Totoka River [m] fire dancer

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@Red Leaf seemed — slower somehow. weaker. enough to rouse cen's anger several times since they had left the dreamer's camp. he had hunted with the hazy-eyed man, dragged a caribou back.

in trade for power.

a power that burned in him even now.

once, and only once, he prided himself! — once he had struck her hard for delaying them one morning, and felt the power burn in him, felt it curl around his amulet.

and it was — enough.

cen had ignored red leaf after that, until they came to a river which raced to the sea, and he saw the caribou slipping off among the oakleaf forests for the night. he sighed and threw down his pouch of caribou dewclaws. "make camp."

he patrolled until he felt they were alone, then curved around on a lope, scattering a small cluster of the grazing animals as he came back through the darkness.

when would she learn that peace was never to last?
in the weeks since they parted from wilwarin and the dreamer man, red leaf's pregnancy progressed in secret. she ate ravenously and never seemingly had enough water to drink; she stopped often for breaks, excusing it by saying she must have pulled a muscle or sprained some part of her. and yet, it did not appease her husband.
he only grew more and more furious with her.
when he had struck her, she found herself staring at the amulet woven in his grainy fur, the angry red stain upon hair that once was attached to her body. she thinks of the spirits and their glowing eyes, sees them in her dreams that night; he owns you. do as he says.
she also wonders how careless he must be to not notice the increasingly visible swell of her belly. it wasn't as big as it should be by now, she thought; she wonders if the stress has harmed her children's growth, and she cries over this when she is alone.
the morning the pair reached the river was quiet. red leaf did not speak. her thoughts race around the life within her, if her babes are okay, when she should tell him, if, if, if — she does not know how much longer she can hide it.
when cen orders her to make camp, red leaf sits down near their pile of pelts as if she is going to do so, but instead, she begins to weep.

when cen returned, red leaf was weeping there. 

no camp had been made.

swearing in lanzadoii, he stalked toward her bent frame in the melting snow and wet grass; he moved as if to punish her again.

and then he realized.

he saw.

she was not fat, she was —

"by the raven," he grunted, steps slowing. cen stooped in front of her and reached out to tilt that peerless tearstained face upward. "so."

and a grin spread across his face, terrible and far too brilliant; "so lanzadoii seed takes hold in sharadoii land. ha!" cen was elated! he straightened; he spun away from her, and danced in the spring-touched earth.

at first, she had mistaken his elation for aggression; perhaps it might have been so as he had drawn her gaze upwards, watched the saltwater pour from her scarlet gaze. and then, in the next second, he was bounding like a young boy — the most spry she had ever seen him, hollering to the high heavens in proclamation.
he had stolen it from her, the ability to turn to him and say: yes, i am pregnant.
how had it taken him so long to notice? perhaps she was not showing as much as she thought she was. now she was only more worried, sniffling and turning her head to watch him dance around her. i was worried you would be upset, she tells him in broken lanzadoii, voice shaken and strained from lack of use. my fire time came early and silently, i suppose.

she had stolen it from him, his moment of complete domination, where her body would smoke and twist for him no matter what she wanted.

cen loomed close, placing a paw against the swell of her side as if he were a midwife. in fact, it was them he was considering now, and their lack.

it was not unknown for two lanzadoii hunters to travel the plains together. it was far less heard of that these hunters should be one man and his pregnant wife.

he had been angry, but anger had no place here now. beating red leaf would only ruin the future she now delicately carried. there were no other women here to call out, to order a halt when she needed. no midwives for her birthing shelter. no hunters to bring meat, save cen.

it could be done. and by all rights, he should force her to march until it was time. but that was it; now neither of them knew when this could be, he assumed.

cen grunted. "we will travel until we find a village. the dreamer taught me words. i will use them. you need a woman to look at you. if she says you are well, we will go along the coast."

he said nothing to the rest of her small plea for reassurance. that would come when she delivered fat sons for him. in the interim, as a show of goodwill, cen began to lay out the camp himself. "lie down. rest."

if she knew what cen was thinking, she would be grateful her flowering came and passed silently. but for now, she, too, is sad; she hadn't gotten to decide, hadn't had control. it simply was.
maybe that was the way it was meant to be.
i would like that, she utters meekly, avoiding the burning icedrawn eyes. i do not know how far along i am, but, ah-- i just worry.
how many were there? were they sons or daughters? were they doing okay, with all the stress she had been under lately? stress can harm children, can't it?
red leaf sighs as she settles down with a drawn out exhale. there was relief in knowing he will be easier on her body during this time, at least. she watches him move with a look upon her face that could be compared to a frightened fawn, one she was unaware that she even held; and then it melts away into one of awe as her husband begins to set up camp himself. she hadn't known he even knew how to do that. did the lanzadoii typically do such a thing, or was he only entertaining her by allowing them to sleep on a bed?
she encourages him anyway, tail thudding gently against the ground, dirt and snow swept up in an angel wing's shape. thank you, love.

he enjoyed her wonder and the youthfully worshipful, near fearful way she regarded him now, as if this simple act made him her world entire and she had only just realized it. cen helped red leaf to lie down among the robes, pulled dried caribou from its hide, and lay it close for her.

the hard eyes of the hunter had softened in these moments; he looked to her gentle red eyes, then the billowing curve of her side as it subtly mounded the white-haired caribou hide drawn over her hip. 

at last, cen was still, gazing deeply into her eyes.

"i do not regret what i gave black stick and fern and the sharadoii to have you, red leaf."

his smile was slow, tame, unfamiliar, and he looked again with affection toward the evidence that he had not lost his ability to be a man.

"now;" he straightened and shook soil from his coat; "i will bring fresh meat. blood. heart-flesh. you need it."

cen turned, stalking off, and soon the straight, lean lines of his body were lost from view.

it was cen.
her cen, her cen; she sees it in the breadth of his grin and the gentleness of his touch, the delicate but sharp way he moves. he looks at her as if she is the center of his world, in that moment, and red leaf can feel her blood burst with affection.
her cen. her husband. her love. her world.
and i do not regret leaving the sharadoii to come with you, which, for that moment, was true.
she missed them often, her parents and the shining rays of her valley home; but moments such as this made it worth it. moments such as this were why she had crossed the glacier the first time, before —
she will not think of that now. she wonders if ghaden smiles down upon his siblings from the spirit realm, if perhaps his soul has been moved into that of a swan or a caribou or an otter; if he is watching. if he is happy. red leaf liked to think so. he had been her son, too.
the young woman eases down into the pelts, and for the first time in a long time, she does not dream.