Sunset Valley marionberry

it was strange to leave the snow shelter behind. several times at the start of their journey, @Wilwarin might turn to catch the dreamer staring back toward the shoreline, as if a piece of him had been forgotten there.

a portion of the man indeed had been left, and some of her, and of the children who had not lived, and those who did.

before they departed that first and final time, wolf dreamer tore a small, ragged piece of caribou hide from a main pelt. inside he gathered these things: three cormorant feathers, stained with birth-blood. fur from himself, from her. what had remained of birth, twisted, wisping cords. "it's a Bundle," he explained to wilwarin. "Wolf told me how to make one. it holds the power of us all. binds us."

he was not sure how he would carry both the Bundle and a boy, but he made it work as they traveled directly inland, away from the sea.

the valley glittered with new green, from the freshly budded limbs of beech and elm to the gathering of hawthorne copses. magnolia and silver lupine would run wild here in summer. the air was far warmer than it had been on the coast. he wondered if wilwarin felt home here in this stunning place.

wolf dreamer gestured, indicating they should stop. he held one of the sons as he searched for a shelter among the deepening shadows.

Leaving the shelter proved to be harder than she anticipated.

It had not been a place she had chosen nor a place that she had wanted, but it had appeared when she needed it, built by the Dreamer. It had held the potential to be her grave at one point, and then for a while it was the entire world to Wilwarin and the boys.

Now that world had gotten so much bigger—she carried the smaller of the boys (which wasn't to say much, they were both huge compared to the sisters they'd never know) while the man carried the other.

From time to time Wilwarin would catch him looking towards the shore; at times he might catch her looking elsewhere, towards the mountains where she knew the Ouroboros encircled her family.

They would stop in a valley that tasted like summer; Wilwarin was not far behind the Dreamer, but it was clear her energy was waning.

a brushfall, old enough to be scabbed with moss, provided an entrance. wolf dreamer inspected this carefully and when it was clear the space was uninhabited, he motioned wilwarin closer.

the den was small, room enough for her and the boys only. padded with the still-crackling leaves of last autumn, it would quickly warm.

"i'm going to hunt. i'll be back," the dreamer said softly, though he doubted his ability to provide.

The man motioned to a place.

Wilwarin moved closer, but found it difficult with the weight of Airasea at her neck. She carefully placed him down and peered inside, taking a draught of autumn air where she did not expect it; then, she sought the boy and ferried him inside, and took Galathilion and did the same; when she looked around the space after, Dreamer had vanished.

She stood there a moment longer, but was cowed by the sound of her sons mewling for warmth and food. Once inside she stamped the earth a few times and finally wedged herself as far back as she could, tucking the boys at her belly.

when the dreamer returned, the rain had kicked up into a higher drizzle. she was tucked into the back of the shelter with the little ones.

he pushed a trout into that oval entrance, leaning on his belly for a moment to be sure it reached her. 

fresh fish after so much salt. would she like it?

he lingered at the doorway after, then lay down and closed his eyes against the small storm. it would pass, and he would not wake with frost rimed on the tips of his pelt as he did so often beside the sea.

It was not long before he returned to them; funny how the change happened so effortlessly, she thought. Them. As if her sons were a part of her (of course, they were); as if she had stopped being only a girl when she had become a mother; she was multitudes, now.

The fish was strong-tasting, familiar, a bit sour. Different from the red meat by far, but she would not complain.

How long would this last?

how long, indeed.

wilwarin had not spoken with warm light in her eyes of this place. indeed, they were silent. he smiled. how odd. she was always silent, but he imagined her voice now.

to be without those shaped words was to be in silence.

he lifted his head and looked into the small space, hoping to see the gleam of her fur there.

she wondered what kept them together.

was it the thread? she could not see it anymore; it seemed to only appear in her dreams, and not often now.

dreamer looked in to her, to the boys, and wilwarin shifted so that she could reach out to him with an invitation; except, she knew he wouldn't fit. so, she shuffled enough to touch noses and share his air.

mouthing, we will sleep, and then we will keep going. maybe dreamer's wolf will tell him of a path? maybe the thread will come again? but wilwarin did not know how it worked. she did not feel a connection to much here, not yet, perhaps not ever.

"all right."

he wondered if she wanted to take their lead, or she did it because he was not able. wasn't it his role to lead them to a safe place?

you will know what to do, and if you do not she will tell you. listen when she does.

was this for more than a time of blood and pain?

"i will dream."

she would lead.