It was night when the desire came again, clawing into her chest and making a home there. Again and again she would try to drive it out, but tonight…she was tired. Of denying it, of deciding against it.
It would only be for a little while.
She turned her nose to the north, exited the spine with feet aflame, the want to expand and grow bursting to life like a germinated seed, wrapping tight around her ribs, ducking low to curl around her toes, tickling the back of her throat.
She reveled in the simple, the motion of her legs, for long enough that when she came back to herself it was with her bird upon her shoulder, paws aching with the sting of nettles, and caught in the gaze of…
A deer. A young deer, not even a yearling, familiar, somehow. He looked at her, she looked at him, and somehow, they knew. In that cosmic swap of souls, they had gotten each other’s dues. Vairë stared into liquid dark eyes, the deer stared into her own mismatched shades. The moment was broken by Akaagigan, who released a throaty alarm from his throat. The deer snorted, Vairë started back, and in that moment, he was gone.
A wounded noise left the adolescent.
Wait-!
It was too late.
She wanted to give chase, her paw poised as though to begin, but she didn’t. She just stood, one leg raised, her ears wilted down, and willed something to go right for once.
In fitful dreams he saw his family, their faces austere and verging on the unfamiliar. His father reached out to comfort a parishoner, his mother kissed a cowlick above his brother's ear. He woke up with his jaws tensed and aching, unable to understand. Resentment gripped him like a fever.
A crow's scream jolted him fully awake. Heart pounding, he turned just in time to see a deer flash through the undergrowth, followed immediately by a girl's voice.
Are you alright?
He scrabbled to his feet, barely managing to hide the tremor of anxiety in his own voice. It took a few moments for him to regain his wits and set out in the direction of the shout.
Vairë didn’t move, for a time. Even when the voice reached her, she still stared into the depths, mourning and elated in equal parts. When she tore her eyes away from the brush towards the approaching creature, her eyes widened, minutely.
She had lived around mostly wolves her entire life. The wolf in front of her was odd, to her, and she stared hard for a short while before shaking herself from her stupor. Akaagigan had decided to tuck his head beneath his wing again, and she felt a brief flash of resentment for the crow who’d scared away the creature she’d felt such a connection with.
Vairë sighed out a breath.
Yes. I’m alright.
The deer soul resting in her bones strained to follow the fawn that had taken flight, but the adolescent stayed there.
Though he was relieved she was physically unharmed, he could see it in her eyes - that mentally she was elsewhere. His presence seemed to offer little comfort, which made sense. He was a total stranger, and the air was still turbulent in the wake of the deer's departure. At times like this he envied his father's ability to remain calm, and even more his ability to confer peace of mind onto others.
May I say a prayer for you and the deer?
He glanced at the crow. And your friend?
His mouth tensed. It felt to him that she was the deer now, and he the wolf trying not to scare it away.
A prayer, for herself, for the deer, for the bird who, despite appearances, kept close watch on the area around the doe. Her wet nostrils twitched.
I…
A prayer from someone not of the village. She didn’t know what to think about that.
Yes.
She would learn, of this man and who he was praying to. Was it her gods? Why would there be others?
Bowing his head, he searched his memories like a prospector sieving for gold, ankle-deep in clear water. All the prayers he'd learned, practically through osmosis, saints that his father had been fond of - his lips moved with muscle memory until he found what seemed like the right words.
Heavenly Father, you created all things for your glory and made us stewards of our home.
By habit, he raised his head and was about to search her eyes for approval - but this wasn't home, and she didn't know about his God.
If it is your will, let us live in harmony with the land. Let us ask you to bless the animals and all living creatures - from deer, to wolf, to crow. Amen.
Her breath came in a fog. It did not bellow from her nose like those of the reindeer in winter, clouds of great steam like a train existed in their chest, nor did it slip from her in song like that of the slowly reviving birds.
No, her breath left her like that of a plant. Entirely unseen, but growing anew.
She wanted to question, to demand he explain this Heavenly Father. The only father Vairë had ever known had been Aiolos, sunman to moonwoman, father of herself and her siblings. To Vairë, a Heavenly Father was just a father, with an odd sort of title. What was he to this man with a name like that? Sunman? Moonwoman? Both? Neither?
Instead of the burning curiosity in her chest, in her mouth, snaking beneath her tongue so it ached when she moved it, she spoke.
Qaĝaasakung. I thank you.
Vairë said, forcing a smile onto her face.
I am one they call Vairë, of the village Moonglow. You?
The language she spoke wasn't one he'd ever heard. He was struck by its unfamiliar beauty, keeping himself from leaning in. Not in a billion lifetimes could he have managed to ask could you repeat that? with a charming, winning smile - so, with a resigned hunch of his shoulders, he let the word dissolve from his memory like cotton candy on a tongue.
Everything about her suggested an otherworldliness that both repelled and beguiled him.
I'm Abraham. Everyone calls me Abe.
He tilted his head, bracing himself for his own question.
Do you have gods you pray to, in your village?
He always found time to be curious about what other people saw when they looked at the sky, at the world around them.