.

The rains that began in the night, continued into the next day, Rye watched from under a tree as streams of water flowed down the small hill his den rested upon. Heavy air enveloped his lungs, it was moist and wetted his nose with each breath. The smell of wet oak soothed him, delivered him peace with each inhale and the soaked ground blended seamlessly with the oak. Soft rolls of thunder rumbled in his chest with lightning illuminating the eastern mountains. "@Imaq." He softly called to the den, wishing to share the tranquility of the moment with his wife. 

The hotah had much making up to do for causing unnecessary turbulence in his innocent wife's life. The meeting between his alphas and the neighbors still weighed on his mind but the decision was made to stay. After spending time collecting his thoughts, seeing his wife's anguish, spending time with his son and seeing the growing numbers of Atautsikut, parting didn't sit right with the father. Later he would inform @Lane but now he would enjoy what peace nature has brought to him. 

Imaq woke, not because of the low rumbling of thunder. On the contrary, the sound of raindrops pattering against the roof of their illuk and the soft clap of the storm inclined Selkie to snuggle deeper into their bedfurs and curl tighter around their son. It was the call of her name that finally forced the she-dog to rouse -- with a great stretch and a yawn that caused her practically to vibrate with its ferocity. 

Rasping a splotched tongue of pink and black along similarly speckled chops, the ukiligiak slipped from the den and materialized at her husband's side. She settled there, not quite so awkwardly or ungainly as before, on fluffy and scarred haunches. It would take a while before the falling drops would penetrate her thick coat, even as they freckled her patched and spotted fur with new patterns.

"Silaluk," the medicine woman lilted softly by way of greeting, for to speak loudly felt to break the gentle ambiance. "Mean 'rain.' Many word for rain. Suagutak. Rain fall," she added, an explanation, as she cut a line through the air with her muzzle -- as if tracing the arc of a raindrop falling to the earth. 

"Siusiukuluk", Imaq grinned, gesturing with a jerk of her snout to a thrush that had descended from the canopy to splash joyfully in a puddle some metres away from where the couple sat watching the showers.

The soft pitters of the rains virtually drowned out his wife's steps but not completely, the angutik looked beside him to see his wife settling. He chuffed in greetings, the chuff rolled into a rumble of gratitude at her arrival, it rivaled the thunder in the distance. Rye kissed her maw, gazing at her with reverence. He revered the beautiful life they had built together, their son, their pack, their marriage, their life, all of it wasn't without veneration. Rye often wondered what his wife thought of it, more importantly he pondered what might be missing in her life and how he could fix it. The father had a plan, with fear coiled in his belly he would venture to ask of her disappearance, it was the start to repairing what needed fixing.

Imaq translated the word rain for Rye, he smiled, keen on committing the word to memory. She continued to translate more words for him, each one he would mutter to himself. Sounding out the correct pronunciation slowly, his tongue clearly foreign to the positions needed to speak the words correctly. He tried regardless.

"Seel-al-look," He tried slowly before putting it all together. "Silalook." The man said more confidently, he knew there was room for improvement. He chuckled, "It's a start." He admitted. "What about mountain?" In case Imaq didn't recognize the word, Rye looked towards the summit and then returned to her.  

"Is good start," Imaq praised with a gentle smile, accepting the kisses and nuzzles as it morphed into an expression of tender adoration. Her cracked gaze of aquamarine and neptune flitted to the low range that Rye indicated. "Issutanguak" the shepherd supplied readily. Then her expression shifted into something equal parts playful and fierce, mimicking the snarl of the great lion who called such terrain home. "Cat. Pittusigak," she explained. And so the game continued, an old one that was not new to Imaq -- a game of passing words back and forth until they had mastered each other's language. Though, of course, this process took time. 

'Issutanguak', she informed. There was a pattern to the language but Rye struggled to figure out what exactly it was. Some sleepless night he laid awake, trying to solve the link he was missing but ultimately it would put him to sleep before he could truly get anywhere. Rye was sure eventually he would figure it out but it would require vast amounts of knowledge first. For now, he enjoyed their game of teaching and learning. They were soft moments in each others days, he looked forward to them greatly. The husband hoped his wife held the same moments in as high regard as he did.

Suddenly Imaq snarled, catching Rye off guard but he laughed hardily, even if he was initially confused. Her next word was, 'Pittusigak'. "Cat?" He echoed, confused. Then he connected the dots, the snarl and then mention of a cat. "Oooh," He laughed. "A mountain lion. That's what we call them, they are ferocious. I think your word for them is fitting, sounds strong." He concluded. He wondered how he could use the words he's learned in a sentence, what rules, if any, there were to follow. The trail ahead was long but worth every minute spent. 

