"... Listen."
That wasn't how you began to pray to an arkati. She knew this, but her legs folded under her in the snow were cold and she didn't care.
"I am not the sort ..." Avawren paused to pluck a weak, half withered sprig of Imaera's Lace from the area surrounding the the altar. She was thankful for whatever blessing let them continue to bloom despite the unnatural weather. "I am not the sort to do this. To ask things or grovel or any of that."
Elm leaves, for communication. To inspire words to be more than just heard, to be felt and understood. Just like her grandmother taught. Her fingers were numbed with the cold but her hands would have shaken anyway, with the work she'd done tonight.
"I tend to only ask things of the lesser spirits. I can see them, they help me every day." She turned the leaf, catching the delicate flower with it's stem to weave them together, then paused to find another snow brave sprig of Lace.
"But I am at a loss. The longer this goes on, the less chance I see of it ending well... " One flower entwined with the next. The quiet work of her hands usually stilled the tumult of her mind but it was doing little of that tonight. Tonight the images of those she cared about, fallen dead at her feet one after the other, were too fresh for any sort of calm. She cast her eyes up instead, speaking to the rolling grey clouds.
"He is your child, arkati." Avawren was surprised at how her voice suddenly caught in her throat, "... they are both your children."
A brief shake of her head cleared the dampness from her eyes. White flowers are impossible to find in the snow through tears. She quieted herself, made sure her voice was steady before she made her request.
"Please. The boy will not let us help him. Whatever is grasping at his mind is slowly killing him, and without his guidance I don't know that we will be able to end this storm. Please guide them both. Let the elder help the younger, and thorough it ...through it." She hook her head again and brushed the platinum locks that tumbled over her eyes away in annoyance. "I don't even know. I'm just a stupid elf from very far away who has no idea what she's doing."
She gathered the end of chain of flowers and leaves she'd woven, looped them round each other and paused to look at her handiwork. The elm leaves were brittle and small. The cold had come so quickly in spring that they hadn't even fully grown before they died. The flowers too were thready, even with the blessings offered by Imaera. It was a good representation then, she thought as she leaned forward to place the garland reverently upon the low altar, of the spirit of the people of Ta'Vaalor. Fighting valiantly to remain, pretending to be strong in hopes that appearances could be reality. What else could they do, but hope and pray?
She gathered herself and stood, puling her cloak tight around her as a gust stirred the snow into a whirlwind for a moment. There was more to say, but words couldn't say it. So she closed her eyes and prayed, in a way she hadn't in decades, then quietly made her way back to the warmth of the bonfire.
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