Ocean's Breath Plateau Out on the mira

Her senses betrayed her, surely.
Madness, it was- and yet, it couldn’t be. 
Her children knew the scent of their father, of their brother…It was not a dream that she had succumbed to, it was not the afterlife where she walked, as she crossed the borders back to the Plateau. Here it was, the scent of not only @Dutch, but Katmai as well. 

She feared what she might see- and what she might think, say, and feel. She feared what he might have to say, and what he might think when he saw her- wan and thin from grieving. 

Had she come to peace with his absence? Never. But at the same time, she had accepted the fact that she would never see him again. 

And now, she did. And when she did, she froze.

The infection was localized, but he still burned with it as he healed. His body, ravaged by injury and malnutrition, could do little but sleep and recover now that the powerful drive to reach home had subsided. It was the only thing that had fueled him for months, by then, and real food was only just beginning to take its place.

Still, he woke when he sensed her nearby. Beside the fever, there burned another fire, and it was his love for Simbelmyne.

"Myna," he breathed as his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, only his tail moved, weakly beating the ground in relief and supplication. She looked unwell, but how could he blame her? She was still every bit as beautiful as he remembered, and that was more than he could say of himself.

Katmai lay tucked under his throat. For a moment, Dutch appeared almost protective of the boy, as if Simbelmyne might somehow pose a danger to the half-grown pup. But then he lifted his head to reveal the damage to their sleeping son's ear, and it was clear that it was only shame that'd given him pause. Katmai had come to harm under his watch.

"I came as fast as I was able," he told her, his eyes — one clouded — searching her face. He was full of the knowledge that he had failed her and their children. He was angry with himself, and could not imagine she was without any anger of her own. He almost hoped for her ire; it would be punishment well-deserved. Yet, he wanted her to know that this had not been his choice. That he had been striving all this time to reach her once more, and return their son into her loving arms.

But not fast enough.

Little of what stood before her could light a candle to what the man had been in his prime. Tattered, ravaged by malnutrition, gaunt from exhaustion. And yet, at his breast, lay Katmai, preserved save for one ear, a grace she she would be grateful to receive for years to come. It broke her heart to see Dutch like this, and yet-

-and she hated herself for it-

-it was the only way she would have received him upon his return. War-torn and starving, having gone through god-knows-what to return, Dutch had suffered enough that he should rightfully be spared a glimpse of the agony she had endured in his absence...

She felt ashamed of herself for not forgiving him immediately- but she wouldn't show it. Not when he had come home, and brought their son back with him. She whimpered and moved forward to flutter about him, lapping with a featherlight touch at his cheek, wriggling her way gently against his side so she might once more feel him there. 

No questions tonight, she told herself. For now, she would only weep with joy that her husband and her son had come home to her.

His father's voice had not roused him, but Katmai came awake when someone else came near. He was startled for all of a moment before the warm, welcome scent of his mother washed over him. Then he was whimpering, too, and pressing closer to receive his own kisses. He was insistent for a short time before exhaustion overwhelmed him once more, and his young body went slack, sprawled across the forelegs of both parents and wedged as tight as possible against their chests. He was almost too big for it, now — but he was still just a boy. Right now, especially, he was just a boy who had missed his mother quite terribly during a very frightening stretch of time.

He slept hard and deep, and for the first time in a long time, he did not dream.

Though he would not have blamed her for raging against him after all this time, Dutch could not deny the relief he felt when he was accepted almost at once. Readily, he moved to hold her close, drawing her more firmly against him when she seemed to be afraid of hurting him. He might be weakened and injured, but he had strength enough left in him to hold onto his wife.

It became necessary to hold her and Katmai both, and Dutch felt suffused with bliss as he fussed over them both. He felt he could have done so happily for a lifetime, yet he was already breathless by the time Katmai quieted down. He waited for the boy's breaths to even out before resting his muzzle against Simbelmyne's temple.

"You have carried so much," he murmured to her, "And I have not been here to help you. I thought every night of the promises I made you — that you would have love and laughter all of your days."

This had plagued him endlessly. The vain hope that she would be laughing here without him had clearly been false; he saw now that she had indeed been suffering. Of course she had.

"I have failed you," he breathed, tears rolling down his muzzle, "But please know that you were still loved. Every day, Myna. I wanted nothing more than to make it back to you. To bring him home to you."

