Ouroboros Spine the pulse of our hearts

The last few days had pulled her away from the spine, but not without purpose. In quiet devotion, Agana had sought to fulfill her promise, gathering all she knew the moonwoman would cherish: delicate white flowers, their petals pure as untouched snow, and a smooth moonstone, its glow reminiscent of the night sky’s gentle watch.
Was this the moment? The day she would finally lay her heart bare, unshielded by foreign tongues or distant dreams of a fate that might never come?
She had prepared in silence, fashioning a secluded den far from the main camp, a place where her gifts had rested, waiting for the right time. And now, with careful urgency, she gathered them between her jaws, her steps purposeful as she made her way toward the ulaq, hoping, praying, to find @Kukutux alone.

<3!!!

as the future was thrashed and the paths fell away into an uncertain murkiness, kukutux found silver light in the face of agana. she had been away, and now beneath the gravid curve of a radiant moon she came.

agana, surrounded in the floral bounty of white flowers.

her heart ached. her eyes stung.

kukutux, alone there at the ulaq where so many moments of her life had been spent in delight, raised salt-glitter eyes to agana now.

she did not know what to say! her, of all; no words would come.

Agana stood at the threshold of the ulaq, the dim light casting soft shadows across her face. The moment she laid eyes on the Moonwoman, standing alone in quiet contemplation, something in her chest tightened; an ache caught between sorrow and devotion. Had she come at the wrong time?
Still, she did not waver. With careful steps, she moved forward, the gifts held gently between her teeth. When she reached Kukutux, she set them down, nudging them closer in silent offering. Her gaze, luminous beneath the flickering light, searched the woman’s face. „Are you well, Kukutux?” The words were quiet, yet heavy with meaning.
There was hesitation, a lingering pause; but then she closed the space between them, embracing her without a second thought. Perhaps it was bold, but Agana did not care. Before anything else, before traditions, before duty, Moonwoman was a duck, one who did not deserve to bear her burdens alone.
„I am here.” A murmur against soft fur, her voice steady, her breath warm against her fur. She nestled closer, breathing her in, letting the silence settle between them. If she was unwelcome, she would step away; but the thought of being turned away was one she was not yet ready to face.

"much changes around me," kukutux exhaled, grateful. worried for how relieved she was to see agana, to feel the press of the other's affectionate regard encircle as if it were a cape of fur.

work-rough palms cupped now the gifts, and she allowed their satin touch to soothe the fraying nerves of her heart.

and then she set these things aside, winding her arms hesitantly, almost shyly, around agana.

for a moment. only for a moment.

"it feels to me like — my world. it is breaking."

hard swallow bobbed her throat painfully. she let herself fall into that worried gaze.

"and at last, agana, i do not know what must be done."

an anguished admission.

The argent listened carefully, the weight of the moonwoman’s words settling deep within her chest. The embrace, however brief, was enough to tell her all she needed to know; she was not just troubled, but unraveling.
Her own gaze, warm and steady, held her jadestone eyes as if willing her to borrow some strength. Agana did not offer empty reassurances, for she knew the weight of such sorrow could not be brushed away with mere words. She pressed her forehead gently against hers, a silent vow. 
For once, as the moment wrapped around her, Agana longed to be selfish; to let her heart spill the quiet confessions, to claim the space that should have been hers to speak. Yet doubt curled around her resolve, a whisper against the walls of her mind. No; this was not the time. The weight of unspoken words settled in her chest, and she swallowed them like a secret never meant to be told.
„Then we will find the path together,” her voice was quiet, certain, „Even when the world shifts, you are not alone.”

kukutux knew she should not find so much comforting in the feel of agana's intimate embrace, but she was unable to help it. this was not the touch of a stranger; it was agana, her minkhaired companion whose sentiment had spanned so many years.

their eyes met, gazes mingling.

together.

together.

"i must tell him, agana," moonwoman heard herself say;

"and i must tell you of sakhmet."

their paws, twining together. she looked into the eyes that held so much warmth and drew a breath, filled with an unknowable fear.

