Wheeling Gull Isle kongeda

on the heels of the fatigue came the racing sickness. by now @Caracal would have seen her ill at least twice, listless thereafter.
heda, who spent a great deal of time in prayer already, now doubled her replies to god. 
and in her piety, sweetharbor began to take shape once more, and a name. 
in the afternoon, heda's husband would find her by the sea, drawing fish into a nest of kelp and settling her haunches with a new delicacy as she looked out to sea with a wavering sigh of secret contentment.

Caracal knew enough about pregnancy not to worry about Heda’s sudden bouts of sickness—in fact, it was probably good news—but he still fussed over her. He supposed that was his right as her husband, particularly one formerly trained as a medic.

He spent the early hours of the morning foraging in the sparse woods on the other side of the island. When he found what he was looking for, he gently plucked a few tiny, green shoots and went looking for his wife. He found her beside the water, the tips of her fur gilded by early spring sunlight. Caracal thought she looked rather holy.

Hey, beautiful, he said, the words only a little gargled by the items he held in his mouth. I found something to help with your nausea. Can I baby bird breakfast these to you? I don’t want to drop them on the sand or risk them washing away, Caracal explained, adding, I swear I’ll keep the slobber to myself.

But maybe not his tongue. Mostly he was here to tend to Heda, though Caracal would be lying if the idea of essentially kissing her deeply to push the medicine into her mouth didn’t make him a tiny bit hot under the collar.

caracal arrived right when heda began to think of him, and she smiled widely to see him approaching. he knew these things after all, she reminded herself, and shifted under his falling shadow. the idea was rather preposterous, but only because she'd never considered it before.
her tail thumped once in anticipation. "sure," she said almost at once thereafter, her stomach clenching delightedly a little at the idea of their mouths being so affixed to one another.
she blushed, scolded herself, refused to be scolded, reminded herself that they were married in holy union beneath the eye of god. it was good she desired her husband.
heda tilted her face, waiting.

He wondered if Heda might suggest they simply move to a grassier location but no, she agreed. Caracal grinned at her, then puckered his lips to plant a kiss on her jaw before motioning for her to open wide.

It felt utterly ridiculous and probably looked it too. Caracal had to bite back a laugh when he pictured it, lest he choke. He focused on transferring the necessary meds into his wife’s mouth—partially broken down by his saliva by now—and then stepped back to let her chew and swallow as needed. There was only the briefest slide of their tongues together, which he actually barely registered.

It only just now occurred to me that you might’ve thrown up right into my mouth while we were doing that, Caracal quipped a bit asininely, then nudged her cheek and said, I forget the name of this plant but it’s an antiemetic, so it should help with the nausea and vomiting.

Taking a step back, he glanced over and noticed her kelp net. She was fishing, which meant she was hungry or at least eating. That was good. Heda was quite possibly eating for two, three or even more! The thought made Caracal’s belly squiggle, a mix of excitement and nerves.

Been thinkin’ about what I’d want them to call me, Caracal announced. And that made me wonder, what do you think you’d like to be called? Mother? Mom? Mama? His eyes softened a little on the last. Mommy?

the sensation was wonderfully, delightfully odd! and she noticed quite a lot the way their tongues brushed through the medicine. but dutifully she pulled back, chewed, swallowed, smirked at him. it was not so bad; it had not nauseated her at all. "you take good care of me."
caracal explained what it was, and heda sighed in relief. "good. i can't be sick right now, not at all. i've been dreaming, you see," and her eyes took on a fond, familiar, faraway look. "we should rebuild sweetharbor."
a laugh. "mama, i think," heda said, bumping her head against his own. "oh, caracal! i'm so hungry and tired all the time, i don't think any amount of sleep breaks it up. but i can't be sick or tired right now," heda said. 
"my dreams were about rebuilding sweetharbor. and about how instead of changing redhawk, i think i want to name any — children — we have in god's name. and maybe a middle one for the island."
yes! she had been in great thought.

Caracal listened to his wife’s musings with a cock of his head and a twitch of his lips. It was his pleasure to look after her, just like he would be more than happy to support any endeavor she undertook. Whatever she wished in regards to their family name, he would likewise defer to her wishes.

You’ve had a lot on your mind! he acknowledged, kissing her cheek. That all sounds good to me. Well, except for the part where you feel sick and tired, Caracal amended. Just remember, you can’t pour from an empty cup and all that. You have to look after yourself if you wanna have the energy to look after babies… and subordinates.

His head tilted at that. Caracal wondered what needed to be done in order to reform the pack officially. Maybe it was as simple as Heda declaring her intention? He didn’t know but he could always ask.

Just let me know what you need from me, okay? he reminded her affectionately, glancing at the nearby kelp again. Were you able to catch anything? If not, you can relax and I’d be happy to get you something, mama. Caracal couldn’t resist wiggling his eyebrows as he tested that out, adding, Does this mean I should go by papa?

caracal seemed so sure! much more than heda, who found herself with that protective paw placed over her midriff once more. "i caught a little yellow fish. and those shells," she added with a chuckle, gesturing to a pair of glittering conches.
her gold eyes were grateful. "alright, caracal," she murmured, arranging herself along the sand like a delicate mermaid. "i'll wait, papa."
she tried it on! she sent him off to fish, a beam upon her features.
overhead, gulls wheeled, crying out. heda upturned her face to the sun and relaxed, as her husband had suggested. eventually, she started to doze, lulled by the sound of the surf.

