Dragoncrest Cliffs Silent blessing

If her daughter had come home distraught, smelling of the traitor’s son, she would have welcomed her with open arms, tears in her eyes for the sorrow her daughter carried. She would threaten the winds with curses they might carry to the young man, so that his heart might bleed from their dagger-whispers.

If her daughter had come home ashamed, smelling of the traitor’s son, she would have brushed such regrets aside, and spoken to her of the blessing she might yet receive in the form of children. Still, she would have cursed the winds- but would have begun praying as well that Suzu’s children reminded her nothing of their father.

If her daughter had come home frightened and full of regret, smelling of the traitor’s son, she could have pulled from secret stashes a medicine that might cleanse her of what she might consider to be an affliction. She would rally a few, and follow the girl’s scent, so she could curse the young man in person.

But here was Suzu- smelling of the traitor’s son, unashamed, unphased, without any apparent regret. She saw pride in that arched brow, and her gaze smouldered to realize just how much her daughter had grown to forget the affliction that Njord and his family had been.

She felt at a loss for words, and fumed silently for a moment.

You did not want dis. You said so yourself.

‘Is fat’er was a coward! ‘E deserted us in our time of need!

Out of all de men in all de world- could you not ‘ave found someone else? Do you t’ink so little of yourself as to stoop an’ bed de traitor’s son?

The workings of her inner mind were not melodic; her thoughts flowed freely when she did not have to give them her voice. Recently, her melodies had begun to fail as well, and her stutter had returned. At a time like this, as stressed as she was, she felt she might do more damage than good to her own reputation if she spoke and was perceived as not only being brash, but incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

She breathed, tasting the salt air; she closed her eyes, allowing the budding tears to hang upon her lashes as she wished that her mothers could be there to offer her guidance.

Swordfish wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be a father- or a packmate. Who had Mireille mated with? Who had she herself mated with- only to deny them access to their children? It wouldn’t have mattered if their father had been a criminal or a saint, really- because Sapphique was stronger than the DNA any man could offer.

She opened her eyes, and noted how her daughter glowed in the moonlight. Her expression softened. She realized then just how much patience her daughter had, to allow her mother so much time to process.

”Berceuse, m-m-m-my ‘eart an’ soul;
If dis ‘as ‘appened, den it be so.
Soon Sapphique may yet again grow.”