Great Bear Wilderness rain

there was now a path between moonglow and the glen.

akmaaksi dragged a piece of hide idly in the dust. she had been charged with carrying it, but there was no desire in her to pay focus.

instead the girl followed a monarch along the thin trail, blinking as she kept her entire attention trained on its tiny wings.

don’t mind me, stealing another one with you

the scents and trails told her preparation was underway. it foretold good things, she prayed. prayed. she had found herself spiritually awoken once more, in the wake of her mother’s clarity.

she saw the young girl and wondered.

the pelt gathering dust made her wonder even more! she did not believe any mothers — are you a mother? you carry names — needed to be involved in this.

let me carry the pelt, if you need to follow the butterfly. warmth in her mother’s tongue, she wondered again. would this one know it?

never! <3

ah. this one is like you, anaa.

callyope, grandmother called her. ajâtsuk.

once akmaaksi had heard words in another tongue. she had grown up hearing her father speak them. only his voice remained for only his voice still existed.

the girl let the skin drop to the path, her demeanour growing shy. tautukpik was not here; her heart raced. callyope was family. she did not need to fear. but here she was now, quieted by terror.

learning to be a hunter had given a fluidness to her once uncoordinated limbs.

it would be delicate steps that took her near and she gathered the pelt. placed it upon her own back now. taking the girl’s work did not mean she might be free to go, though.

lead me to where you would rest in this place.

callyope spoke gentle, but was prepared to show the girl the importance of these things when they arrived. tasks were not given simply to make one a busy body.

the directive was necessary.

subdued, curious beneath her planed ears and wilted tail, akmaaksi led them to the willow-grove where kukutux meant to put the moonglow camp when the hunt began.

or was it the healing camp? 

stiffly she halted, looking back at callyope through the veil of her somber eyes.

instruction followed, but callyope did not think she had been understood fully.

her voice still soft, but a word among it stressed for emphasis.

take me to where you will sleep among them, falcon-eyes.

they were growing, becoming older. the hunt might learn them independence. did the girl mean to sleep in the safety of someone else's den? perhaps she meant to find a piece of freedom.

her voice was soft.

her voice felt like a blow.

akmaaksi did not know. the only place she had ever rested was with tautukpik. the girl's heart beat a hard rhythm; she began to pant and collapsed to her belly.

she wanted to go home. she should not have tried to come here without him. she could not make a choice. she did not know what rest felt like.

teary eyes watched the butterfly wing away.

she meant to give a lesson in the matters of caring for things. now she knew she must instead teach this girl to care for things not seen, not felt.

the fur was placed down between them, a paw swept over it gently. both invitation and cleansing in its movement.

we do not need to make this choice now. she laid down upon her own belly, but her gaze was away from the girl. not here to press her further. her eyes closed and for a moment it might seem as if he intended to take a nap.

brother rain makes his bed, aya aya...

a soft melody, started as a hum and her words barely above a whisper.

sometimes the words caught fire in akmaaksi's throat and burned up before she could say them.

this was one of those times. her ears flicked. she knew the song. 

she knew that callyope had seen anaa, one time. had seen anaa while she lived.

i called her something else. i want to remember

akmaaksi grew calmer, but did not lay so near. she shut her eyes tightly and tried to picture that pretty face against a background of sweet-fragranced trees. mother. mama. 

what did i call you?

callyope could sing for two.

sister mist kisses his head, aya, aya...

behind her own eyes she imagined the faces of all the women she knew who sang this song before her. she imagined those she had not seen who sung it too.

she knew she might never fill the space of anaa for these children (and how could she ever?) but she knew in her heart she wished to be anaa from her body too. she knew now that she wished to be wed in the winter and make life come spring.

the girl healed her.

was anaa looking at this sky?

was ... aaba?

akmaaksi knew there had been one other. a fourth soul. she felt its absence, but she was unable to remember.

callyope came to new understanding. the girl did not know she was its origin; she stared at the sky, suddenly very tired.

slow blinking turned to slow breaths. akmaaksi's eyelids fell at last, and she slept, unwilling to face the unknown moments any longer.

can be a fade or timeskip or literally anything <3

the soft breathing told her of the girl's slumber.

mother moon, she fills her arms...

with the water fallen from stars,

she pours it out upon the world

and makes good things to grow again....

aya, aya, when you see her face in the sky,

say mother moon, do not pass me by..."

and by the end of it she had put herself into a half-sleep state as well.

im good to fade! we will need another!

akmaaksi slept there beside callyope, and she dreamed of those great trees again, and wind in their branches, and three warm bodies beside her own.

but in the dream when she looked up, anaa had no face.

from the emptiness where her features should have been came callyope's song, lilting. beautiful. but it was not enough for akmaaksi. 

it would never be enough.