Tognatale

“Comfort, healing, I don’t need healing, I need more mead.” Her eyes were still squinted against the stupid bright stone. “This is a bad place to have a hangover.” She finally declared, dragging her parched and fuzzy feeling tongue against her teeth as she stumbled forward, looking for any patch of shade to better make out her company. “Idunn be damned, I wonder what she laced it with.” Her words were harsh but the smirk on her lips betrayed no bad feelings, despite the metallic taste that was not blood in her mouth and the incessant pounding of her head.

The other’s caution was lost on her bleary eyes, she could only assume if they understood the words she spoke and if they praised her cousin’s gods, then they were probably okay (unless they came from the same place the Trygg’s had fled from but there was something ever so slightly off in the accent, the scents were all wrong). Besides, she was currently on the outs with their family’s gods, (unless they leaned towards troublemaking), so she hardly had to worry about others calling them against her. “I am called Róta, and my family come from the far north. It isn’t often I run into others that speak our tongue.”

“Speech”