Sequoia Coast tripeka

heda searched for a sign from god that would not come.
heda searched for the word of a god who would never speak to her again.
heda clung to @Dinah when they found each other again, bereaved silence passing the torch of womanhood to a girl born this very year.
in silence. in pain.
her eyes were fixed toward sweetharbor, her every facet yearning.
but now dinah must choose their direction, firstborn girl becoming mother's companion in a breathless, doleful moment.

A pale woman and her red-furred daughter; it was not what Vasa had expected to find. Nor did she anticipate the sorrow thick in the air even from a distance. The air of grief halted her, a lone fish clutched between her jaws as she studied the pair.

Her own hunger gnawed at her, but Vasa decided in an instant that she would try to extend some type of kindness. She approached with tail low and swaying, and set the fish down. Hey. Are you two alright? Vasa called gently, still glancing over them as if she might find the source of their grief written somewhere on their bodies. But they were unharmed. Only sad.

What were they supposed to do?
Where were they supposed to go?
Where do you run when pain shackles your every move, every breath, every thought?
Dinah had grown restless in the passing hours, a shadow at her mother's hip; she ushers their siblings, whoever had come, with a silent force, and after a while, she takes it upon herself to lead with torch in hand.
With her juvenile knowledge of hunting, from the Totoka she clumsily captures a few bluegill. A pitiful meal, but enough to feed what remains of her loved ones. She had remained wordless, silent, even though the silence aches; and not once does she cry, for she fears that if she does again she may shatter; and her throat aches when words finally slip from her mouth. Woeful, tender; You should eat, Mama. 
It had not been spoken, but somehow Dinah knew it would be her who decided their direction. She thought of Gramma, of Seal, of Moonspear; but the thought of it, in that moment, brought a great sorrow churning through her stomach yet again.
A rustle in the reeds earns her attention and a flick of her head. A strange woman, her own catch clasped between teeth. We're fine, she says sharply, red-coiled body immediately lurching into a protective hover over the ailing matriarch. we don't need any help. Please leave.

caracal kissing her, caracal laughing. caracal calling her wifey. caracal praying with her. his face, indescribable, at the birth of their children. his acceptance of eight in the end.
tireless
and she had spat in his face.
snippets of years before: a hunt, a glacier, a woodland. sequoia. druid. mahler.
a father wound that never healed.
she had not eaten when the stranger approached. her coloration, her eyes; they went largely unregistered by the white wolf. the fish tasted like nothing in her mouth, mechanical bites generating energy to go on, to force herself on.

The woman did not speak; the child turned her away. Vasa frowned, but nudged the fish closer to the pair. It looks like you need this more than I do, She said quietly, and turned away from the pair. If what they wanted was to be left alone, Vasa wouldn't deny them that.

Hers was only to bring kindness, softness wherever she could; nothing more. Vasa did not aspire to a higher purpose than this, not after all that she had seen and all that she had suffered. For now she set her sights to the south, a delay of her true purpose in these wilds — but she did not think she was ready. Not yet. The Plateau could wait; it had waited this long already.

Thanks.
Can't you see the world is crumbling?
Bye.
My daddy is dead.
Dinah pulls the fish close to her with an uncoordinated paw and says nothing else until she is certain the stranger has disappeared from earshot. This, she would give to her siblings. She turns her head now to mother, who pecks mindlessly at her own offering.
What could she say?
What could she do?
You need water too, Mom, She gives a soft nudge to the pale shoulder in hopes of guiding her toward the freshwater trickling by merely a few yards away. I'll go with you.
It hurt to move.
We're gonna be okay, Mama. would they?

they would have to be. they had no choice. heda, who had scarcely roused herself from the few miles leading off from the landbridge, now blinked back into awareness. a woman. speaking. another fish. the mother's hackles rose.
instinct, not god. instinct, not truth made flesh.
but then the stranger was gone, and heda turned soft golden eyes toward dinah. all right, baby. she filled her stomach with as much water as could be held, and sat down on the crumbling bank. no words, only a hug, a kiss. no normalcy but touch.
i need to go back for malakai.
i need to find ana.
i need to find abel.
i need to find tzedeq.
but she could do nothing.

Even as her tongue pokes from between her lips and reaches for the water desperately needed, she cannot feel it; cannot taste it. It curdles in her stomach, a cold rush.
Where do they go from here?
Dinah knew nothing about this land, about where she was leading them. What if they walk right into danger's strong grasp? What else did they have to lose?
For this time, all Dinah can bring herself to do is lean into that touch, rest her ear against the soft heart in Mama's chest; still beating. Still red, still warm.
Daddy had still been warm.
What would time do to what was left of him?
It feels unspeakable, these morbid, awful thoughts that choke her.
Where do they go from here?
I love you. because she did not say it enough.

i love you, the silent arms said with a tight squeeze and a kiss to the top of dinah's head.
she was only a girl. only a child. but heda had burrowed so far inside her own mind that even this fact did not touch her: that the suffering of her children now would be her own direct fault, every step they spent away from their home and the aspect of their father.
they had nothing more to lose. they had everything more to lose. heda pushed the stranger's prey toward dinah now.
i love you. i love you.

Mama.
A child's love for her mother; a yearning, a comfort, a fierceness. In the time Dinah had been alive thus far, she saw Mama as a beacon; a marble-white pillar, the heart and mind and soul of her family. Admiration ran heavy.
What Dinah saw now was someone shattered, someone torn down to only the little spark of life that remains buried deep in the confines of ribcage. Someone scattered, disorganized; not all there, not anymore.
A mother sacrifices, a mother provides, a mother is unconditional; and Dinah, at her fresh age, now allows her to put that down at the expense of herself.
But what else was she to do?
She did not hear the exchange, but it was felt, and as hard as she fought and begged for it not to happen before the woman who had already suffered enough, she began to weep. Muted, but rough; unravelling fiercely as her cheeks rush with heat and her eyes squeeze shut, and on the ruff of her mother's chest she can still smell the sea; can still smell Daddy.
She fears that this will be the last time she is ever able to.