Closed The Weight Of Sight (Naiya)

[Colt]

61st of fall
nighttime

He couldn’t sleep. For energy or the thoughts that refused to rest, or for a simple lack of wanting it, slumber was not something that came to him easily on this night.

Usually, sleep was a quick and easy companion. Every day was a series of tasks and toils and aches, and every day ended with his body doing its best to resist the spikes of pain and weariness that had been born by his labors and lain waiting until the sun slipped below the horizon. Their only conqueror was rest, and because of them rest was usually such an attentive bystander, prepared to enfold him like an old friend the moment he lay himself down to its mercy.

But tonight, rest did not come to him. Tonight, there were no pains. His back was straight and unbowed, his flesh cool and unstrained; no discomforts plagued him or threatened to spring up when he least expected. Long, countless days of crouching and riding and lifting and leading had vanished from his shoulders, leaving him strong and possessed of an uncharacteristic energy.

For days had been washed from him, and in more ways than pain; the tired skin on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes was no longer wrinkled with worry. Where his hair had once begun to fade under sweat and sun, now it was once again dark with the youth that had been returned to him. To an outside observer, especially one who knew him, it appeared as if his age had reversed and peeled away like burnt skin. To a stranger, he would seem no older than nineteen.

While the absence of his pain was, in itself, something that shifted the normal habits of sleep, his newfound vigor was relatively small on the scale of factors that kept him awake. Yes, he found himself less tired than he was accustomed to being, but it was his mind that truly refused to rest. Thoughts whirled against each other in his skull, taking the forms of questions and attempted answers that were weak and unformed, answers that succumbed to each other as none of them had enough ground to stand on.

When dealing with the gods, it was rare for anything to be concrete.

Hair of vibrant green grass and needles, flowing into the ground and over skin as verdant as life itself. A curled finger, beckoning, eyes brilliant and endless and infinitely complex. Blinding snow and a world made of whites and blacks and greys, framing delicate drops of blood like silver around a trail of jewels. The single, wordless invitation: follow.

He shifted, unsatisfied with the stillness and silence of his surroundings while his head was thundering with endless, useless attempts to make sense of what he had seen. The inside of the tent was black. Soundless. Sightless. The canvas walls breathed with the passage of the wind, although not enough to make any impression on the compressed darkness that filled the Dawnwhisper home.

Snow lay at his feet, just in front of the tent’s entrance, sprawled clumsily but remaining still in her slumber, broken only by the occasional twitch of an ear or paw. Though her size would suggest adulthood, the she-wolf was still very much a puppy; she lived every day with excitement and curiosity, and at every evening she was exhausted and happy to pile herself at the feet of her family and not move an inch until morning. Khida lingered outside, clad in feathers for tonight; she too slept, vigilant even in unconsciousness to outside forces that might threaten their family.

Shahar kept his thoughts to himself, not caring to wake either of them with his restless mind; it was difficult to even think of how he could put words to what he was feeling, although the cold facts of his vision were easy enough to summon up. More uncertainties, more questions, lurking under the surface of something that pretended to be simple.

Letting loose a soft sigh, Shahar turned over as gently as he could to regard his fire-wife, she who was sunrise skies and laughing embers and leaves that had forsaken the tree to forever seek the wind. Warm and unyielding, eyes always pointed to the future, arms always ready to carry the rest of them along with her.

The work of the season had left them little time to speak to each other. There were times when it seemed as if they lived two entirely separate lives, next to and parallel to each other with faint patches here and there when they joined. A glance in the morning. A word at midday. A hushed ‘goodnight’ in the evening. Next to one another, but separate.

He missed her.

