💙13 - The Ash-Walker [Runes of Wyrd - vol 2]🤍

In the pic, from left to right The Ash-Walker - A mysterious musician witch Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 The cold still ruled the Land of Ice when the group resumed their journey. Skörta walked at the front, guided by the ravens circling slowly above the mist-covered plains. Since her strange communion with Helena, she no longer doubted the path ahead. If Skuggadalr truly existed, if the roots of Yggdrasil still touched this world, then Odin's messengers would lead her there. Behind her, the jarl watched carefully, his attention never leaving the queen for long. Since the ritual, he had been quietly observing her, wondering whether she remained entirely herself after everything she had endured. Torstein and Mikell stayed close, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon. This unknown land inspired as much suspicion as curiosity. As for Mikki... Mikki seemed to be following something no one else could perceive. Suddenly, the old druid lifted his head. "Ah... do you hear that music?" The others slowed their pace. At first there was only the wind. Then something emerged from within it. A melody. Distant. Almost unreal. It drifted through the fog as though it did not fully belong to the world of men. Torstein frowned. "Sounds like a hurdy-gurdy. I haven't heard one of those in years." Mikki chuckled softly. "A hurdy-gurdy? My dear Torstein... don't you hear the cello beneath it?" "A cello now?" Mikell replied, shaking his head. "I think old age is finally catching up with you." The jarl stopped as well. "No. Mikki is right. I hear a cello." "You can't be serious." "I am." The discussion continued for a few moments before Skörta suddenly turned around. "Would you all please be quiet?" The group immediately fell silent. "The ravens are guiding me... and I am getting close to something." Her voice carried that strange certainty she always seemed to possess whenever she followed an invisible trail. The mist slowly began to part. And then they saw her. A solitary figure seated upon a black stone. A woman. Dark-haired. Motionless. An unfamiliar instrument rested against her shoulder while her bow glided slowly across its strings. As they approached, the music seemed to change. To Torstein, it still sounded unmistakably like a hurdy-gurdy. To the jarl, it was clearly a cello. To Mikki... Both melodies existed at once. As if two instruments occupied the same space. As if each listener heard only the song meant for them. The young woman continued playing without acknowledging their presence. Above her, dozens of ravens traced wide circles through the grey sky. A chill ran down Skörta's spine. "Listen to this music, strangers..." The musician had not yet raised her eyes. "And tell me what it awakens within you." No one answered immediately. The group exchanged uncertain glances. Then she finally opened her eyes. Her gaze met Skörta's. For a brief moment, everything else seemed to disappear. Even Skörta, who rarely allowed herself to be intimidated, felt something shift deep within her. "Who are you?" she finally asked. "And why are you sitting alone in the cold?" Torstein stepped forward at once. With the confident smile he reserved for women, he removed his cloak and draped it across the stranger's shoulders. "No one should be out here in weather like this." The young woman smiled gently. "My music is my fire." Then she handed the cloak back. "Keep it. You'll need it more than I will." Mikell stepped forward. "Lady, something strange is happening. Some of us hear a hurdy-gurdy. Others hear a cello." "Because it is a cello," the jarl immediately replied. "And I say it isn't." The musician remained silent. Only her smile widened. Then Mikki approached. For the first time in a long while, every trace of amusement had vanished from his face. "They are all right." Silence settled over the group. "I hear both songs. The melody of men... and the one hidden behind it." The woman abruptly stopped playing. Her eyes locked onto his. For a long moment, neither spoke. Then her expression changed. As though she had suddenly recognized something she believed lost forever. "Impossible..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Only one kind of person can hear both songs at once." A tear slowly rolled down her cheek. "I thought I was the last." Skörta looked from Mikki to the stranger. "Would someone care to explain what is happening?" Mikki never took his eyes off the woman. "I do not know her." He paused. "But I am certain of one thing." His voice had become unusually serious. "She carries my blood." The stranger slowly nodded. "Yes." Her voice trembled slightly. "I believe we are of the same family." She lowered her gaze for a moment. "And you are the first one I have ever met." She quickly brushed away the tear before regaining her composure. Then she rose to her feet. The ravens continued circling overhead while the fog itself seemed to retreat from her path. "Come." Her gaze moved from one companion to another. "And please... stop arguing about who is right." A faint smile returned to her lips. "You are all right." She turned away. The strange instrument rested once more against her shoulder. "I think it is time I told you who I am." 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 I listen before I speak To the tremor beneath a smile Some hearts bloom like spring rain Some wear crowns made of dust The ravens return at dusk With secrets beneath their wings A name can shine like silver Or break like thin winter ice I do not measure belief By temples or sacred stone The forest speaks just as true As thunder beyond the clouds The Green Faith walks beside me Root and river know my face Once they called me Franconian Witch In the valleys where ashes slept I am... the Ash-Walker... The Ash-Walker (still breathing...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... I walk where names fall silent I am ... the Ash-Walker... (among ravens...) (through old fires...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... And still the road remembers me "I do not seek what people show me." "I listen for what remains when the masks are gone." I am... the Ash-Walker... The Ash-Walker (still breathing...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... I walk where names fall silent I am ... the Ash-Walker... (among ravens...) (through old fires...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... And still the road remembers me Some see a witch in the smoke Some see a wound that survived Some hear a prayer unfinished Carried by winter air My cello gathers shadows And turns them gently to light The false grow smaller with fear The honest stand without armor If I am strange to this world Then perhaps the world is asleep No! Oh no! I am... the Ash-Walker... The Ash-Walker (still breathing...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... I walk where lost names gather I am ... the Ash-Walker... (among ravens...) (through old fires...) I am ... the Ash-Walker... And now the road remembers us I am the Ash-Walker The Ash-Walker... Still walking... I am the Ash-Walker... Through the snow... The Ash-Walker...