Rye sat in silence, returning to the patters of the rain, leaning on his wife ever so slightly. For a while, he forgot why he was there. The space in his head taken up by the words he learned, replaying them excessively and nearly at nauseam. Then the true reason popped back into his head light a bolt of lightning. "Oh!" He started excitedly. "Wife, I have very late but good news. I'm sure you've figured out by now we are staying but I wanted to personally say it. So, yes, we are staying and Lane has agreed to promote us to Gamma pair. We will both have more say in the decisions around here." He proudly told her, an ear to ear grin pulling his lips. For Rye, elevating his family to higher standings in the pack granted him a fulfilled emotion. Like he was a good husband after all, even if Imaq consistently told him he always was, Rye still strived for better.         

"Mountain lion," Imaq repeated the words, fumbling as much as Rye did with the new term. Much as he found himself struggling with pronunciation and the rhythm of her language, there was something about his that felt choppy and awkward to her tongue. And the she-dog had long struggled with sentence structure and syntax in the common tongue. But there was noticeable improvement the more they practiced. 

"Cat...lion," she added, with a small quirk of her lips, [/b]"very strong. Bear stronger totem only."[/b] 

Imaq visibly brightened upon hearing Rye's news -- full on wiggling in place of wagging the tail she did not possess. An elated shine strummed from her throat as Seelie practically tackled him in a hug. "Is good, is very good!" She peppered him with kisses and affection in her burst of happiness.

He nearly fell to the ground but managed to stay upright as his wife showered him in kisses, his tail thumped against the ground as he melted into his wife. Rye wanted those kisses to mark his face, so he'd always have a kiss when he needed it. The husband returned feverishly with his own affections. It was a moment to cherish for a lifetime, Rye decided. A low laugh rumbled in the males chest, he nipped at his wife's neck playfully. "I love you." He murmured. Rye then turned to face the horizon, watching the lightning strike in the distance.

The husband dreaded what he had to ask next, fearful of what memories he may dredge up from the depths of Imaqs mind. "Wife," He started. "Those months you were gone, I spent many moons wondering where you were, if you were safe, even now, there are nights I lay away and ask myself those same questions." Rye paused to breathe deeply. "If you want to tell me, I would like to know what happened while you and our son were gone?" The husband spoke quietly, glancing over his shoulder to the den to check if their son was listening in. He saw nothing, so he returned his gaze back to his wife.

"Imaq - I love you," the dog returned in a soft stammer, not always remembering the way pronouns were used. Her aquamarines practically glimmered with warmth as she burrowed against Rye's ivory chest -- a convenient position now that she'd toppled him over. There was still a ghost of a smile dancing on the medicine woman's lips when the couple untangled from each other and found their places beside each other once more like magnets moving in tandem. 

But it died like the flame of a candle snuffed betwixt two fingers at what her husband asked. Quickly, the shepherd glanced back herself to assure that Siku wasn't within hearing range. With a heavy swallow, Imaq turned back to face the rain -- as if it could wash away everything the merle didn't want to remember. It was easier to admit when she didn't look at Rye. He wouldn't take it well, even if the wren-feather woman knew it wasn't his fault. 

"Imaq go. Take Siku after..." she trailed off, knowing well that the oakwood agouti knew what she spoke of. Surely her husband remembered the drama of Makatza attacking their son and how Imaq had thought the Glacier unsafe. Their trip was only supposed to be a hunting excursion, a means of teaching Sikuliak how to use his damaged leg without the embarrassment of the pack looking on while he fumbled with his new disability. And a way to keep him safe until some conclusion could be met by those in authority regarding the incident. 

"Inua much kongak," Imaq frowned, an exaggerated expression, and lowered her brows almost menacingly in demonstration to relay the meaning of the word. She did not know it in Rye's language. "Snow. Much snow. Imaq and Siku hide. No Glacier. No Glacier anywhere." The wolfdog glanced to her nulettukutik to make sure he was following along with the choppy tale. 

"Imaq look. Look for Glacier. Look for Rye." Her floppy, freckled ears fell limply against her skull and her gaze drifted down to her paws -- unable to stop the way her heart plummeted into her stomach at the memory. After a moment, she picked up the thread again. 

