Ocean's Breath Plateau [b] anuqłiqł̣uk

u can come out now @Ghelan

red leaf had not wanted to give birth alone.
that was the reason they were here, was it not? the sharadoii were always firm believers in raising children together, in the men caring tenfold for women during the birthing season. when she was a young girl, she had always imagined this life for herself, her babes. a husband that smiled as he brought her meat, friends that wrapped her in pelts and guided her through the labor; her parents' silvered faces, watching in awe of the new life.
but the universe was not so kind as to lend red leaf such a grace.
instead, red leaf was still very much alone with strangers whose tongue she did not understand. a refugee, an alien, a ghost within moontide's borders. she knew it was coming long before it actually had, the labor, and so she had resigned herself to her quiet whelping den in a far, secluded corner of the plateau. one can hear the sea crashing and frothing just beyond its edge, and the woman took comfort in this.
she did not ask for help when the pain began. she did not know how.
it was terrifying, that first jolt that ricocheted from her pelvis to her knees, and she feels herself buckle with a quiet groan of unease. was it supposed to feel like this? her eyes glaze with panic as she checks herself for blood, as if something was catastrophically wrong; but there is no problem, and it has only just begun.
the second wave sends her to the ground in entire, a shout echoing for nobody in particular. a woman should want her husband in this time, and yet red leaf did not call for him. if @Cen was to come to her aid, it would be of his volition. she could do this. she could, she could.
the white-cloaked girl did as much as instinct would allow, standing, pacing, clenching her knuckles in the sand. she soaked her feet in seawater, clutched her belly as the hammer of thunder struck her again and again. it was endless. every time it got better, it returned worse than the last, and soon she could no longer bring herself to walk.
the tears were soon to flow, and when they did, red leaf cried first for aaka. a mother that was not here. a mother that did not know where her daughter was. the spirits were next, a garbled bargaining with them to keep her suffering short. morning turned to noon turned to night, and red leaf still labored; nothing came of it save for a strained voice and puffy eyes. there were so many hours of this, unrelenting, wave after wave until the young mother began to wonder if she may die here. please, spirits above, she cries; don't take my children with me.
but, once exhaustion stole away the adrenaline from the bird with clipped wings, as the star-twinkle dwindles in the sky above and shades of sun arrive, one tiny, ruddy pup is pulled from the ashes of a sundered body.
a son.
when she lays her eyes upon him for the first time, red leaf is in shock. she sniffles as she pulls him to her chest, wiping his face; a string of incomprehensible sharadoii whispered to him. a son. her son! she guides him carefully to a breast, gentle with her touch as if she may break him, and she begins to weep tearlessly. not for sadness or fear or disappointment, but relief.
for the first time in a long time, red leaf feels a lot less alone.

the babe wasn't informed that today, his short but peaceful time spent engulfed in her turmoiled warmth would end. he didn't know today he would finally get to meet her who sometimes cries alone, and he who would cause her tears. but he knew little of it. he knew little of anything, including that today, he would become ghelan and akiak at the same time. lanzadoii, but also sharadoii.

so it comes as a shock when suddenly, he was being kicked out of his home. oh, how he fought to stay in, he'd behaved well enough! he should be allowed to stay in where its safest. but when he could feel her strain and fight, the son relented. if no one else could be kind, then he will. ghelan had felt enough of his mother's sadness, though he couldn't recognize it yet.

now, ghelan rests against something soft and much bigger than him, but it gave him food. it filled him with the warmth he lost when he was born. the little black cub lies with little movement, sat contentedly against a body he could finally put a name to: aaka.

it was not easy for cen to admit that he had failed his wife. he should have chosen a lanzadoii woman, he told himself over and over. then he would not have had to try and force red leaf to be what he wanted. now she was miserable, and he was angry, and they were in a strange place, together and so separate.

the caribou man paced the shoreline, gathering shells of all colors. he brought them back, as many as he could, as red leaf walked and labored.

when she fell, he dropped his current burden of sea-jewels and ran to her side.

they did not speak. he helped her to the den, his own steps washed by the brine.

her cries were terrible. cen pushed shells into the sand, one by one, panting, fighting the tremble of his jawline. he prayed to oil father and to the ice raven; he offered the blood of a seabird to the water, asking that red leaf and their children live.

nonsensically the caribou hunter gathered kelp, drying it on the rocks near the den. 

the sun moved, and moved again before a son was born, a single child who he crept forward on shaking limbs to see as soon as he was able.

a lanzadoii pup. he did not begrudge red leaf her sharadoii words. she had been in pain. now cen whispered, "you are ghelan," and sighed out in great relief.

the amulet thrummed at his throat, reminding him.

before the scarlet eyes of his wife, cen pulled the thing from his neck and broke it on the stones outside the den.

a son.
the weight of such a realization was delayed, as red leaf spent the first moments following her child's birth weeping with gratitude. weeping for the fact that he was alive, that she was alive; there was only one, only him, and in some selfish way red leaf was glad for this. less resources were to be taken from the gracious moon people, less mouths to whittle away at her strength, but most of all, it meant her love could be channeled into one cosmic calamity, one shining beacon of light in the dim, dreary den.
a son.
immediately she guides him to her breast, not wanting to spare a single moment. she relaxes when she feels him latch, familiarizing herself with the odd sensations and cleaning him with gentle swipes of her tongue.
my brave boy, she whispers only to his ears. i will call you akiak. would you like that, sweet boy?
and then there is a shadow looming before her face. her husband.
you are ghelan.
so quickly the mother's joy is stolen from her. she smiles hazily at him despite the gnawing agony that now crawls up inside of her bones. ghelan. it sounded like — was he only a replacement for ghaden in cen's eyes? it was as if cen had stolen her peace, her moment of familial bliss, her moment of maternal connection.
she had paid her debt. she had earned her worth. this was all he had kept her here for. what now? would he stay? would he take her son from her? would he get better? would he get worse?
she watches as he yanks the amulet from his throat and settles her gaze upon the scattered remains of it, and despite this removal of her spiritual chain, she feels the furthest possible thing from free.

things inch close to him, and suddenly he's rolled over to something soft. instinct leads him to a breast, though he struggles to reach it without aaka's help.

ghelan or akiak, it's all noise to him right now. bothersome even when blind and deaf. what he can feel was the beating of a drum, wild and inconsistent. cries over this muffle over his insistence to drink milk — the baby didn't understand that he couldn't do the two things at once!

somehow though, he manages to quench his hunger. the round ball, drenched in darkness that hides a belly colored of milk, gives out an ungentlemanly burp before dozing off into the land of puppy dreams.