They hadn’t spoken of what had happened at the tree. Such things were private and singular, only shared at the behest of the one who had experienced them when and if they felt compelled to speak of the event. His beast-kin had been the ones to witness his prayer, and Neiya and Seirei had both felt drawn to seek out the tree on their own ground. He hadn’t asked after what they saw or did, and they had not asked him. Neither of the women seemed to have experienced the strange reversal of age that he had––he himself didn’t possess a mirror, and so he wasn’t even entirely aware of what precisely the mysterious fruit had wrought on his appearance, occupied as he was with the more abstract gift of sight it had given. But beneath the weight of his own vision, Shahar could see that there was something that lay heavy upon Naiya’s shoulders, something that hadn’t been there before. Although he hadn’t asked after it, he wondered as heavily as he did anything else that rattled around his mind, perhaps made even more poignant by the hollow lack of Naiya that had ever so slowly been creeping up on him for more days than he cared to count.

Nestling closer to his wife-of-fire, Shahar let his face rest a finger’s-width from the back of her head. They were wrapped up in the same bedding, as they often were, but, like many things, their slumber was not shared. He didn’t know if she was awake or not; he had never had such energy keep his eyes open before, and had never listened to the measure of her breath after Leth and Zintila took their conquest of the sky. He listened now, even as his own breath stirred the hair that tumbled over her shoulders, a copper veil that held the illusion of a barrier between them. Absently, Shahar raised a hand to finger through a single auburn lock, bringing it away from the fold and closer to himself. He was gentle and he was slow; if Naiya did not share his difficulty sleeping, he would not be the one to shatter that, but he missed her in a way he could not describe. In the darkness and in the silence, a closeness of any sort would make him happier.

[Naiya]

Where sleep escaped her husband, it had claimed Naiya as its bed partner, but her rest was fitful, plagued by the dark response to her prayer to the goddess. The winter coast was a familiar sight, the ocean booming across the sand and rock alike, red tinted the scene, darkening what should have been a happy sight. Battle had taken place, and her home left battered, it was a scene from the deepest recesses of her mind, the only thing that could have made it worse would have been to see her family laid out at her feet.

That was what troubled her most about the vision, she asked after her family and received an answer of blood. It would not let her rest, and when sleep did overtake her it was filled with the same bloody vision. She woke and slept in equal parts, neither offering her the escape she desired.

What did it mean for her family? How could she protect them? She could hardly manage to spend time with them now. Their lives were busy, connected by the bond of love and companionship but little else. Shahar and Khida were hunters, always out in the grass while her own work kept her home, or out at the shop that offered her employment. Even so, her every plan, her every goal was on their behalf. Her work with needle and thread provided them clothes, repaired yvas pads or patched tents. Raising zibri would provide them a security, the promise of milk, cheese, and if they grew truly desperate, meat. Goats would provide all of the same comforts, and meat more readily. All to lighten the load, to let her husband rest, to bring him ease from worry when his snares turned up empty.

Her husband who had been granted a great gift from the goddess today, a vigor that was obvious to them all, youth of years past brought to light in the gentle lines of his face and the lightening of his hair. For his sake she lie utterly still in the dark of their shared tent, only in her brief fits of sleep did she move, and even those movements were small, a constant policing even in sleep so that she would not disturb the others, not disturb Shahar.

It came as a mixed relief when she became aware of him, of his wakefulness. His sigh was gentle as he settled himself closer to her, the nervous racing of her heart slowing as the calm presence of her husband took hold. He was her home, always, a safe harbor for her to settle into. She began to blink away the heavy fingers of sleep as his fingers found her hair, a touch so gentle she might not have noticed it if she had been sleeping in earnest. Instead she turned her body to face him, finding his face only a fingers breath from her own.

Concern, inquiry her hand found his where it played in the lock of her hair, tracing the shape of his hand until she was able to entwine her fingers in his. Their bedding was warm, but his hand felt cool from exposure to the air between them. She pulled gently at their tangled hands, intending to warm his hand against the hollow of her neck.

Her free hand found his cheek, tracing the path of lines erased from his skin, wondering at the magic Caiyha had shared with them. Youth had overtaken his features, and Naiya could only wonder if it had affected him in other ways. Had the years been erased? Would he live longer now, as though time had left him for those years gone from his appearance? Could she keep him with her longer?

