💭 Tømme

💭 Tømme 💭
queen - flesh and blood
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« We can hardly ever accept the death of a loved one as a natural part of the wheel of life. »

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She met Rømling when she was still a very young she-wolf. The leader of the tundra pack remembered her as a adolescent with a brave heart and determination in her eyes; rejected by her own tribe, hundreds of miles from home, in order to understand herself and find her calling.
« - It's reckless, but I respect your ambition. You are reasonable for your age. But you should come back.
- I will leave your lands as far as you wish, but my journey is not over yet. »

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Her mother called her Tømme - for the empty gaze of her bright eyes. But was she really called a witch for a bizarre strip of dark fur, as if smeared with dried blood?...
Or for the fact that troubles certainly happened to her offenders? Is this really a reason for some members of the pack not to share one carcass with her?
No one said this to her face - some were afraid, others considered it all fiction, but they were still afraid. Everyone thought that her mother picked her a very suitable name. The enemies, however, believed that she should have been called Ondt-øye.

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She left her native tribe shortly after the herbalist refused to teach her further.
« - Look, I see you are definitely a very smart girl. You have your own special gift. But it's not herbalism, I'm sorry. »
She knew that she would not be accepted and understood. And with age, she became sure that she really had her own, very special gift.
While in her tribe it was customary to revere only the magic of the earth and plants, she had to discover the magic of flesh and blood. After all, our arteries are in many ways similar to the veins of nettle leaves.
And she left. She moved north into lands unknown to her, which she had only heard about from the scouts of the tribe - to find something that would help her discover and know herself.

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« - You are in my clan territory, young wolf. And you don't smell like a tundra wolf. »

The lands of the tundra are cruel - and rather desolate. How could she not notice the wolf trotting towards her so relaxed and calm, as if he expected to see her here? There were sandy-yellow patches on his shoulders that stood out against the gray fur. Fancy blue patterns were painted on the muzzle, and herbs and peculiar amulets rested on the shoulders. He hardly looked like an ordinary scout, but at the same time he looked faintly like an herbalist. It is very unlikely that he would be a hunter - in such harsh places it would be foolish to hunt alone.
In any case, he did not look menacing, but Tømme preferred to be modest when meeting with wolves of unfamiliar lands.

« - My lands are far from here. They are spacious like these, but covered with green grass.
- I was there once. It's a long way. Why are you here? You look too young for this kind of travel.
- I can handle it since I got here alone. I think I need to learn a lot about the world around me and about myself. I will not hunt your lands.
- Any wanderer who needs it now can hunt on my lands. »

The mysterious stranger waved his tail and set off at the same easy trot.

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She can control the blood. Rømling called it a very powerful and undoubtedly intimidating gift. When they met for the third time in the tundra, he invited Tømme to join the clan in case there was no one to wait for her in her native clan. Well, so far, no southern scout has turned up in the north and called her name.
It was raining that evening. Tømme was looking for shelter, but she found Rømling - he was wounded and it was hard for him to trudge to his house. She offered her help, and it is not known what she then relied on more - on deep sensations or on the skills received from the herbalist.

« - Thank you for helping me. I will ask the spirits of the tundra for your favor.
- I hope they will be equally supportive of you. »

Rømling sensed something. He felt something strange, unknown, ancient.

« - You have a special gift. It can not only heal, I can feel it, it smells like blood. Is this what you are looking for in yourself?
- It seems so. Over time, I begin to understand.
- I can offer you a place in my clan if you're interested. We live side by side with the ancient spirits. I think it might open your eyes to some things. »

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Rømling watched with interest as the witch's gift developed, surrounded by northern wolves and nature spirits. With each passing day, the determination of the she-wolf grew stronger, and the talent finally took on a clear outline.
He could look at her for a long time. Through half-closed eyes, thoughtfully - he caught smells and listened to sensations, studied new things, memorized. However, he did not notice how warmly Tømme was looking at him. He was imbued with a mentor warmth for her - after all, it was he who brought her into the pack and often wondered how she was doing with new members. But gradually this warmth grew, filling his whole heart.
And Tømme grew up. Oh, she's grown a lot by joining this clan. She became determined, courageous and self-sufficient as never before. She learned blood magic every day, but she was prudent and benevolent. And next to Rømling, she still sometimes felt like a stupid one-year-old she-wolf, as in their first meeting.

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The sunset painted the tundra blood red. It was already very cold, but the two were in no hurry to move back.

« - They will be proud to have a queen like you. You are prudent and determined. You can share my burden of caring for the clan with dignity - you are strict and harsh, but fair.
- I'll be happy to lighten your burden. You know I'm proud to be with you. »

Rømling smiled sweetly, but then returned to his imperturbable expression.

« - I'm the same as you. »

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The loss, which was a blow to the entire pack, was primarily her grief. She was strong, but she was not ready. If anyone can even be prepared for this.
Her lover looked at her with the eyes of a falcon flying over the trees, was the wind rustling in the leaves of an old oak tree, hid like a mouse between the yew roots and sparkled with salmon scales in the river. He left her.
And then grief overshadowed the witch's reason. Her tears colored the rivers scarlet, and her howls poisoned the air with the smell of blood. She was supposed to take the place of leader, but now she could only bear pain and horror.
She left her pack behind, she looked through them and saw no point in anything except the search for peace that was now impossible for her.