Permafrost Hollows everlong

the boys were sleeping.

she felt the nagging of her bladder and excused herself from the den, seeking somewhere not too far to find relief.

on her return she was slow to amble, taking in breath after breath of mountain air. it felt right to be here - peaceful, beautiful.

wilwarin breathed a sigh and took time for herself, nosing through a swath of flowers growing on the hill.

the place behind the waterfall was a circlet of hot water, a pool of steam which hissed against the air outside.

he gathered the purple fruits; he drank the leaves here.

and the star web filled the dreamer.

the tips of his fur reached for wilwarin as he stood quietly beside now, eyes drinking in the sky.

"are you home, dancing fox?"

she heard him approach and did not lift her head, not until he spoke. in her grip was a cluster of flowers and as answer, she let them fall away as petals on the wind; dancing there between them, netting in his fur.

wilwarin was smiling. she leaned close to the dreamer and rested her cheek upon his shoulder a moment — then reached to playfully tug at his scruff, and made an expression like a laugh, only soundless.

yes, we are home.

wilwarin pulled a laugh from him, and the petals spilled against his chest. her teeth were gentle on the ends of his fur.

home then.

the star web throbbed. the purple fruits whirled.

the dream went on.

"what do you see for us here? whatever i can't dream, i'll build," he said with quiet earnesty, nosing along her own shoulder.

this place held everything they would ever need!

they were secluded, but not hidden from the world. there was so much beauty here—and the threads sang to her when she slept, filling her mind with a lullaby which, in the daylight hours, she wished she could sing to her sons.

the dreamer could hunt for them. in time so could wilwarin; and the boys would grow up well here, she knew it.

she danced for the man and said in her silent way, happy boys. good dreams! and full bellies.

this he could do.

the dreamer put an arm around wilwarin, moved his muzzle against the warm curve of her throat as he sought for his own reassurance.

"the boys can learn to dream here too," he murmured, a curious note in his voice as he looked out across the frozen hollows. "i can teach them to hear Wolf's voice, as i do."

to think that her sons would learn to see the threads, and to dream, was something of a novelty to wilwarin. she was glad to have dreamer at her side; and she reached for him now, as he spoke, and kissed his cheek, innocent enough with her attachment.

i wish i could tell them stories, she mouths, making sure he is watching. i wish my anaa could see them.

they would never hear their mother's voice; she had none, except in her dreams, where she imagined herself singing and dancing. can Wolf bring me my voice? and here her face split with a silent laugh, a wide pantomime so that dreamer would know she is only jesting—but there is a pang of longing there, lodged in her throat.