Nova Peak dearly

“There is too much bleeding. Spirits, you lose much blood.”

Things have slowed down significantly. Shadows pass with hectic urgency. Ayovi tries to pay attention, but she is besotted at her children, tucked away and safe with their father. “Skorpa— our boy. Look at him. He is a flame, isn’t he? He is a fighter; a survivor, a warrior, just like his father. Our Nowkē.”

“Her womb—! ah, ah, we must stop bleeding. You will be okay, just breathe.”

Over some things even fear is powerless. “Our daughter, see how she glows, like the night sky? Bright and iridescent, and her little temperament; so calm and soothing, what the devout pray to. She is the Moon, our Mitogē.

"Hun lever, ayovi. hun lever, mit regnvand."

“She lives.” Tears drench the creases of her grin. There is no denying the strength of their last, for her warbling fills the little den with a triumphant song. “Have you ever seen anything more precious in all the world? Her voice— she is a soloist, a poet; a romantic with a starry call. Chipeta, our singing songbird.”

“Whatever is needed, tell me.”

Her children, named. Safe. With their father, and the capable hands of love that surround them. If ever children were born into a palace of adoring worshipers, it was their three. They were Skorpa all over, his fire and his warmth. Ayovi felt a strange sense of peace.

“Skorpa—” She only stares, blue gaze observing her husband from a distance. All the light comes so suddenly to shine in his eyes. Her mouth numbs, she wishes to speak, and cannot. Their eyes meet and she smiles. Skorpa.

How wonderful to be understood, and never have to explain.

Therewith all the awareness of Ayovi passes.