Agana did not flinch, nor did she draw away. Her touch remained; a gentle twining of paws, steady as the thrum of blood beneath fur; but a subtle tension crept beneath her skin, like frost spreading beneath the surface of still water.
Sakhmet.
The name landed soft, but it echoed. Unspoken things stirred. A pang, sharp and small, tucked itself neatly behind the curl of her smile, hidden where the moonwoman would not see. She would not falter, not here. Not when the woman who meant so much sat so close, eyes filled with fear and trust.
The argent should not feel this way about Kukutux; moonwoman, wife, mother. A life already woven tightly with another's thread. Agana knew this, she had always known. And still, like a moth to silver flame, she could not keep from orbiting her. It was shameful, in some small, hidden part of her soul. To crave closeness that wasn't hers to have. To long for touches that might only be given in friendship, even if they left warmth in her chest that no one else ever had.
So Agana tilted her head just so, as if curious, as if not wounded. As if the syllables of another’s name hadn’t struck some chord in her chest. She smoothed her paw once more against the duck, grounding her in the present. Grounding herself. And when she spoke, her voice was warm, threaded with understanding, not accusation.
„Then tell me.”
A soft invitation, not demand, not interrogation. But her gaze held fast to Kukutux, quietly searching for the shape of this woman, Sakhmet, in her jadestone eyes.
„I want to understand,” is what her silence said. Even if it hurts. Even if your heart has touched another.
For Agana would rather bleed quietly than break the closeness they shared.

"she was wife to my kinsman, kigipigak. their village of natigvik, it did not last. and so they came to moonglow. but he was not happy. he went away in shame; he left her and a son to this hearth."

"love came after. she and aiolos too shared one another, and our children were born as one."

a breath; quivering.

"but her heart was broken. sakhmet went away long ago. she has not left my heart," kukutux murmured, eyes searching the face of agana. "you did not either."

a breath! a pain; a hurting.

"he is my husband."

swallowing hard; "for us. tell me. in your mind, what is it you see?" surely she did not need to say she would not give up a beloved husband and a life, not even for the sweet golden tendrils of what might have been.

agana would not ask that — surely. surely.

brb crying </3

Lashes lowered, eyes resting on the damp earth between them as if it held something she’d dropped long ago. A small sound escaped her lips; an exhale that might have once been a laugh if it hadn’t caught in her chest. She shifted her weight subtly, paws pressing into the ground as though grounding herself would still the ache rising in her ribs.
When she finally looked up, her face wore the softness of spring thaw: kind, gentle… and cracking if one looked too long. „I am glad,” she began at last, and her voice was so steady it hurt. „That your life has held so much love.” The words were a polished shell, smooth from too much handling. They came easy; but not because they were light. Her smile followed, faint and uncertain, a trembling thing that never quite reached her eyes. She tilted her head just slightly, as if to keep herself from leaning forward, from stepping closer, from saying too much. Inside, her heart writhed. She could feel it beating against her ribs like a bird against glass.
The argent had not imagined this; had not let herself. But hearing Kukutux say her name, soft and unforgotten, was like reopening a wound she thought long since scabbed over. There was something in her, desperate and fragile, crying out choose me. But she swallowed it like she always did. Like she always would.
„I always knew it could not be me,” she continued, lifting her chin slightly, spine straightening as though bracing herself against the truth. „Not fully. Not in the way hearts hope for, when they are young and foolish and burning.” Her tail brushed once along her flank, nervous and searching for something to hold. Her ears twitched toward the moonwoman, but she did not close the distance. Her eyes flicked away again; brief, haunted.
„But I am not foolish anymore.” The smile returned, thinner now, more porcelain than warmth. Her breath was slow and practiced, as if she’d spent moons learning how not to fall apart in front of the woman she once might’ve lived for.
„You have made something beautiful,” she whispered, voice nearly caught in her throat. „You, and him. And I could never ask you to break it.” Her jaw clenched for a heartbeat. Then she let it go; not the love, not the pain. Just the thought; the aching dream of being chosen, the idea of asking, the imagined moment where she might say: Stay with me. Be mine instead.