She had not seen Kukutux since Sialuk had first brought her to the Spine, long ago or so it felt though she knew it had been less than half of a moon's phases since then. She imagined the mother was still wounded, nursing her broken leg and her grief alike within the ulaq. The rabbit had stayed away out of respect, offering a dip of her head to the mourning Sialuk in a gesture of comfort when she had come across the silent raindrop during their time of songs. Now though, the duo seemed to be rejoining the small village they had founded -- their scents winding through the territory.
Similarly, the sight of a pristine, recently bathed Kukutux encouraged her to the idea that all would be alright with the two. They would hurt, the yearling knew for she also carried the pain of losing all that you held dear, but they would rise and set with the sun. Hoping to not inadvertently disturb the Moon, the botanist let out a rasping chuff as she padded towards their Alpha, moving to walk alongside her if her company was not turned away.
What remained of the snow crunched, slushed beneath their pawpads as she followed alongside the young widow -- who Aiwë could not think of as elder or wizened just yet though she held the survivor in great esteem -- settling into the silence comfortably. Birds of a feather, like the brown and white of the ptarmigan. "It has," the birdcaller agreed, perhaps needlessly, lilt as soft as the still-chilled breezes soughing in the pines. It was almost startling how easily she had found her place on the ring of mountains, how readily she settled amongst their numbers. As if she had truly never been Aiwëndil at all, she blinks the thought away as if the patchwork of snow and mud and grass before her can wipe away the memories within.
"I'm glad. To be here, I mean," she murmurs, peridot jewels sweeping towards the matchmaker for a moment. Her lips curl in a small smile of extended warmth, the flicker reaching to the cool green gems.
Aiwëndil's features softened the tiniest bit, noting the way the pale dove's jade optics flinched as she said the words -- wondering if perhaps the sentence were finished in the Moon's head silently, that she would be more glad to have her family here. Aiwë said nothing, for such thoughts would be useless to the mother and her daughter now. There was only tomorrow, only what kin they had rallied and strangers like the mouse that had unknowingly answered their grief.
"I hope so. It will be nice, I think, to see it flourish with the spring. To see it green and filled with life," the aspiring Naturalist agreed softly, casting an admiring gaze to the treeline and the prospects of the future. Idly, she wondered if the glade would grow as more wolves flocked to the Spine, or as couples took up together and children were born. This seemed unlikely though -- the other females were either too young and the birdcaller had a hunch that it might be some time before Kukutux ever took another husband or bore more children. She would not ask for it was undoubtedly insensitive. Still, that only left she and Norah -- whom she could not speak for on terms of willingness to reproduce -- but the dove doubted whether she would be granted the right to breed when her season came, low as she was in the ranks.
"That reminds me," the girl said as she pulled herself from her rambling thoughts, "I have located the herd that lives here. They have fled the wood for the moment, they seem to be spooked by our presence here. I think they will return soon as the land was ravaged by the strange storm Sialuk spoke of."
Aiwëndil felt her own gems of washed out jade lingering on the distant fringes of her eyesight, discreet glances occasionally cast sidelong to take in the half moon phases of the mother's pale features. She gave a single, absent nod as she considered the words that met her ears. Perhaps she had been wrong, maybe Kukutux and Norah did mean to breed and Sialuk would assist in their pregnancies and deliveries. The tracker made no assumptions but wondered after what the wisewoman's words could mean for the future of Moonglow.
"My former clan follow the spirits as well. Our ancestors and the spirits of all things around us. The elder-kin of the tribe would sit and speak with the spirits to divine matches," the doe softly imparted, a shadow clinging to her tongue relentlessly. Always tactful to share but never too much. Just enough that no one questioned the vagabond's migration to this land.
"Do you speak with spirits?" the words were posed with hesitance, wondering if it might be rude to ask.
Unfortunately, though their cultures shared some similarities or so it seemed, the word was foreign to the girl. She had heard others like it before, and knew of the tundrians that lay further to the north than her former people, but she had never learned their tongue. Still, her fallow shoulders of sandstone inched inwards, curling as she leaned forward with interest to drink in the words -- jade gems bright as something familiar, like kinship, curled at her lips ever so slightly.
"I knew a man like that once. But he was not spiritual." And that was all that she would say about that. Her uncle was not like Kukutux, the rabbit's spring eyes flitting from the frosted edges of her to the ice that clung to the earth. She did not say so but she was relieved that the woman had her own shadows dancing across her tongue -- those of this world and others unseen to the simple artisan.
The artisan considered a moment, thoughts gone still with pondering -- giving the words the full exploration she felt they merited. She had fled Elennanórë as little more than a girl, in that limbo between child and woman before she could count even one change of seasons. Fear had driven her, desperation had kept her alive. Survival had been paramount above all else. Now that she could afford to slow her relentless gait across the land, now that she could settle and take a breath, who and what was she meant to become? Lótë was not the name she had been born with, this life was not the one she might've lived otherwise. It was liberating to think of the endless possibilities -- though terrifying too.
"You are Moon. Sialuk is the Star. Raimo, the Spear," she lilted softly, meanderingly. "I am only Lótë." Follower, subordinate, woman of their tribe. "I wish for no large part. I was never built for power or to lead -- in anything. I would be as the Land to Moonglow, offering the ability to grow and flourish. Or as the Trees, steadfast sentinels watching the herds as they roam and the time as it passes." She would be the background, a backbone on which Moonglow and the entirety of the Spine could rely on. Kukutux would find her heart overgrown with moss and steeped in creekwater, timeless and simple in its desires. She wanted nothing more than to become a part of the people that had sprung up around her, to settle and find family.
The cloudberry dipped her head in a slow gesture, as if accepting this role readily as it was placed upon her thin shoulders. "Apologies," she murmured, gems of pallid emerald downcast as her rabbitskin ears drifted back in remorse. "I did not mean nothing. Just...only. I like only," the girl wisped reassuringly, allowing her lips to quirk up faintly at the corners. Only was..simple. Safe. She would always be the daughter of the woman with the star-kissed brow, always the girl from the Land of Many Elms in her heart. But here, she could just be Lótë -- woman. Greenthumb. Herdstalker. Teacher. Student. Mother..Wife, maybe. That was enough to satisfy her weary heart.