Katmai would never grow to be too big for his mother's arms. He could grow as tall as a redwood, as broad as a cedar and still she would find a way to string herself about him and hold him in her embrace like a kite tangled in a tree's limbs. Shoulder to shoulder with her husband she lay, the dark-pointed boy sprawled across their limbs. She felt numbness settle into her paws; it helped bring feeling back to her heart to bear his weight once more. 

No, no- She tried to interject when Dutch began to explain. Guilt clenched her heart, squeezing tighter and tighter as he professed both his failure and his faithfulness. She gritted her teeth, reeling; she had given up. She had lost hope. She had drawn close to the cliffs and if only the wind had pushed just a bit harder- he would have come home to find himself as a widower. 

She held her breath so the sobs that threatened to consume her would not wake their sleeping son, but found herself at last gasping for air. It was fortunate that Katmai was so exhausted; he might not stir and see his mother struggling, or feel the tears that fell on his fur. I gave up, She confessed. I--I gave up. On you, on him- I g-grieved, I- She held her breath until it made her feel dizzy, and pressed her forehead hard into Dutch's shoulder. She shook under the effort that it took to keep herself from snivelling.

Part of him was much aggrieved to hear that she had given up on him, but he knew in his heart that he couldn't blame her. Sometimes, hope was more painful to live with than desolation. Hope took more energy and strength than he'd had in him these past few months. Mostly, it'd been desperation driving his paws ever onward.

"We are not meant to shoulder these things alone," he said after a long moment of quiet, when his throat had loosened enough to speak once more. "But you did it anyway. You are here, safe. You've kept our children safe. The rest — that can be mended."

He wondered, though. If she had given up on him, did that mean there was someone else? This was another idea that'd plagued him during their dogged fight to make it home. Some days, he had hoped she would find succor with Chakliux. Others, he was jealous over the previous day's hopes. On his worst nights, he worried he would return to find the families split, and Simbelmyne living happily with a stranger his children called father — or worse, a stranger who would not allow them to address him as such.

But her coat smelled of solitude. Loneliness. Guiltily, he found himself grateful.

"There were nights I wanted to leave Valiant behind," he confessed, though he was not sure if she would find solidarity or shame in such a thing. He carried on anyway: "Some nights, I waited for him to ask. Go on without me. We have said these things to each other before. But he knew — we both knew — he would not make it back without me. And he has a family to get back to, too."

Still, Dutch had had to bite his tongue over and over again to keep from suggesting they travel ahead.

"But I worried," he said, his voice wooden. "For Katmai. For myself. In those mountains... I was sure each time we laid down to rest, we would not get back up again." A shiver rippled down his spine as he recalled the searing pain of the cold. "Of course I am glad we stayed together, but..." His ears flattened, and he seemed to come back to himself. "You were almost right to have given up. If things had been just a little different, we might not have made it back at all. Or I would have come back having done something so monstrous as turning my back on a brother."

Her heart felt bitter, and a sour taste worked its wat into her mouth. She remained pressed to his side, head canted against his shoulder, listening between her own ragged breaths to the story of his travels. It sounded as though she was forgiven for having given up on him; she felt shallow for not having the same kind of grace that he seemed to possess. 

She found herself wishing that he had turned his back on his brother, so that his son might not have suffered those hardships. She wished that he had left Valiant in whatever condition he was in so that she did not have to suffer the loss she had been certain was hers to grieve. She resented Valiant, and she resented Dutch's decision to delay his return for the sake of his brother's life. His selflessness was abrasive when she felt her own selfishness. 

I don't want to hear any more, She said quietly. She was tired; she knew she would not sleep yet, but she did not want to keep hearing things that would make her hate herself more.

He sensed before she spoke that these words were unwelcome. Dutch quieted as soon as he was bid, uncertain what part of this confession had been most unsavory to her. The panther felt guilty for all of it — for having those thoughts at all, but for not giving in to them as well. For leaving in the first place, when it was not his own child nor even Valiant's that'd been missing. That was still missing, so far as he knew.

Dutch had never met Nutuyikruk. He mourned her anyway, just as he mourned her mother. It had not seemed fair at the time to focus on his own family when another had been so thoughtlessly torn apart. He had not given proper weight to his absence, which had surely been a heavy burden on Simbelmyne even before it stretched to untenable and unexplained time away.

Apologies felt hollow when he'd made each choice that'd made her and Katmai both so thin and wan.

He did not reply, unsure whether even acquiescence would be welcome if it came in his voice. He groomed her instead, as if putting her beautiful coat back into order would somehow heal the unseen wounds he'd dealt her as well.