Duskfire Glacier who whispered the beauty of snow and the fear of death

The scent of Wintersbane pressed close as she heard his muffled footfalls from beyond the stone walls of her dwelling. The she-dog managed to smother her irrational fear, the desire to lunge forward with defensive snarls and drive the navy tundrian away — thinking he had come to wipe out the tiny threat to his own progeny, to punish her at last for not receiving his blessing to breed. Even so, motherhood had made her fiercely protective of the lone babe tucked against her belly. The gilded merle pressed tighter against the far wall of the den, bending low and curling around Sikuliak so that he was nearly hidden from view. Her lopped auds twitched faintly, somewhat in surprise, to catch the Alpha’s murmured praise and retreat — the last reserves that had held her in fearful suspense of the man crumbling. 

Still, she straightened only when a different gait — one she had come to recognize as Rye’s — reached her ears. Imaq had to fight not to wiggle with excitement, knowing that the man of her affections would soon meet their newborn son, as it would only aggravate the parts of her that were sore from childbirth. The woodland agouti’s steps hitched, causing her own heart to falter — scared that for whatever reason, he couldn’t face them. It felt she was stuck, frozen, with her heart lodged in her throat. Until the Hotah popped his head into the den that was.

Then it was pounding, racing with the thrum of a hummingbird’s fast wings. She more than allowed his nearness, the affection he offered mother and son alike. She welcomed him; crooning an almost inaudible hum as he planted a chaste kiss atop her head — cracked gaze falling shut, speckled crown drifting back to turn her face towards him like she would the sun’s warmth. When her eyes had reopened, aquamarines trailing down to watch as he gently nosed Sikuliak with shining eyes full of unbridled curiosity, Imaq bent, tenderly nudging the pup closer to his father — where Rye could see him better and even cuddle him close if he desired.

 She curled on her side tiredly, watching the he-wolf meet their cub with a small smile of adoration etched on her lips. After a moment, words flowed from them — soft, hesitant, as if she were reluctant to break the silence.

”Imaq can’t say right. But Imaq…care about Rye. Rye has made Imaq mother. Imaq cannot say…no words big enough to say ‘nakummek’ for this.” Her gaze shifted to Sikuliak, ignoring the way he blurred vaguely with the sheen of unshed tears. 

“Imaq would make good nuliak to Rye.” It was even softer, her cerulean optics averted — unwilling to see his rejection if it came. She did not necessarily mean that they should marry at that exact moment — she only meant to offer him…well, everything. 

She meant that he might move himself into her den, share this place and their son entirely. She meant to offer him herself; perhaps the Waterwitch would need to rely on him as she healed but she would honor the role of wife as she had been taught. When she was well, she would care for him as hers — making sure he had a clean, welcoming den to return to and a warm embrace to hold him at night. 

But just because Rye had been kind and loving towards her since their coupling, didn’t mean that he wanted a future with her outside of their children — or child, if this was a one time occurrence. Maybe he was just being nice. Regardless, Imaq wouldn’t penalize him for rejecting her. He would still be able to be a father to Siku either way. She tried to reassure him of this with a small, nervous smile as her gaze finally flickered to his sunlight optics.