Sequoia Coast cantaloupe

yes. he stayed within his Dream.

the woman, who he had continued to call dancing fox until he thought of her as the same, she was round with children and close to her time. he could not think of leaving her, and so he lay upon that bluff until he could travel again and move with more than a hobbling gait.

he would repay her. 

scars covered one side of his face, pink and healing, ridged in their tangled masses. he stumbled in one direction, following the sea and traveling inland only when boundaries decreed it.

eventually he found a place of spreading ice, where unbeknownst to him, a man and his sons had once traveled for a ritual. the glaciers roamed and cracked, and when he let out his breath, it hung in the air.

the taste of Wolf's blood filled his mouth, and the dream glossed his eyes with an unnatural obsidian glint.

here he would camp, at least until the children of dancing fox were delivered. then, and only then, could he be free to choose his path. until then, wolf dreamer belonged to the notion of protecting her through these vulnerable times.

Wilwarin was positively corpulent.

It was a wonder her tiny body could inflate to such proportions! How had she managed it, when she barely ate? Her activity level had been erratic for the past few weeks; spurred by the feminine urge to be a caretaker (exacerbated by her condition), she had tried to hunt for the sick man and keep him fed before herself.

Yet her belly grew! It grew and grew, and there came a point that her hunting became more of a restlessness, until the man had roused and helped her to build something of a small haven. It was enough to fit herself, perhaps him as well — she had co-opted his sickbed for it, as he no longer required it himself.

Now the so-called dancing fox was struggling in a new way: finding comfort, when her belly had overwhelmed her. Wilwarin felt as if she might rip in two if her belly grew any further! An idle fear of that happening—and the visions that were summoned by the idea—kept her from sleep.

the shelter was of packed snow over braced branches. they gleamed like ribs along the inside of the den. wolf dreamer had dug down into a huge drift, found ice behind, and tunneled back the way he had come. worry for collapse had brought him to mind of reinforcing the thing.

dancing fox had done too great a portion of the work, he decided, glancing toward her with worry chasing the line of his jaw. there were no skins to warm the inside of the shelter, and so he lay with the woman often, hoping to warm her.

hunger was beginning to overtake the man. his small catches of fish and birds went mostly to dancing fox, and he was still healing, too weak to consider hunting the straggling forest further inland. too weak to even think of hunting on the sea.

"if i die, dancing fox, eat my body." his black eyes blinked slowly under the haze beneath which he breathed and slept. "use my fur to warm your children." wolf dreamer smiled. "i will not mind. i want you to do it."

It was warm beneath the snow. Being together with the scarred man made her feel more at-ease despite not knowing him, at least not really, and then he offered more of himself in a way that Wilwarin found shocking. She gasped, and then probed with her sharp snout at his furs, as if physical contact might be the remedy for such a dark thought. Nose-nuzzles, tiny flickering tongue-kisses, emphatic bids of affection as if to say, you worry me, and let me fix you.

She had helped him all that she could; somehow, he had survived. Now that they were together it felt fitting that he repay the debt of her attention with some guardianship of his own; but it was not right, offering his own flesh like this! Offering his pelt as bed for her unborn! She was afraid of what was to come, certainly—but she also trusted that the land would provide.

Inside her belly the cubs churned, and one struck hard from within, making Wilwarin pause momentarily to check herself and gasp for air, briefly winded. Had he felt that too? There was life wiithin her!

against her side, the dreamer felt beneath his paw the child bulging the strained sides of the small woman. he too must believe that the land would provide, but would seal crawl from the waters to be eaten? would whale cut itself into strips?

no, he must do it. he must take what the land gave and bring it here, to dancing fox. and if he could not do that, this was the only other way she might live.

Wolf stirred as his thoughts aligned with that of the woman though this was unknown to them both.

she is afraid, but the dreamer felt this rather than saw it upon her.

there was a long silence, and then,

"the child is strong." was she so strong? was he?

Wolf grinned. 

tell her the dream.

not yet.

There was no telling how long it would be.

How long had it been for her mother? For anaa? She tried to think back to those days, but her head had begun to throb lightly and the effort only made the ache stronger; she felt it now in her chest, and realized she missed her mother deeply—and while she had been present for the birth of her siblings, Wilwarin could not grasp the entirety of her condition; it was to be a gauntlet, and she refused to dwell for long upon it.

The children settled, eventually. She let out a few low, long breaths and adjusted her weight only to find the effort to be pointless. She was just too large now, and no position would ever feel comfortable.

The man comments on her children, or child; and she smiles with such warmth!

Mouthing in her silent way—perhaps for the first time in this man's company— I cannot wait to meet them. You will stay?

the dreamer did not expect the perfect moue of her mouth to form soundless words; he stared at her mouth, scarcely comprehending.

so she can speak, Wolf purred in a low growl that vibrated into one ear and through the other.

"i will stay." it felt wrong to speak aloud, as if dancing fox had removed scales from his eyes, and he could see that there had never been a reason to use sound.

it felt clumsy, saying words, feeling the thin rush of air to form them, the press of tongue. he was suddenly and direly aware of the teeth in his mouth and the packed snow under his elbows.

"you trust me to help you deliver them?" wolf dreamer had no experience with this, not even in the world before. he had been selfish then. he was unskilled now.

When he affirmed he would not leave, she felt a weight ease off of her that she had not expected. It was easier to have someone, she thought; she hated to be alone. The young woman nuzzled her face in close to him (and given their proximity this was easy enough).

She watched him idly, and when he spoke his question she did not know what to say, because she was still afraid. Her little breaths now fanned through his fur, and she huffed softly with her nose, but smiled, and raised her head enough to nod to him.

he returned to his dreaming, staring off out the small dark aperture which marked the mouth of the snow-cave. at some point he lay scarred muzzle across his paws, curling tighter to dancing fox.

she carries the next part of your dream, Wolf sighed from far beyond. he found he had come to hate the sound of Wolf, even as he looked for it. but now fear rose in him, pointed and goatish.

Wolf's unnatural teeth gleamed. she will live.

and the children?

ragged lips frayed around the clicking skeletal jawline; i promise only for her.

when wolf dreamer's soul returned from its flying, he stirred and looked down for the woman, dread gnarling his belly as he remembered what Wolf had said about her own.

If sleep came to either of them, it would be a blessing.

Wilwarin was content for now. She enjoyed the warmth and companionship of the scarred man. She depended upon him to a great extent already, and as her due date crept nearer still, she would only know desperation if he saw fit to leave her. The trust she held was part naïveté and part reckless hope.

It did not occur to Wilwarin that he may only be staying to repay his debt, and once the children were born perhaps he would see fit to leave — it was a terrifying thought, to be alone and to be a mother; she tried not to dwell.

Her own mother had done it, and so if Wilwarin must, she would find a way.

As the man watched the mouth of their sleeping place, Wilwarin drifted in to her own waking slumber; with the man coiled close to her and the babies in her belly occasionally giving in to spasms of kicks, she would not fully sleep but found some middle ground for rest.