Stavanger Bay motherling

Raising three rambunctious children was stress inducing for any young mother. 

It was Samani’s death that broke her. When she learned of it, when she heard the death songs, all she could do was weep. It came in waves, small lapping things that quickly overwhelmed her and dragged her under. Little things like Oh, I should tell her of the sunsets in the bay, she would love them. Like I never returned that to her, I should someday. But she never could, she could never return what she had borrowed, because Samani was gone. There was no friendly face waiting over the next border, there was no happy voice to call her name. There was nothing. Samani was simply there, then fading, then gone.

She wept, but she tried her hardest to not let her children see it. They would never meet their aunt, they would never meet the bright woman that had steadied her in her times of grief.

Saltshore faded around her, Rhaegal here and then gone in flashes of times she was aware and not tucked deep in the dark of her mind. The noise broke across the bay and she raised her head, snapping to awareness. Chakliux was a voice she remembered, but hadn’t ever expected to hear from.

Vairë crawled to the mouth of the den and responded: yes, I am here, come to me here.