Upon travelling North with her husband to visit her parents at their family fiber mill, Sivrid Kensley fell very sick. The illness was unexpected, and incapacitating. For days she was locked into fever dreams, confined to a bedroll, and cared for by her loved ones. On the final day, as her body fought for life, she experienced this dream. For an endless day and night, with no sun and no moon, Sivrid found herself wading through a shallow bog. There were no trees, and no creatures. No sky, and no clouds. Only a grey fog, reflected in grey water. The cold feeling of Alu's fingertips trailed across her ankles as she walked, never quite grabbing hold, but slowing her steps. When finally, for the first time since entering the mist, she saw another figure. The stature was slim, but fit. Ginger haired, like herself, and sitting in such a way that its knees curled to its chest. From where he sat in the shallow waters, Sivrid could already identify the young man. She began to run, splashing and disturbing the tranquility of the place, until she knelt before him, and placed her hands on his face to turn it toward her eyes. "Frodi?" she spoke his name urgently, feeling tears welling in her eyes without shame. "You-... You look so much older-" The young, freckled face of her brother had gained tattoos, sun damage, and the firm lines of a hardened life. He was the last of her brothers to become a Skagger, and the first to die in the Burning. Sivrid had never thought it was a suitable life for him; Frodi had been so fragile, a gentle soul. His loss weighed heavier than the others. "Of course I do," he replied, brows knitted in a pitiful stare, "I lived five years since you last saw me, until I died." Sivrid pulled him into a hug, but a shiver ran through her spine at the touch of his cold hands, holding her in return. "I miss you, sister- I miss mother and father. I miss our brothers. Why does no one visit me? Why don't I hear singing?" His face, now tear-streaked as her own, turned in toward her shoulder. "You were killed in the burning," Sivrid spoke the words stiffly. It felt so strange, to tell him how he'd died. "Lost on a battlefield, and your body burnt. It wasn't retrieved... Father traveled for eight months to find Halmier's body and return it to the Helbolwen. And Rufki's bones were sent back by his surviving Skagger brothers. But you- And Olvick, and Yelrick, we never found you." By the final sentence, her throat was tighter. "I miss you too. I miss you all." "I don't want to be alone," her youngest brother whined into her tunic. His fingers tightened on her arms. "I don't want to go alone." Sivrid lifted her eyes, peering behind him. A figure was standing some ways away, so subtle that it may have been a shadow in the mist, but its reflection on the water's surface was much stronger. In the water, she could almost see the woman's face, though she was turned away from them. "I'll go with you," Sivrid's voice was quiet, reassuring. She stood, pulling her brother up to his feet. "That's why you found me, isn't it? It's why I'm sick, why I'm here?" He relaxed his hold, only enough to offer a guilty nod of his head. Sivrid wiped a tear from his cheek using her palm. "It's alright. I forgive you... We'll go together." When she stepped forward, she found her body walking through that of her brother's. His cold spirit became a shroud, an essence that she carried with her, moving her feet for the both of them. There was more certainty in her steps, as she approached the woman's shadow in the mist. And from within her chest, Sivrid found herself humming a low, sad song. She didn't know the words until she was singing them, and found her voice carried long and lulling over the stagnant bog. "Sheep in wolves' clothing, Your horns had yet to grow. Be never what you never were, Never become what you were meant to be." Finally, she had reached the shadow whose reflection stared back at them. Sivrid did not look at her face, but instead, at the hand of that shadowy figure standing in the mist. She reached for it, and took it firmly. Finally, Alu's fingers wrapped around her skin, and held her fast. Sivrid stepped backward. She had stepped out of the body of her brother, and now saw him turned away, holding that ghostly hand. Her fingers were free, and she retreated another step. "Thank you," his face turned back to look at her again. It was hard to read his expression, but there was relief in his eyes. Love. "She'll take care of you," Sivrid offered a weak smile, in return. She watched as the figures descended. Each step they took together brought them lower into the water, and darkened its grey color until it had become black. In the moment they had disappeared, and the sky was as black as the water where she stood, Sivrid opened her eyes. --- Sivrid Kensley's unique dream has encouraged her to become Valsung: a guardian of the dead. For loved ones who left behind unfinished business, sometimes contact can be made, and spirits settled. In the night, her dreams are lucid, and she fights away corrupted spirits who seek to disturb the peaceful dead. She sings to the Helbolwen, and can perform Helsang, the funeral songs which guide the dead through their passage.