What was it that troubled him, keeping him awake. It was unusual. He did not appear to be tired at all, a mixed blessing if he fell weary come morning. The look on his face caused another wave of concern, he looked.. lonely a strange feeling, but one she was growing familiar with. They were together, touching, and yet they had been pulled so far apart by their lives. It brought her a well of sadness to see it reflected in his eyes.

She wiggled herself closer to him, attempting to close the gap between their bodies, to reassure him of her presence, her desire to be with him. It was more than that, though, the desire to be close was not one seeking physical closeness.

[Colt]

Feather-light and silken, Naiya’s hair was at once familiar and new to his fingers. Shahar had always been habitually inclined towards the tactile, towards experiencing his world through touch and sensation, and his fire-wife was a fundamental part of that world.

His touched changed something in the rhythm of her breath. It was neither faster nor slower, but it was altogether different in the moment he began to lay finger on her hair. He didn’t stop, but the change suggested that she was not as peaceful as she seemed.

His suspicion was confirmed when she shifted in their blankets, turning, stealing her hair back as she moved to face him. There was a tension in her shoulders, the tension that had not left since the journey to the tree. Upon laying eyes on him, that tension took the physical form of concern. She reached up for the hand that had toyed at her hair, ghosting gently over the angles of his hands until she came to lace her fingers through his. Her hands were warm, and his hands were cold, and she pulled them both to the curve of her neck and spread his fingers over her skin, heated from a restless night and heavy blankets.

Even then, her own hands remained restless; she trailed delicate touches over his face, over the corners of his eyes and mouth where wrinkles had ceased to exist. And in another moment, her concern resurfaced and he saw his loneliness reflected in her own eyes; they didn’t need to speak to know that they shared such feelings.

Unwilling to let the unspoken sorrow sit unshifted, Naiya drew herself even closer and closed the distance between them; she wanted his presence as much as he wanted hers. Shahar moved in tandem with his wife, slipping an arm under her and and arm over her to draw her into a close embrace so that they might have the illusion of not being separate at all. He move stray hair from Naiya’s face and tucked it behind her, where it would not wander underneath anything and trap her head.

Then it was his turn to be concerned, trailing half-signs over the skin of her spine as he chose careful words to address what he knew was present.

“Naiya.” In the dark nest of their bed, there was no need for his voice to rise above a whisper. “Is something wrong?” Inquiry, worry, don’t want to push. He allowed a bit more strength into his straying hands, putting gentle, moving pressure into the cords of Naiya’s neck, where he himself often experienced strain and discomfort. He drew deliberate circles into her muscles, keeping wary to avoid pressing too hard and hurting her by accident.

“You seem troubled.” Want to help.

[Naiya]

Shahar's arms tightened, pulling her in as she moved, slipping around her to trace his hands along the sensitive skin of her back. She found her fingers moving through his hair, tracing paths along his scalp and down his neck and shoulder. Her other arm was tucked beneath his, shaping words of love into the small of his back. His hands danced along her spine, half shaping words as he gathered his thoughts. His own concern was clear in the shaping of his body, there seemed to be much for them to discuss.

Only their thoughts remained separate, their bodies woven together beneath the warm blankets. Was something wrong, he'd asked, the whisper rumbling in his chest. His inquiry was shaped with hesitance, he had seen the change in her after their partaking in the fruit of Caiyha's tree, he must have gathered that she had seen something that had unsettled her. Was it wrong to burden him with the sorrow of her vision?

Unsure, of her response, of even how to begin, she buried her face in his chest, tucking herself beneath his chin. She took a slow breath filled with the spice of his skin, a redolence that was some combination of grass, woodsmoke and something else unique to Shahar that she could never quite place. His hands turned their gentle motions into stronger touches, seeking the tension in he neck and shoulders and chasing it away with deliberate movements.

