Sun Mote Copse whistle as I work

The day before, a thunderstorm swept over the Copse. The flourish flora needed the rainfall, but his kids were not thrilled to be cooped up inside the Taigh. Overnight, the tempest had broke and the blue sky peeked through the clouds in the morning.

“Let’s go tae Orca’s Forest today,” Njord suggested to @Otter and @Skipjack.

Skip didn’t much like storms. They were too loud and overstimulated the little boy. He huddled in the back of the den, trembling every so often. His family members took turns sitting with him—sitting on him, in Towhee’s case—and at some point, the exhausted bairn fell asleep.

He woke to birdsong and sunlight, the latter of which he could only feel when he tentatively peeked his head out of The Taigh. His red tail swayed as he felt someone brush close to him. Da, he thought fondly, ears pricking when Njord spoke.

Okay! the agreeable little fellow said, for once taking care to mind his volume.

He trotted out of the cottage, sea glass eyes brightening when he found the world a good deal smellier than usual. The wet air seemed to amplify everything. Skipjack breathed in deeply, taking a few moments to sort through the myriad scents before he finally turned his head.

His gaze was vague, naturally, but there was an expectant look on his face as he awaited his father and sister.

“Come along Otter,” Njord called until Skipjack’s sleepy sister tottered out from the Taigh. “Ready?” he asked them both, noticing how Skipjack took in the damp world by scent.

“There’s a huntin’ path tae the forest,” Njord advised. The father was still learning how to walk the fine line of parenting when it came to Skip… he wanted to give his son the right tools to navigate and feel confident in the world. Yet, he didn’t want to coddle or make any large concessions that would impede his personal growth. Njord found it difficult not to be a hover-dad.

He set off along the trail and made sure both children stayed under his watchful eye. Perhaps a history lesson could preoccupy time until they reached their destination.

“Did ye ken yer Da used tae live on an island?” he asked them.

Before long, they joined him outdoors. Skipjack waved his red tail as Otter’s body pressed up against his. She stayed close as they fell into step behind their Da, who mentioned a hunting path. That was one of his favorite things: a good path. Paths helped him navigate the world a little more easily.

But he didn’t know the other word Njord used, so he asked, What’s an island, Da?

“An’ island is a piece of land, surrounded by nothin’ but water. One has tae swim or rock-hop tae reach it… An’ island can be in tha ocean, a lake, or even a river…” he explained to his young son.

“I lived on Meares Island, out in tha ocean, with your Granda Vatlyr an’ Granma Priixu… its where I was born,” he added as the trio walked together through the verdant Copse.

He did his best to imagine what his father described: solid land underfoot, contrasted with the cool give of water. Skip enjoyed playing in the copse’s ponds and streams with his sister, though he always stayed in the shallows. Deep water intimidated him, since he couldn’t fathom what mysteries it might contain. He only understood that he could not breathe in water the way he could when striding across terra firma, like so.

Grandma’s name is Towhee! Skipjack refuted with a boyish bray of laughter, entirely forgetting to question this ocean his da mentioned. He did consider Njord’s words enough to wonder, How you get here?

“I ken! He swimmed!” came Otter’s voice a little too close to his ear, prompting Skip to lean his head away.

Njord laughed with his son. “Well, who d’ye think is my mum?” he jeered lightheartedly. It was a bittersweet moment. If only his parents could be here now to see their grandchildren. Njord missed his Da.

When Otter gave a bookish reply, her father ruffled the tuft of fur on her head with a paw. “Aye, I did swim!” he regaled. “There’s nay land bridge tae Meares Island. Ye must be a strong swimmer tae chart the waters.”

He would go on and tell his children of his boyhood on the island and the seafaring, Corten blood.