Neverwinter Forest deepest forest, darkest wood

Day by day, Vairë stagnated.

Moonsong glowed on the distant horizon, and she could not help the bitter thought of where was this for Saltshore? Where was my good luck? It was an easy question. Vairë simply had no luck. She stalled in her life, in her everything, in existence.

She tended her children. She tended her borders. She tended her family. But Vairë’s eyes drifted north, and she found herself drifting. Silence wrapped her shoulders, a funeral shroud for a marriage that did not last long enough to leave bitterness. Rhaegal was gone, she began to believe.

Rhaegal was not coming home, was what she could not say to her children.

She wrapped herself in beaver skin and dipped into the early morning. The warning between moon villages, the man, she knew this. But it did not stop the doe from vanishing into the cursed forest. From her paws taking her to that familiar place.

She stopped in the center of what would have been home, would have been her mother’s village. And she wept bitter tears, because that life was not for her. It was for Fjall, for the children Lótë seemed to care more about than bland looking Vairë. For fawn legged Vairë.

For the broken hearted weaver daughter she left without a word. It was too much to ask.

He had a task ahead of him: to find an elk tooth for Ariadne's altar. Already he had culled a doe for her hide, and while that sat submerged and soaking to be cleaned, he roamed from the village to find this other thing.

Instead he came upon the salty scent of tears, the mark of Moonglow, and a woman who bore both. Kilgitsuk had likely met Lote's children at some point in the past, but he could not recall this; so Vaire remained a stranger to him in the moment.

As Kilgitsuk approached he was careful to give her ample space, as it felt he was encroaching upon a private moment. I greet you, came his soft greeting once their eyes met one-another; if she wished to tell him to go, he would. The expression upon his face was one of concern — as if he asked, what is wrong?

Truly, he saw a woman in distress and he knew that village Moonsong had failed to capture a man who might cause tears, or worse.

A man.

Frostborn, dressed to hide among the snowfields as easily as Vairë might slide into a field of wheat and never be seen again. She met his gaze with red rims, blinking almost sleepily.

I greet you. She croaked in a soft reply,  sore throat trying to swallow around her grief. The longer she looked at the man, the more she felt she knew him.

I know your face. The smell too, the crispness of winterice, a claim.

You are of my sister’s village.

It was no surprise to be recognized; he had spent enough time with the daughters of the moon, even tangentially as he hunted or as he visited the different villages. He smiled to her, and nodded. I am Kilgitsuk—and before I was a trader, I was Kigipigak.

He felt there was no need to explain. His eyes traced her own, and the darkness that wet her cheeks.

I am hunting; I could... continue to do so, he offered to leave her to be alone with her emotions, if that was preferable to his company; that much was implied. He would not take offense if she prefered that.

Maybe she would enjoy a distraction, too.

Her ears perked, and she let a quiet laugh croak from her mouth.

I remember you. I hid behind you once, at the border. Back when she was a fawn, a shy child, a child who had just lost her mother and sister and sibling and still looked for them to come back.

Her smile, already fragile, dropped.

If you wish to, I won’t stop you from returning to it. She swept her gaze across the clearing.

My mother. She was going to make this place a sister village. She started, then stopped. How wise was it to dump all of this on a stranger, no matter how they had known each other in the past.

Ah, so that was why she was familiar to him. She was not a daughter of Kukutux, but of Lote, who he held more and more respect for as his friendship with the moon woman became strained. He wondered about where she had gone with her family — and then realized, it did not matter. Only that it was away and Vaire was left here.

She was despondent. He decided to put aside his hunt and keep her company after all; and then she spoke of the village that was suppose to stand here, and he was silent as he observed the space, as he witnessed the absence.

It can be difficult to build villages. Kilgitsuk knew this too well. He settled to his haunches, tucking his chin slightly to give the appearance of quiet listening once again. He was there to listen if she needed it.

She did not say goodbye. 

Vairë felt her voice harden even through its whisper, felt that cool ball of feelings in her chest suddenly boil over with molten heat.

Twice she left. Twice she did not say goodbye, that she would be back. She went after Wilwarin. She took Fjall with her. Vairë felt her teeth grind together.

Twice she left. A reflexive throb through her forehead with how hard she squeezed her jaw.

Not once did she say goodbye. She flared into the deep dark of the former den, unsure of what feelings existed in her, unsure of how to untangle the deep purple bruise of hurt, of hate, from the love she held for her mother.

Not once did she say she loved me before she left.

When Vaire went on to explain, in a stilted manner, how abandoned she felt — at least that is what Kilgitsuk understood of her pain in the moment — he felt a kinship with her the likes of which could not be put in to words!

It was so much like how Sakhmet had gone; but he remembered keenly how they had argued over what to do about the soft-hearted son they shared, and in the end Kilgitsuk could not convince her against leaving.

And then to return without him! To return as if she had not been the reason for Natigvik's fall! It burned Kilgitsuk even now to think of; he felt the same as Vaire over his own situation, over being betrayed and abandoned and for losing, and it felt good to have someone else hurting similarly (as selfish and cruel as that thought was).

Vaire had lost her mother twice. It was not the same as losing a wife, but it was a loss, and to that end Kilgitsuk commiserated, and let Vaire put to words her feelings in a way that Kilgitsuk could not.

She loved them more.

