Wheeling Gull Isle sawajus

the days were getting colder.
the highest point of the greenhills remained heda's most favourite place. she was there now, turning slowly as she looked at every part of the island, and at the great dark sea stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions.
she began to sing, overcome by the loveliness of the place where god chose to live.

a song.

a voice singing, one he did not expect.

mojag followed the sound of it, drifting up the island, among the greenhills. he thought of home, even when he saw the sea. especially as he saw the expanse of dark ocean.

the pale shape of someone he knew, standing ahead of him.

mojag came upon heda with a jaunt to his step, stowing his various ill-feelings in an attempt to appear adjusted, and happy, and to not spoil the moment.

you like to sing too?

"i do," heda sighed to mo as he came up to join her. the advisor's silver-smudged eyes were pleasant beneath the great wheeling expanse of sky.
"what do you sing, mo?" she asked, looking back out upon the glory of the island.

oh, um... nothing much, these days.
he'd been caught by surprise by the question, which was silly. he'd started the conversation and they both knew he liked to sing; at least, when he'd arrived. now it felt like he was singing a funeral dirge every time he tried, because in his heart he knew he'd never go home. it hurt to think about.
sometimes they're the songs of -- not my mother, but, someone like that. i guess she's like, um, an aunt, or something. kukutux was anaa, but that would only confuse heda, he thought.
what are you singing?

heda looked at mo's face. "you miss her." it was an observation, not a question. "i'm singing a song bartholomew showed me." she smiled. "i would love to hear one of yours. and then i'll teach you this one."
hymns by the sea. perhaps they would heal him.

she was trying to be nice.
Mo felt his back straighten; he did miss his mother, and so many others, but he thought he had hidden his deeper feelings well enough (which was evidently wrong, but he was such an open book that it was hard for him to hide anything).
mm, maybe, but i... don't know, he wanted to keep his mother's songs to himself. they were precious, private, beloved things.

he was hesitant. heda smiled. "well. what if we made up a song? just you and i?" she grinned at him, again reminded of how much like a brother mo had become to her.
"we can sing about anything you want," she added, to sweeten the deal.