ariadne's scent pulsed near the moonglow camp, and chickadee found herself staring helplessly across the river in the direction of moonsong.
she did not know, but her own body was preparing to follow ariadne, and her hormones responded to the older girl's own with a stark leap.
blindly she cut away from the camp; she raced in a hard run, searching aloneness or
@Kivaluk.
word reaches kivaluk of chickadee's rapid escape from the moonsong camp and he takes off in the direction he was advised on; honing in on her scent was easy enough once he caught it.
the scents of the women of the season affect him in a way they had not in the past; and kivaluk, pulling from time spent observing herds and coupling with his own ( vague ) knowledge of how these things went, was not a total stranger to what was happening to him. what it meant.
uummat,
kivaluk croons to her, as her visage comes into view. are you well?
kivaluk's voice lit her world, her stomach; chickadee exhaled and turned her trajectory toward him. she circled her mate once and then brushed her side along his, wanting the contact, the connection.
her eyes were darkened with all the things she could not understand. "better now," she told him breathlessly, lifting her face toward his own.
kivaluk's breath stutters for a moment in his throat as she draws near, circling him once before drawing up alongside him. it's such a simple action but it sets him on fire. a delightful fire that burns sweetly along his skin and stoking low in his belly.
chickadee,
he rasps her name; beseeching.
out here, it was far different; chickadee felt the pulse of the earth through the soles of her paws; her inhale was him, bisonmusk and blood and the long golden grasses blended with the memory of their den.
she realized she did not think of moonglow as home. it was only where she lived.
but chickadee had no time to spare for anything that was not the sheen of his eyes nor the way she looked at him, nor the way that she had begun to realize that her presence made him smoulder in return.
her name was husky in his throat; she backed away from him in slow deliberate steps, letting the noise fall away.
nature had not yet made it a true-time. what sang in her blood was devotion, and pride; the want to show him these things at once.
she is beautiful; and though he counts his lucky stars every day, this moment in particular has home watching her with baited breath, thinking that he is the luckiest man alive.
she pulls away and the absence of her body is felt keenly; in the eagerly chill that rushes in to take her place like a jealous, jilted lover.
chickadee?
her name is a nightsoft question as it passes thru his lips.
"it is so — different here. do you feel it, kivaluk?" chickadee asked, dancing forward to slide her arms around his strong shoulders. "and something is happening to me."
she was wakening; that much was clear. but when it would truly come remained a mystery to her. she knew only that her love for him was deepening, her want to be close to him always now reaching a fever pitch.
kivaluk watches her with unbridled delight, attempting to sneak in a kiss as she slides her arms 'round him; wondering how many times in a span of a singular minute he can think she is ethereal, breathtakingly beautiful. at least three, he's counted.
i feel something,
he tells her, though he is not sure yet what it is; though perhaps because he is not well versed in reading how places make him feel, always a little bit hesitant to grow attached to physical places.
you are becoming a woman in true, as i am becoming a man.
they had been such before, but now their bodies were catching up in true. soon, we will be mother and father.
and the idea makes him feel alive with excitement!
becoming a woman. becoming a man. there was hardly any space between them, but suddenly chickadee grew solemn and looked up toward the handsome lines of his face, appreciating how he taught her many things.
mother and father.
"in my family we name kids for birds. what do you think?"
mother and father. man and woman. she wanted to keep her focus on their conversation but she equally wanted to kiss him, and have kivaluk kiss her back.
a soft smile tugs at kivaluk's lips.
he had not known that she was named after a bird, but he finds the tradition something he could get behind. it was better than naming his children tartok names that mean nothing to him.
i love that. i would not mind having a flock of bird named cubs,
he says. i would not have our children named after tartok, like me.
it wasn't him and it wouldn't be his children. that entity that had been a higher priority than kigipigak's own children.
kivaluk accepted the idea, which made chickadee infinitely happy and now she thought wildly of names. "well, we could name them for northern birds. ice birds. like — ptarmigan. or skua. umm, falcon. owl. tern. swan!"
the possibilities were endless. "i'd like to name one for my mom or dad, or both. like a middle name. what about your mom too?" she ventured, knowing his feelings on kaluktuk and making no mention of the man at this time.
kivaluk was ashamed to say that he didn't know much about birds — he knew the basic birds ... but that was about where it begun and ended for him. chickadee, however, rattles off names and his gaze warms, the small smile that tugs at his lips entirely unintentional.
i love all of those names,
he tells her in quiet earnest.
of course,
kivaluk agrees. they can be jr's or have their names as middle names.
there's a soft pang of longing for his mother in his chest, hoping that she was out there somewhere living her best life. even if it wasn't with him or galana. there is no highest honor i can think of then naming our children after your parents or my mother.
inexplicably, or perhaps perfectly understandably, her eyes watered. she threw her arms about kivaluk and pulled him close. "then we'll do it. they'll be us, and our parents, and moonglow, and brecheliant. all together."
she had not forgotten her earlier want; now it stirred in chickadee, darkening her eyes as they pressed against one another.
they'll be us.
kivaluk echoes in a low murmur; not unlike a vow. that's what it feels like; for while he could not help who their children would grow up to be, he knew the kind of father he wanted to be. he presses a soft kiss upon her cheek; lingering, before drawing her into his arms once more.