An admission that tore her apart inside, but she could not deny it. The bitter taste under her tongue, the reason she had left, had been scarred. Wondering what about her was so unloveable that she had been left twice before her first birthday. She closed her eyes against the tears that rose, stinging her eyes with pinpricks of pain.

My sibling, she did not even search for them when they were missing. Instead, she went to find Wilwarin. She took Fjall without a word, I only met him a month ago! A brother who has lived a year, and I have known him a month! Saltwater on her cheeks, tasted on her lips.

Maybe she did not mean it that way, but how was I supposed to feel? I was a child she felt she could leave behind.

The pain in Vaire came in waves, as he voice undulated, becoming cold like sea ice or rolling like an angry ocean, unleashing a torrent that had probably been pent-up for too long. She named people, speaking of a wandering mother searching and not seeing what was already there before her; Kilgitsuk felt this now, as a parent and as a husband who had seen his wife go off with one son and return without.

It was not so uncommon for people to return to their villages, or the hearth of their mothers and fathers, and find a dearth of younger siblings — but to find them so late, that was indeed a shock! It was clear that Vaire felt more than slighted, more than abandoned. This deepest betrayal was something Kilgitsuk could not share the feeling of, but he was empathetic all the same.

He did not know what to say to help her.

Quiet, it surrounded them both for a moment.

I wonder why I even still care. It’s done, it has been done for almost two years. And yet… She swallowed.

I am still so angry. At all of it. There is bitterness in me, for Lótë, for my sister, for my brother. For the two she loved, for the two who got to know her. Her throat ached, her voice croaked.

She was here. Months ago. Before I had my children, she was here, she could have come to see me. But she brought another wolf to Moonglow, and she left. Again. With no word. And perhaps that’s what hurt the worst. That her mother had been here, knew where she was, but didn’t care to come see her.

There was silence, broken only by the girl's lamenting; and then silence again, this time broken by Kilgitsuk.

You are allowed to be angry. He was not usually one to speak about emotions, and certainly tried to swallow his on a regular basis in order to appear as strong and as confident as is expected of a man. He does feel things, and in this moment he can see much of his own turmoil reflected back at him through Vaire; and he speaks for her, but also for himself, but in the guise of being helpful to another.

It is not fair. It is painful. It is painful in a way that goes beyond words! To love someone and not be with them, and have them choose another path, when you know yourself to be deserving of all of it. It is not a failing of your own, but their's; Vaire, there is nothing wrong with you. There is everything wrong with a mother who cannot sit still. And now it dawned upon Kilgitsuk how obvious it was: he did not speak of Lote alone, but Sakhmet.

I am sorry that she failed you. He states in the end, looking upon the girl with a tenderness he had never previously allowed of himself. For a moment Kilgitsuk wonders if he could have said something to Sakhmet to keep her here, to keep his family together — but by now it is too late.

Vairë was quiet, for a time. She watched the winter man with a sage expression, before she looked again to the den. The depths in which her brother had been borne. 

For the first time, it wasn’t haunted in her gaze, deep void with a snarling face hissing abuses. It was just a hole.

It didn’t even smell like her anymore. Nothing of Lótë remained here. In the wilds, only herself and Fjall were the reminders that the woman had ever been within. And, as she closed her eyes, she used the razor edge of her pain to sever through those ties.

The only mother she had was Kukutux.

She opened her eyes and looked to Kilgitsuk, wiping her cheeks with a paw.

I thank you. I..I think I needed that. Vairë offered a shaky smile.

It would not occur to Kilgitsuk that he was himself, being a hypocrite. All the anger he held towards his ex-wife for the ruination of their village, the separation of their children, and the subsequent alienation of his son — Kilgitsuk blamed her, thoroughly, and even as he spoke his advice he did not think to apply it to himself. He refused to see himself in a bad light.

All he could depend upon was himself; that was the central lesson to those of Tartok origin. Perhaps this was a lesson that the sunshine-people needed, but resisted. Vaire was coming along to see it, he thought. It was a hard lesson.

As she dabbed at her tears, Kilgitsuk gave her a nod, which became a small bow; he was not good with raw emotions, and did not want to look at her in that moment. You are welcome. Know you have survived all of your worst days regardless of who is around you; you are strong, and you do deserve a family that cares for you. Of this he was absolutely certain.

He breathes, and then looks over one shoulder. I should return to my work. But he would not go unless dismissed.

Vairë smiled at the dismissal. Perhaps it would be good to be alone with her thoughts, for a time. To sort through her hurts until they faded from sharpness, to the dull spikes of a bruise.

I am sorry to have kept you. She dipped her head low in thanks, gratitude on her face. The doe looked to the ruins of the village that never was, and felt something inside of her, that wounded animal that lived in her chest, settle. If only for a moment.

Thank you. For taking the time.

She was thankful. Kaluktuk did wish he could offer more, but it was not something he felt comfortable with. He was raised to put his emotions aside and to find strength in the physical rather than the emotional, the esoteric, or things of spiritual nature; those were the realm of women, more so the sunshine people that Vaire came from and not so much the Tartok warbands of Kaluktuk's heritage. He could offer his ear whenever necessary and provide a presence, and sometimes that was enough.

Evidently to Vaire, that was what she had needed. You are welcome.

It helped him too, to a degree. As Kaluktuk departed from her company he thought of his advice and found sense in it for himself; when he thought of what Vaire was going through and what she had shared, he thought of all his own hurts and abandonments, and would go on to ruminate through the day upon this conversation.