Ocean's Breath Plateau sky riders

takes place right after this thread

the boy reaches the outer fringes of the territory, the flurry of emotions that brought him here suddenly leaving when he does. though he's yet to cross the invisble boundary that desonates moontide from the rest of wild, its the wind that takes his emotion's place. it whips and howls from behind him, calling his name.
it dances and races through the field, so eager to lead him into the beyond. when he tries to look back home, though, the wind protests. it blinds him, pushes against him to look where it wishes even when he squints. so the boy caves, and turns to where the wind wants him to though never daring enough to follow it. but his amulet does — it clatters in the wind from his neck, swaying gently from it. he stares at it. wonders if it, too, wishes to leave. if so, then.. he takes it, and it stays clutched in his jaws. the world sits still, waiting.

brave one!
red leaf had trailed so far after him that for a moment she feared she would never find him. by the time she catches up to him, she is winded; her lungs rattle and she trembles with a violent cough, her steps falling unsteady, but she is resolute in her determination to mend her boy.
she rounds upon him, the fierce cut of summer wind tearing at her cheeks, and then she sees — oh, your amulet, her eyes brim with tears yet again, for automatically she assumes that he is the one who tore it from his pelt.
silence hangs heavy in the air before she speaks again, the trill of tree frogs echoing sharply against her eardrums. i'm sorry, atiqtaġa. for all of that. i never should have-- i never should have said anything, i meant none of it, weary, so weary; how pathetic was she, begging her own son to love her? i love you. and i love your father. and-- i do not want you to hurt.
i wish i could protect you.

the wind calls his name again, though she takes the voice of aaka. but grass crunches behind him, and suddenly the wind dwindles. when the boy turns to see why the sudden change of heart, he sees red leaf standing ragged of breath and frail. there's a slight awe in how she hadn't been swept up by the wind, but brave one quickly rips his gaze from her again. and when she circles to face him, brave one plops himself to face away from her with a pout. guilt keeps him away from her as much as anger does.

for a moment, he'd forgotten that he holds onto his amulet. it's quick to escape when he begins to speak, though the boy is just as quick to snatch it and put it on before he loses it, too.

you don't have to lie, aaka. red eyes glance over his shoulder, head held low.

her son, her boy, calling her a liar;
oh; in his rotund face she sees the shame and hurt of a boy who did not deserve to feel such a way, and at the same time she sees the harsh bite of cen's glare, hears his violence in brave one's tone.
i am not lying to you, red leaf stiffens now, forbidding herself from cowering before her own child. brave one. ghelan. i would never lie to you.
if-- if i could bring your father back, i would. i would have had the spirits take me instead of him away from you, so that you-- you could be raised by a better woman, a better mother. you are not stupid. you are his son. you see me through his eyes, and you see that i have-- failed.
it was horrible, horrible of her to say these things before her beautiful boy, and yet she feels as though she is not wrong — that he would be right to hate her, to shun her for this. he was so young, so young, and how much had she put him through already in his short life? she wishes to drop down in front of him and yet she cannot, frozen as stone. i think you are wonderful just the way you are, my otter. you are my son. you are the best thing to ever happen to me. and i do not deserve you.
a pause, a breath drawn ice cold in her weakened lungs. you look so much like him, you know.

he knits his little brows, pouting his lips as frustration shakes from a body far too small to withhold it.
i don't want the spirits to take anyone!

losing aaka would be just as bad as aapa. even if she did fail, even if she does make him angry, to lose her for aapa wouldn't fix anything. he listens to her speak, and wonders what would it be like if the spirits had taken her instead of his father. if his father was in this position, would he sing the same praises? would he even be here with ghelan at all?

and i do not deserve you. sorrow replaces his anger, but he'd cried enough already.

why the spirits take him? brave one turns more of himself to his mother, his expression softening.
you look so much like him, you know. is it becus of me? perhaps the spirits decided that only one of them could exist, then.

no, baby. it's not because of you.
weary red eyes turn back upon her son, heart cinched in her chest; oh, he was too young to be thinking and wondering these things. too young to know the truth.
but perhaps he was already aware of it, in some way — and maybe it was on her for not telling him.
aapa... before he met me, he had a different wife. and he also had a son, your older brother. his name was ghaden. ghaden's aaka died a little while after he was born, and aapa was raising ghaden alone. which is how he and i met.
i helped him to not feel so sad about ghaden's aaka. and then we got married. but then-- something happened to ghaden; th-there was an accident, and he-- we lost him, too. our villages were very upset, and so aapa and i went a long way from our home, so i could have you someplace safer. but-- aapa never really stopped missing ghaden. losing him made him feel very sad, and angry, and-- he started to do and say a lot of things that were very, very mean.
the last time i saw him, he had done something very, very bad, and-- it was why i got so sick. and then he... he just left. he left me t-to die. but it's not your fault, brave one, she reaches for him, one arm opened as if to invite him close to her. i-i blame myself, but i don't-- i'm starting to think it's not my fault either.

none of this made sense.

ghaden? did ghaden have four legs? is that why aapa stayed with him, loved him? or..

your fault? he whispers, nearly whimpers.
if he looks like his father, then what does that mean for himself? does aapa want them dead? why? why why?

i don't want to be like papa. is all brave one can muster.

your fault?
everything, up until now, had been her fault. she was the reason that cen was so angry and miserable. she was the reason that they had moved in the first place. she was the reason they came to moontide; she was the reason she had gotten pregnant. she was the reason that brave one's leg was deformed. she was —
— the reason that ghaden was dead.
her gaze is distant. it's not my fault, she says it more for her son than for herself, her breath a mere rasp in her throat. and it's not your fault either, baby, okay? it's not.
she lowers herself down to coil her body around him, scooping him in her arms and pulling him close to her chest. she buries her nose in the downy ruff of his neck, shaded in cen's dark tones. she pretends as though his words do not stab at her heart.
you do not have to be, she whispers. you are so special, brave one. and you are-- you are loved, very very much, for who you are. never forget that.