Ouroboros Spine sons of salt and sea

for @Rhaegal , after the wedding back in Vairë’s ulaq!

Her head was still spinning. Even now, after the wedding, she couldn’t stop the want to giggle. She was wed to Rhaegal.

She was wed to Rhaegal!

They had so much to talk about and so little time!

She cast her mind to the bay, her bay, the thing she saw in her mind. The children she wanted to cluster against her side, to explore the calm waters right in front of her. She drew in the deepest breath she could as she stepped back into the darkness of her home, busying herself with pushing things out of the way, fluffing up furs.

Anything to keep from the elephant in the room, it seemed, as she spoke up after a moment.

When did you want to leave from Moonglow?

rhaegal waits as she rearranges and fluffs, ducking into her den — familiar to him — settling into a sphinx like position against a rabbit fur recently fluffed by his doewife.

despite that they were family now, he does not wish to continue to rely upon moonglow's hospitality, especially because he lingers in that strange purgatory of: part of their family but not part of their pack.

how soon do you wish tae be findin' the bay you dream of? rhaegal asks, not in an effort to deflect but because he recognizes he is taking her away from her home to start a wild adventure with him and he values her opinion in all things.

i was plannin' tae make a stop tae visit my uncle njord; introduce you tae him and his wife, meerkat. i think they live on ... moonspear? his howl was nae super detailed. a pause precedes the explanation, i guess they left sapphique a little while ago. somethin' went down before i began workin' on your bride price, the uncertainty in his tone is meant to communicate that rhaegal isn't sure of the details. and there was mention of a bear after i left. uncle njord implied might be naethin' left of sapphique. and even if there was, rhaegal had unwittingly cut ties with his lengthy stay away.

I would have to say goodbye to everyone. But that can be done in only a few days. Some of the hunters are out, but they should be back soon. She mused aloud, placing the gifts from their wedding into little alcoves to await packing.

She paused at the mention of a bear, her back stiffening, her paw hovering over the antler her elder sister brought to her. She swallowed, thick, ears slowly laying back.

Bear don't like to leave anything left. Any survivors would be at constant risk of it just picking them off one by one. It’s unlikely that anyone remains, if they did, they have probably scattered. Vairë spoke slowly, before redoubling her efforts on moving things. She paused for just long enough to flash a smile over her shoulder.

But I would love to meet your uncle. She said with a curl of her tail.

a few days to say goodbye, she tells him. rhaegal gives a small, sage nod. aye, he rumbles. it's nae goodbye forever. and he wouldn't expect it to be! moonglow wolves would be welcome to visit and hopefully vice versa! he wants their future bairns to know their family: corten-sveijarn and moonglowians alike.

vairë's talk of bears and how they do not like to leave survivors does not settle well within rhaegal's chest. it is a heavy thing, a sickening roil of his stomach; causing his shoulders to slump slightly with the weight of the somber reality taking place within his mind.

best, then, to stay as far away from the cliffs as possible.

but he doesn't want to linger in the somber for too long! this is their wedding night, after all. so, we stay here for a few days longer so you can say goodbye and then we'll visit moonspear for a night or two tae introduce you tae my uncle and then we head for the coast?

There was but one thing left to place in its proper location.

Her token of womanhood. She rested it beside the antler Sialuk had brought, tucking it away from view for the time. Then, she moved to her feet and padded over to join Rhaegal on the floor of her den. She relaxed beside a scattered pair of ermine skins, slinging them up over her front paws.

That sounds like a plan! She spoke after a moment, tail stirring to wave for a moment, before it fell tiredly back to the den floor. She was still bedecked in flowers, she realized belatedly, but she didn’t move to remove them just yet.

Do you have an idea of what to call our home? Her mother’s village and her sister’s village all had a matching name theme.

Vairë, to her great confusion, perhaps felt a bit different about a name.

a soft smile tugs at rhaegal's lips, glad that vairë seems on board with his plan. there was no rush to get the coast but he is eager to begin their new, married life in earnest. to have a place to call home ... especially when her season came upon her.

hmm, drawls the sveijarn, contemplating it. i dinnae ken, he admits, almost sheepishly. i suppose we'll know what tae name is when we find it. but he feels that it's something they should come up with together, as that was how rhaegal planned to act now: with her council to guide his way.

they were doewife and staghusband: they choices should be theirs in all things, he believes.

She smiled at that, giving a little laugh in response.

I suppose we shall, hm? There was a twinkle of humor in her riverstone eyes as she turned her head to begin cleaning her coat, neatly resting the flowers and pine buds in a pile to the side for reasons she didn’t quite know. It was just nice to have them in a pile. It was only when she got to the places she could no longer reach that she shuffled onto her other side, baring the nape of her neck like a noblewoman seeking help with the clasp of a necklace.

