Moonspear ^_________^

There was a crispness in the air when Treepie woke this morning, carefully tiptoeing away from @Sialuk and @Kaujimaq to avoid waking them. The grass was wet with dew and soon their legs were soaked. Unused to the chill, Pie went right back to their mother within five minutes, trying to insert their body in the gap beneath her foreleg, though they were much too large now.

Mama? they whispered, shivering a little. Are you awake?

Though they were growing larger, there would always be room for her children whenever they wished to share words with her. Tonight it was little Pie, crawling their way into a hug and rustling her out of sleep. Kaujimaq was still snoozing quietly nearby, seemingly undisturbed by the quiet voice. The Ostrega took this to mean that they would be able to talk without waking her.

What is it, little bird? she asked, smoothing the fur on his neck out with her tongue.

If they’d woken her, Sialuk didn’t seem to mind. They leaned against her, eyes drifting shut when her tongue pressed against their fur. It was incredibly soothing. They could’ve fallen back to sleep rather easily, though they resisted the temptation. They had something important they wanted to tell her.

Eyes still closed, the babe murmured, I want to be anaa like you someday.

Treepie made their declaration, and in doing so reminded Sialuk of her younger self. There was a time when the only thing at the forefront of her mind had been finding her very own ugi. She had spent weeks and months pining after the idea of that one special man so that she might grow up to be just like her own mother. The apple did not fall far from the tree. Or maybe, in this case, the Pie did not fall far from the tree.

Still, there was much to being a mother. How so? Sialuk asked gently, trying to break down what it was about being a mother that drew Treepie to it.

“How so?”

Treepie pondered these words in the cool morning stillness. Sialuk knew how babies were made, of course; she’d been the one to give them “the talk”! She wasn’t asking how, she was wondering why. But even when the babe sorted that out in their head, it took them another few moments to gather their reasons.

I love babies. I want to have my own and take care of them, they whispered. Pie paused, thinking of their recent conversation with Tiki, which was what had led to “the talk.” I want to be a mom, they insisted quietly, emphasizing, because I want—because I’m a girl.

Sialuk did not point out that Tuittuk was a baby. She wondered then, as she had before, if their strange anatomy would come into play if they—rather, she—wished to birth children of her own. Could she give children to another woman? Another question that would likely need trials to know for sure, although Sialuk was curious either way.

She smiled, patting Pie on the head with a gentle paw. There is much time before you will be able to have children of your own, she said. But you can be a girl right now. Then the mother squeezed her daughter in tight, overjoyed that Pie was comfortable enough to come to her with her new revelation and identity all wrapped up into one.

Treepie grinned as her mother stroked her head and validated her identity. It was a little disappointing to be reminded of the long time frame, though she knew what to expect—at least, in theory—based on their aforementioned talk.

I’ll keep practicing on Tiki, she joshed, before falling into a thoughtful silence for a few beats. I know. You said mothers give birth in the spring or summer. It’s summer now, then autumn, then winter, then spring again.

She paused in case Sialuk needed to correct any of that, her tongue swirling thoughtfully over her teeth before poking her cheek. She remembered anaa mentioning that wolves could reproduce around their second birthdays, which meant she would have to wait for another cycle of seasons.

But the head wouldn't, prompting the child to ask, Will you have more babies next spring, anaa?

Sialuk considered interrupting Pie to indicate that she may not be able to have children on her own, but she refrained for now. There was more than a year yet to prepare her daughter of things to come, and they had plenty of time to talk between now and then. The next question was one that Sialuk had always thought would be easy to answer. Long ago, when she had asked the bones, they had told her she would have sons and daughters upon the mountain. Now, she had fulfilled that prophecy. Would she have more in the years to come?

She smiled gently at her daughter and shrugged. I do not know, she said. This year has been filled with hardship. Treepie had never known Argent, and she likely never would. He had gone from Moonspear before his children were born. She may not know Acrux or Maggak, either. It pained the Ostrega, but it was a story to tell when Pie was a bit older, when she began to know what love was.

Tiuttuk’s gaze dropped thoughtfully to her dainty black feet as she weighed Sialuk’s answer. She wanted to insist that more babies would surely make her mother happy! They would certainly make Pie happy. But Pauk had been only a baby when he’d gone missing. She’d witnessed her mother’s pain. She didn’t truly understand the breadth and depth of it, though she felt the loss too.

Nibbling at her lip, she lifted her eyes to the side of Sialuk’s face. They were already snuggled quite closely together, though Pie maneuvered herself a bit so she could throw her forelegs around the head’s neck. She pressed the crown of her head against Sialuk’s cheekbone, then shifted her face to press a kiss beneath her eye.

I love you, anaa, she murmured, lips moving against silky white fur. Inspired by the stirring of waking songbirds, Treepie added, Do you want me to sing to you?

Tiuttuk was resilient, and Sialuk was reminded of a younger version of herself. She had always been close with her own mother, and she had hoped the same for all of her children. Maggak and Acrux surely departed by choice, though their reasons Sialuk would never truly know unless they returned to tell. She speculated that the thought of being sent to different villages had made them depart somewhere else together, but that was merely a guess. If only they had stayed, had spoken to her, they would have realized they'd had a say in the matter. It still hurt to think they had not felt able to talk to her.

I love you, too, little bird.

Kaujimaq was beginning to stir in the other corner when Pie asked if she should sing, and Sialuk nodded, letting herself stay in that half-asleep, half-awake state while her daughter sang her a sweet song.

we can archive here if'n you want!

Sialuk nodded, after declaring her own affections. Treepie bobbed her own head, drawing in a deep breath as she prepared to sing. She could sing the song Alaric had taught her, though it was too lively and loud so early in the morning. Besides, it required dancing and Pie didn’t want to disturb everybody’s drowsing.

She started by humming a tune under her breath, then pulled words from who-knows-where and sang them with a quiet ferocity:

My mother’s child is a savage,
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones,
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers,
In the dancing of fire, in the curve of old bones…

I am my mother’s savage daughter…

Lyrics belong to Ekaterina Shelehova.