Herbalists' Cache a mad thought

star eater watched him, unmoving, as he reached for the child.
his child.
fa’liya’s small, nightshadow body barely stirred beneath his touch, her tiny chest rising and falling in steady breaths. the runt, the smallest, and yet the fiercest of them all. she had screamed upon birth, fought for every breath, refused to perish beneath the weight of her size.
sun eater had done the same, she thought.
her heart ached.
for all the anger she held—for the days she had spent furious with him, resentful, bitter with the burden of bringing them into the world alone—this moment softened something inside her. the reverence in his eyes, the way his hands moved with a warrior’s hesitance, as if the mere act of touching his own daughter might shatter her.
she allowed it.
his offering lay between them, the amulet of caribou fur and dewclaws, its meaning clear. protection.
for a moment, she did not speak, only let her gaze drift to the token, then back to him. it was their plan, their unspoken accord, that their children would be named before the herds, before the open sky.
so she rose.
her movements were fluid, purposeful—no hesitation, no delay. the amulet found its place around her neck, and she hoisted the white pup and the other girl into her mouth, their tiny bodies curling instinctively into her hold.
as she brushed past her husband, her thick fur trailing against his, she turned—looked back.
expectant. waiting.
he would follow. he would take their sons, and they would name them together.