Can you get the rest? I can’t reach it.

the scent of the flowers that decorate vairë is strong and for a moment makes the seadragon miss the sea with a strong rush of yearning. this has been the longest he's ever been away from the sea in the entirety of his life.

even the time spent between meares island and sapphique, the journey had taken him along the serpentine twists of the coasts.

he watches as she begins to plucks the flowers from her fur, asking for help where she could not reach.

aye. upon the soft chuckle — a noise of affection — that rumbles in his chest as he leans closer and begins to pluck the flowers she cannot reach from her fur, adding them to the pile she's already started,

Having him close made her head spin.

She closed her eyes to hold on to her composure, though her tail twitched, curling at its very end. Her ears turned back, ducking her head for just a moment.

When all the flowers were taken from her thick neck fur, she gave her head a quick shake, flicking her ears. Then, she rolled onto her side to regard Rhaegal. Her eyes crossed his face, his form, before returning to his eyes.

She let out a breathy little huff after a moment.

We’re married. It was just now hitting her, that she was married to this man, that they would be living their lives intertwined.

You’re my husband. Vairë couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her before she managed to put her paw over her nose.

aye, rhaegal rumbles upon a low chuckle.

her giggle is a heartlightening sound that fills the seadragon with a buoyancy he has not felt in a long time. yes, it was a bit of a shotgun wedding: a choice made on a night when spirits were high and cupids drunk on the blossoming hope of finding love.

but, it felt right.

his doewife was lovely and kind and soft where his edges tended to be rougher: from the harsh seas that had shaped him, physically, mentally. even taking form in his accent.

and you are my doewife. he could've just called her 'wife' but there was something about 'doewife' that had felt like it fit her the moment the term had entered his mind. from that point on, it'd stuck.

he leans closer, dipping his head to press his nose against her cheek with affection.

Giddy was a good word to describe her in that moment, half mad with joy as Rhaegal touched his nose to her cheek. She was his doewife, and wasn’t that a word she never expected to hear.

A part of her wanted to go back to the angry, lost child she’d once been, so confused when her mother had gone searching for her sister and left herself and Lómion behind, even to the brittle girl who ended up alone. To tell her that this was her future, this was what she would gain in the end. When the pain was gone and replaced by certainty and joy.

The ground under her feet no longer shook. Vairë was a wife.

She turned to rub her cheek against Rhaegal’s own.

Does that make you stag-husband? She asked after a moment, half jokingly.

Or are you sea-husband?

ultimately, rhaegal decides as she rubs her cheek against his own, he would be whatever she wanted him to be. staghusband, seahusband. it didn't matter, so long as she gave it to him.

rhaegal lets out a low, soft chuckle. whichever one you think fits me best. he'd been mentally calling her doewife for a while, even when they were just intended.

it feels right now that it's real.

he'd always been the 'seadragon' but maybe 'seastag' was more fitting.

despite that rhaegal had never been one for the religion of the meares island, he knew that while they tended to focus their religion strictly upon the sea, the old gods pre- atlan had included a stag. a god of strength and an untamed nature. very much like the sea.

She hummed, leaning forwards to press her forehead to Rhaegal’s. She let the contact burn down her muzzle for a moment.

Ive been calling you my stag in my head for a time now. So, I believe I’ll call you that. She said, eyes falling closed. Vaire relaxed almost completely.

Even now, she thought of her siblings, her mother, and she wished them well. But Vairë was no longer that girl.

She was a Sveijarn.

The language you speak…will you teach it to me?

i like it. he declares after a moment, offering a boyish grin. though! she could call him whatever she wished and he'd not only answer to it but like it, so wrapped 'round her dainty paw as he irrevocably was!

and how quickly it had happened!

aye, rhaegal rumbles in agreement to her inquiry. though, i speak a few. there are two main languages of the islands. isletongue and salttongue. ...and the language of my mother. valyrian, she called it. which sounded smooth rolling off his lips, more silvery and flowing, compared to salttongue and isletongue which felt more harsh and guttural.

a moment of thought and then his own question, sheepish, perhaps, and what of yer language? will ye teach me?

He told her of his languages and she listened, her eyes wide with every detail as she committed it to memory. Isletongue, salttongue, and Valyrian, atop of the common tongue, those were all her stag spoke.

How smart he must be!

Of course. My anaa’s tongue doesn’t have a name that I know, but I remember being taught it. Her voice was quiet, slowly pitching more tired the more she spoke.

she agrees to teach him the tongue of her mother — anaa, she calls her — and rhaegal's grin spreads across his muzzle, lightening up his golden gaze.

our bairns will sound very worldly. he murmurs with a low, deep chuckle. it wasn't a bad thing, he'd argue! tae know each culture that helped tae shape them. her's ... and his, multifaceted as it was. his grandfather and mentor, valtyr had seemed so out of place among the islander's, carved of lava and stone ... while the islanders had been moulded from sand and shaped by the mercurial sea.

somehow, their worlds had coexisted ... until they hadn't.

the memory still pains rhaegal, still fresh in his mind like a soldier's suffering of PTSD, and quickly he turns thoughts elsewhere.

to anything but!

i look forward tae learning ... and tae teaching.