"Inua not want Imaq lost. Totem like home." This was harder to explain. She could not put into words the taboos and unspoken laws of her people, not yet. The totem spirits of all tribes and their people did not like to go homeless -- accidents and tragedies were more likely to happen when an individual wandered and denied their spirit a hearth to reside within. "Much angry more. Issutanguak -- boom!" Here, the wife practically exploded with the word, lifting her forepaws up for emphasis and slamming them against the earth in a move that vibrated up through her bones -- much as the real mountainslide had. 

"Imaq - I no move. Niuk," she gestured with a jerk of her muzzle to the haunch where her leg had been. A grimace and a thick bob of her throat displaying her discomfort as she recalled chewing the crushed limb away. She turned to Rye solemnly, her cracked gaze somber and ghastly. 

Then she mimed chewing it off. 

It took a few moments before Imaq could continue. When she did, her voice was ahush. A whisper of things that should not be said aloud, ever. Evil things that only occured when a person's totem was twisted, their personal inua malformed.

As best she could, Seelie told him of the man that had come -- a few weeks after she'd healed. How he'd wanted their starboy, demanding Imaq to give him up or he'd take her and make her son watch. 

How he'd attacked and how Imaq had killed him.

He listened, he saw. He saw her pain, as clear and as crisp as a winter stream. The husbands brows pinched themselves and lifted, he gradually began to regret his decision to ask what happened. The sorrow it brought his wife didn't justify his sated curiosity. However, Rye didn't dare squeak out a noise, he listened instead, a pensive gaze settling into place. As the story developed, Imaq grew more perturbed, it did not go unnoticed by her husband, who immediately sought to comfort her with gingerly placed caresses. He pulled her into his chest, quietly cooing 'I love you''s to hopefully remind her, she wasn't alone anymore. 

Imaq explained her leg, using the words 'mountain' and 'boom'. Rye searched the trees while he began putting the puzzle pieces together, then it struck him. The grove, its mountain fell upon him and his previous pack, nearly maiming Rye. His eyes widened, he vividly remembered the terror, the serrated adrenaline that sliced his veins as he ran. The husband nodded his head, showing he understood her meaning, frowning as she mimicked what she had to do to save herself.       

Nothing could have prepared the man for what his wife would explain to him next, her first mentions of a mysterious man flared his nostrils. It visibly shortened his breath, it hitched in the back of his throat. Rye swallowed hard, fearing what the man did to his wife, the thought of it burned his skin, he wanted vengeance but Imaq explained more. Telling her husband his intentions to take their son, Rye glanced worriedly to their den, then returned his gaze to his wife. She told of how she killed him soon after, the hotah recoiled, as if he was physically pushed back from the news. His brows drew in with confusion, anger and concern. Rye wanted to deny it, deny his wife and son went through those tragedies but the look upon her face expressed it was torturously real.

Shame crushed the husband betwixt its fingers. The guilt he once harbored returned, he wondered, again, how he could have let any of it happen. For what felt like a small eternity, Rye couldn't find his words, they slipped from his tongue each time he tried to speak; but eventually he found his voice. "Imaq, I'm—" Was apologizing good enough? Rye wondered how many times he had said he was sorry, how little good it truly did. He needed to offer reassurance, reassurance that he still loved her. "I" He reiterated. "I don't blame you, I do not see you differently. You are still my wife, the mother to my son, I doubt there is much in this world that could change that." Much like hers, his voice was hushed but not without sincerity. 

Imaq wasn't surprised when he withdrew from where he'd pulled her against his chest -- though it shouldn't have hurt so much. The she-dog couldn't bear to look at him, to see the disgust she was sure was painted across his features in vivid relief. Something long broken in her chest snapped once more, crumbling like dry soil kicked into the breeze. 

The shepherd went still and silent, unable to stop the way her head dropped and chin dipped towards her chest as she curled in on herself -- as if to protect herself from what came next. Her eyes closed though that didn't stop the track of fresh tears coursing along her freckled features. 

As Rye began to stammer, Imaq waited. For him to turn away from her. For the death curse. To be seen as little more than an evil spirit inhabiting the place where her kinnuajok-ijik's wife had once stood. It was a great affront to the spirits to take another life. In Kalallit Nunaat, there was no taboo with direr consequences -- no shaman that could lift the crime from a person's soul. She shouldn't have expected anything else, of course she would be shunned and turned out as Salik had cast her out so long ago -- not only an unwoman but a murderer now to boot. 

Except, it didn't come. 

The kupanuak's sea-kissed gaze flew open in utter shock, darting to her husband's and scanning along his features searchingly. She almost didn't dare to believe it. "Rye...no kongak?" The question escaped in a timid whisper, stuttering across her breath with uncertainty.