He glanced at the shells admiringly before facing Heda again. She referred to him as “papa” and it warmed the cockles of his heart. Caracal decided he liked the sound of it, especially since it paired so well with his wife’s choice.

Hot mama, he remarked loudly, an affectionate smirk playing about his mouth as he turned from the tempting sight of Heda stretching out on the sand.

Some time later, he managed to catch a small shark from the shallows. He padded over to Heda, whose eyes were closed. Smiling around his catch, he reposed nearby and gently deposited it on the sand. Before he woke her, he took a few moments to simply bask beside her, the April sun warm on his back and the salty breeze tousling his red furs.

At length, he nudged the dead shark toward his mate until its little snout bumped into Heda, all the while singing, Baby shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, baby shark…

heda came awake with a gasp and a backpedal. "caracal!" she almost shouted, before realizing it was dead and remembering that such animals could not come from the water. she laughed until she cried, reaching out to touch its surface.
but before heda could settle the long debate over whether or not sharks are smooth or rough, something about the set of the dead teeth and the empty gills sickened her, sick, sick, sick; she scrambled away from caracal and vomited harshly until her stomach was only contracting.
how awful! "it's not —" you! the shark! but heda was overcome with a fresh wave of nausea, and only moaned.

He immediately felt like an ass for startling her so badly. Caracal’s ears pinned sideways as she scrambled away from the shark, though before he could offer up the thousand apologies on the tip of his tongue, Heda began to laugh. He stared at her for a beat before he slowly began to smile too, just for the expression to wipe from his face when his wife was suddenly ill.

Caracal sprang to his feet, moving to stand close by without crowding her as Heda emptied the contents of her stomach on the sand. He grimaced sympathetically, noting the spots of green in the vomit. He would just have to fetch more later, supposing that wasn’t what had set her off in the first place.

Puking’s the worst, he opined rather uselessly as his wife moaned.

He thought about reassuring her that this symptom only tended to last a couple of weeks, yet held his tongue. That probably felt like an eternity while stuck in the throes of terrible queasiness. Instead, Caracal tried to think of some other way to soothe Heda’s mal de mer. But there wasn’t a whole lot he could do, save for treat the symptoms.

And pray, he suddenly realized out loud, his lips moving in a silent prayer as he broadcast, Hey, God? It’s me, Caracal. I was wondering if you could give Heda some relief, in a generally skyward direction. Please? And thank you.

poor caracal! he had even given her medicine for it! when heda could speak again, she took a moment to delicately wipe her bittered mouth, sweeping the tears of effort away as well. 
"i'm going to eat that shark," she declared with a weak little laugh, though her chin tilted with resolution. "it's a good and sweet meat. it won't go to waste."
slowly heda stood, accepting caracal's nearness enough to lean on him a moment while her head cleared. and then she pulled away, moving back down the sandline to the water itself until it touched her elbows, lapping softly as heda rinsed her mouth.

Her determined proclamation brought his attention earthward again. Caracal smiled at Heda and raised his forepaws. He planted them back on the ground as she leaned against him, watching as she sidled toward the water. After a moment, he trailed after her.

I’ll go back and get more medicine, probably grab enough to stash it near where we sleep, he thought aloud. You wanna head that way? Maybe you could lie down for a bit. I’ll bring the shark and stash it too, so you can eat it when you’re feeling better.

heda did not answer right away. she was facing out to sea, out to the great vital dark expanse with all its secrets and dangers, her love shimmering upon its surface with the sunlight. did bartholomew think of this place, wherever god had led him?
surely so.
"i think i want to rest here, on the shore, caracal," she spoke at last in a small, odd, faint voice as she waded back to shore. "i want to pray."
prayer for heda was a silent communion, something she shared with no one since the man of god. she knew she ought to bring caracal into it, and she meant to do so. but the still small voice so soothed heda that she did not have words to repeat. her golden eyes looked in question at her husband.

She didn’t answer right away. Caracal waited patiently, gazing at her in mild concern. Maybe she was about to be sick again. There was probably no more efficient place to vomit than in moving water, he supposed, although that made him wonder: would this count as seasickness?

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. He blinked, registering what she’d said. He nodded. Caracal would stay if she wanted, though he knew she preferred quiet and solitude for her devotions.

Okay, I’ll take this, he said, gesturing at the dead shark, back to our place. Then I’ll go gather some more of the meds. Meet you back there later?

Unwilling to leave her without it, Caracal waded into the shallows to place a kiss on her cheek. He then gently pressed his forehead against her neck. Please make her feel better, he thought prayerfully before withdrawing, leaving his wife in God’s hands.

<3

she felt, perhaps, the prayer in that moment.
heda did not watch him go, but she trusted he would return, even as her eyes closed and she went into her silent discourse with the god of the island and of her spirit.