Qeya River Sing for the hill

Sheep Killer was the name that he had been given. A name which, in comparison to “Sun Eater,” could very well have been a mockery of his character. It took so little effort to kill a sheep, after all. It took more strength to restrain himself from slaying an entire flock than it did to actually kill them. A sheep killer was no more threatening than a squirrel killer, or a rabbit killer. He’d heard the term before- except it had been used to describe him as something entirely different. 

A liability.

He dreamt of sheep- of herds so fast that the animals appeared to move as if in a murmuration. Slow animals, prone to panic. Easy to slay, and yet exciting to herd nonetheless because they moved as one- as one, mindless organism fuelled with fear. 

He awoke just as the gunshot echoed through his dreams. 

He dug up a rabbit he’d stashed before the raid, and shook some of the loose earth off it, wincing as the scabbing wounds at his shoulder pulled and seeped. He carried the pitiful meal, tracking @Senka down by her scent, to the cavern where she had been keeping herself secluded. 

Sun Eater’s scent was present; it made Ksura scowl lightly.

she had found herbs, no doubt stashed by the once medic. she had considered them with a long look and found she did not know which ones to use, which ones to avoid. but she had stored them close to where she rested, where she healed.

the mud that sun eater had smeared across her had dried into a protective crust.

but it was the scent of ksura that came in and woke her. it was the most responsive she had managed to be so far. head swinging upright quick enough from her slumber that the world spun for a moment.

she crooned for him and his nearness.

The air cooled immediately as he stepped inside, and the warmth that might have otherwise pooled at the sound of her voice was choked at its source when the scent of Sun Eater grew. He pulled his lips tight so she might not see how they drew back at his canines, tried to focus on the feel of the stiff rabbit in his mouth.

He bristled at the sight of her, offended by the very presence of her injury. He placed the rabbit on the ground before her and used that excuse to come close, lift his muzzle to hers and exchange a few breaths. 

Mud dried in her fur in places she would not have been able to reach herself. The growl that rumbled in his throat would not be contained and fanned the fur of her cheek. He drew back to look her in the eye, as if to draw memories from them, seek answers to questions he was unwilling to ask.

was it her? was it the fact that sun eater had been here? that he had not scored her skin with anger in that visit but that he had contributed to healing?

she needed to see his face. she looked for too long. silent and soaking it in. he was here. he was here.

why did he stay?

i need to know — she nearly choked on the words and found she felt dizzied by it all. reality crushed her lungs for the moment.

She met his gaze. He realized then, that he was looking for answers but lacked the ability to decipher them. Had he hurt her? Had he been kind to her? Did she forgive him? 

When she spoke, he wasn’t even sure what she was asking. 

It could have been one of a million things, and there would have been reason to ask them. The senseless violence had left him in a state of purgatory. Like a stone dropped into deep water on a dark night, he had no idea of knowing what way was up. 

Or if he could even get there. 

He tilted his head, asking silently for clarification, hoping she wouldn’t think him dense for not leaping to a conclusion.

she remembered he had not thought her the kind to bail. but she wondered what he thought of her now. what was in those big eyes? framed by battle-curled grey edges. her heart felt like it burned hotter than any pain she had endured.

she wanted to ask why he stayed. she wanted to know if she was anywhere in that equation.

selfish bonding.

you did not go. you could have. she wanted to look at him longer but her gaze drifted to her own body now. looking down at scarred limbs.

Quietly, air whistled through his teeth in a reassuring manner. He moved closer, pushing the rabbit aside so he could sink to the ground alongside her, and gently reached to touch her shoulder so she might feel invited to lean against him. 

I couldn’t leave. He confessed. Physically, of course, he could have- but he felt certain that that wasn’t what she meant. She, on the other hand had suffered more severe wounds than him- he’d caught how her gaze drifted toward her leg. He was no medic, but he could tell she was in pain. 

He smothered his own impulse, and in the darkness, considered his words as wisely as he could. He didn’t know her heart, nor did he know what Sun Eater had spoken to her when he had come to plaster mud on her wounds. She was the only one left- and thus, could very easily become the catalyst for his undoing. 

What name did he give you? He asked.

you should have.

but she did not want him gone truly. she only thought he might — she thought of what he might look like free. if he might find his son, if he might find the missing wren and silvertongue. her eyes closed and it was his happiness she imagined.

she could not dream of her own.

she felt lost in his side. as if she might melt into his furs and blend them into one. she might have allowed herself to be freed back into sleep like this if his voice did not come to her again.

stone crier, there is no pride. only the stating of something as simple as fact. what has he named you? he would always be ksura to her. he would always be the joyful man she had shown a hidden cove to.

He felt her sink against him, ice melting against warm stone. He’d never been one to reach out and offer such simple and platonic gestures, but fatherhood had taught him a gentler way. He did not know women well enough to be able to comfort her further without implying desire, so he remained as a still, but comfortable pillow. 

Until, of course, she spoke the name she had been given. He snorted unexpectedly, startling even himself with how loud it sounded in the cavern. He inhaled a breath through his teeth, grimacing at his own rudeness. Sorry, I- He blurted, cutting himself off before he made things worse. 

Stone Crier? 

Stone Crier? He echoed the narrator’s statement like a good puppet. I….Like…Whyyyy? He asked. As in you yell at rocks or- wait, did he make you cry in here and then name you Stone Crier? I don’t- he doesn’t get it Fuck I’m sorry, I just… He shrugged as gently as he could. His voice became small. I like Senka better. But if it keeps you or me from getting beat up… Because that was the world they lived in, now. Accept having their faces shoved in the dirt and  being given new names, or else. 

He called me “Sheep Killer,” ‘cause he asked what I did ‘before’ and that’s what I said.” He said. I feel like it’s supposed to be like…A dig at my masculinity or whatever, considering he’s called Sun Eater and all…I should’ve told him something more badass, He said, flicking a small pebble away with his foot.

Surprisingly, he felt more like himself than he had in days, taking a risk and saying out loud how he really felt. Still, there was danger in confession, and he fell silent, shrinking back into the new reality they shared. 

You can call me Ksura still…When it’s just us. 

Their own little form of rebellion- if she would dare to take part.

he snorted and she met it with warm laughter. for a moment, she was not scared of being heard. she had no fear in this small space between them. she could live in this and find comfort. distract herself from the endless cycle of sleeping and recovering.

she did not miss that he liked senka better.

she kept it close to her heart. a place that had become stone and ice. warmed only by pieces of kinder days.

he had been remade as sheep killer. she tries to picture him as this, this thing. she called him being so quick footed in their chase when she first met him. perhaps he could be so nimble a hunter, but she had not seen him with blood until so recently. even then it had not been the blood of a sheep.

it is like he lived in her somehow. her features are always, heavily, tired but she smiled with fondness. leaned in closer (as if she could) so that she could whisper only for his ears.

you will always be ksura. no one can take that from us.

and i can always be senka, for you.

He did not bear her weight- to bear was too cold and empty a word. For her to rest against him was a silent promise, and a willingness to be vulnerable, and to share the burden of stress, injury, and trauma. He gratefully received her against his side, and allowed his heart to beat like a fledgling's wings. 

He dipped his head, so he could rest it across her forelegs, and so she could rest her head upon his neck where the fur was plush; a pillow for her chin. He exhaled heavily, and thumped his tail against the ground in a gentle echo of his heart, which had finally begun to return to a normal tempo.