the sickness got worse.
red leaf slept for many days, and each time she woke, she felt swallowed by unfathomable heat that consumed her mind and body; the flames licked at her stomach, her veins. she ate little. she saw the sun less and less. cen was still gone.
and now there was a touch of scarlet in her cough.
the threat of her own mortality hung over her shoulders, and the terror this caused her was her every waking thought; but not for herself. instead, it was for brave one.
what would his life without her look like, with cen still refusing to even so much as give their boy a glance? who would cast his leg? who would sing to him? who would kiss him? who would — who would love him?
red leaf shuffles as close as she can to the mouth of her den, sunlight glittering upon the gravel. in front of her lies thread made from shreds of plainsgrass, a seastone, and two caribou teeth. she next reaches down to her hind and yanks a tuft of flaxen fur, binding it together in a clump with saliva; she notices it is tinged with pink and tries not to allow the tears to spill down her cheeks.
she turns to @Ghelan and whispers to him in valley tongue, glassy eyes glinting with feathersoft love; come, look, my boy. i'm going to make something that i think you'll like.

brave one comes plodding into the den with a new surprise; a little conch shell, and the mere sight of it glazes the mother's eyes with tears. that's beautiful, baby, she whispers to him as she pulls it closer to her, pausing to kiss her boy on his little round cheek. here, i'll make something really special with this.
red leaf invites him into her arms, scooping him up with one spindly forelimb and using the other to work. she starts by wrapping the thread around the caribou teeth, lacing it around the roots; a tiny hole in the conch shell allows her to entwine it, too, in the rather archaic-looking collection of items. the final touch is the lock of her fur, wrapped around the clunky thin, which resulted in a creation that almost mimicked a family wrapped in a pelt.
this tooth here, she points out the larger of the two to her son. that one is aapa. the smaller one is me, and you, my love, now she points out the shell. that is you. you make up the center of the amulet, like the way you make up the center of our world.
she sniffles, burying her face in her shoulder as a particularly nasty cough comes to her. crimson spatters across her already unkempt pelt, and she sighs as her gaze turns to her boy, the big baby blues that look up at her with such innocent devotion — a shaky, unintelligible sound tumbles from her lips as she buries her face between his ears.
she couldn't leave him.
she couldn't fail him.
these amulets are something your grandma taught me to make. they are very important to my people, your people, she explains softly. would you like to help me bless it?