather immediately than hover outside like some stranger. No, this presence was lighter than Vidarr. Sharper around the edges, perhaps. Like someone trying very hard to be quiet and not succeeding.

...You can come in, you know, Svajone called out gently, her voice a low sing-song and faintly husky with fatigue. I promise I don’t bite unless someone tries to take my dinner.

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