#baronyofthesilverwolf

"It's good though. Not the same as Marigold's, but... good."

He says aside to Thistle, "Mother makes 'Dinty Moore'."

"Your mom isn't the best cook." Quietly.

She flips through the book, and holds it open for Art to see.

Gladiola turns, almolst SURE she didn't hear that

Then she looks over at the book "hey, that's not white man lingo"

"No, but ever since the Baroness helped her get a new job, there's always enough." A smile to Thistle.

"Enough is important." She agrees.

Then realizes it wasn't about HER mom

"It's not Cherokee" She says looking over it

She tries something in a language they may not recognize ("I am of the people of the Fire, I am of the great Confederation. I am of white and read paths. Answer me, please.")

She whispers "What is it you teach of the Corn Maiden, O kind words that stay?"

Eyes widen!

The book hums softly as Gwen's cantrip begins to take effect. The pages shimmer, and a whispering voice, soft yet distinct, emanates from the pages. The accent is clear, with the rolling cadence of the Lakota, though the words are spoken in English.

"Ah, you call upon me, child of the Fire," the voice whispers, "I have heard your words. You may ask three questions, and I shall answer. Choose carefully, for once they are spoken, they cannot be undone."

Gwen hears an echo behind the words, a language she hasn't heard spoken since her childhood. A pang in her chest that she may not have expected.

The pages rustle as it realizes that a question WAS asked.

She inclines ehr head humbly and waits

Now the voice has a cadence that she remembers from when the elders would gather. They would be mocked by many of the younger adults for bothering to observe the old traditions, but Gwen would creep in and listen. Her own home was cold and unwelcoming, but there was always a welcome here for any youth willing to listen to the old tales. The beat of a remembered drum stirs her heart.

"The Corn Maiden," the voice whispers, "is the giver of life, the one who walks beside the sun and the moon, the keeper of seasons. From her comes the first seed, the corn, which nourishes the people. She is reborn each year with the planting, and with her death, she teaches the balance of all things. The corn grows tall, strong, but it must also bend in the wind, just as we must bend to the will of the earth."

It pauses for a moment, as if considering the next part of the tale.

"She gives of herself, her body sacrificed to the earth, and from her comes the harvest that sustains the people. In her, there is life and death, renewal, and growth. But without respect, without gratitude, the cycle falters. She is the teacher of humility, of sacrifice, and of the need to give back."

Gwen knows well this tale.

Gwen also feels the stirring of magic around the book, and in the cadence, more than that which is her own cantrip. Foreign, yet familiar.

This is Nunnehi glamour.

Gwen did ask, though she hoped it taught more she had not heard. I'm being selfish She takes a breath ("What medicine is within your power, O words that stay?")

The book responds softly, its voice now carrying the weight of an elder’s wisdom.

"I am a book of Medicine—not as the Wasichu call it, but as the People understand it. Medicine is in the meals shared, in the earth and sky, in the old tales passed down. It is the healing sought in times of need, the strength drawn from the world around you. I offer guidance, if you have the will to seek it."

Brows raise.

"Your mom Gwen."

A nod, thinking much the same ("O Wisdom provider, she who has taken me as a daughter, and is a mother to me, feels many pains of hip, leg, joints and more. I would not lose who she is, but she is a wise elder and much loved, if I could ease her pain safely I would. What would you tell me to do to achieve this?")