"I am frightened, Shahar." Her reply was hardly spoken at all, for it was difficult to confess the worries that plagued her. She had not moved, still sheltered in the warm curve of his body. Her hands stilled, filling with tension as she considered where to begin. A heavy sigh slipped past her lips as she let the kneading of his hands chase away the stiffness that collected in her muscles. Nothing could diminish her fears, though, the simple worries that built themselves up higher and higher as time wore on.

Their family was small, they lacked the protection of numbers, the assurance that someone would come home with word of a successful hunt. If the season grew lean, there were less people to share the burden of scouring the sea for sustenance. They had no clan to look to for help, no pavilion to shelter their herd, and no other animals to help them tide the hard seasons.

If these worries weren't enough, there was the vision from Caihya. A sea of blood crashing upon the shore, trampled snow clearly marked by the passage of zibri herded into the fleet of black sailed ships. In the distance her city, battered by the weather and who knew what else. This in answer to her prayer, her beseeching of the goddess to share her knowledge so that she might know how to face the trials ahead. In response to her concern for the safety of her family. It seemed impossible to be more clear, they were not safe, there was danger in the season to come, as early as the coming weeks, the snow she had seen in her vision not far off with the fast approaching cold.

She shivered, hit by a chill that had nothing to do with cold, her hands tightened into fists pressed tightly against her husband. She squeezed her eyes shut until colors and patterns danced behind her lids. Her list of worries were long, so she began with ones that were more simple.

"I am worried about our family, about how we will make it through the seasons to come." She made an effort to loosen her hands, splaying them wide across Shahar's back instead. "I asked the goddess..." She opened her eyes, finding the strong column of his neck, the rough line of his jaw. Both were familiar, the promise of her husband, her life's partner. Equal to one another, sharing a home and a heart. He would listen to her concerns without judgement, he would help her weather the oncoming storms. "I asked the goddess about our future as a family and she sent me a vision of death."

[Colt]

She let his hands move along their paths of comfort as they made silent, hopeful motions meant to chase away whatever darkness he was able to; he knew that no physical affections would be able to remove whatever Naiya was feeling, but he hoped to distract––and even that appeared to be too lofty a goal.

Naiya was unsure in the face of his question, a vast, encompassing sign that included more things than one; she was unsure about more things than she could put immediate words to. Had her experience with the fruit and tree been that disturbing? Was it possible… had his wife received a vision, as he had?

Naiya was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts––and gathering her thoughts only seemed to upset her more. She tensed, curled into him and stowed her head beneath his jaw. She buried her face in his chest; to even think upon what she had seen appeared to terrify her.

Shahar abandoned his caring pressure in favor of wrapping around her once more, an arm around her shoulders and her waist, unconsciously wanting to protect. But protect her from what? Her fears were inside her, where Shahar could not reach. He didn’t know the shape of what caused her such grief, and all he could do was remind her that he was there, and that he would always be there to fight back whatever threats tore at her heart. If she would only let him know what they were.

“I am frightened, Shahar,” she said finally, hardly more than a whisper and difficult for even him to hear, as close as they were.

Tell me, please, Shahar traced along her waist. Let me help. Anything to remove the burden from her shoulders.

Still her words evaded her; she shivered against something that was not the cold, for they were entirely warm in the isolated confines of their bed. She tensed, closed her eyes, tightened her hands into fists against his chest to ward off the fear that had taken hold of her mind.

“I am worried about our family,” she admitted. “About how we will make it through the seasons to come.” She took a moment to uncurl her hands, stretching them, letting them move across the skin of Shahar’s back instead. “I asked the goddess…” words retreated from her, and she paused to summon them up again. “I asked the goddess about our future as a family and she sent me a vision of death.”

A vision of death.

Shahar needed a moment to comprehend it. His reaction was not immediately fearful or tense; after a few heartbeats, confused uncertainty was the closest thing he could come to; there was the vague worry over the facts of the vision, but there was also the puzzle of what death the future would hold, and what the First Witch meant by it; another riddle, another uncertainty. If their family’s future held death, then why had Caiyha not shared the same with him? Naiya alone bore the weight of this knowledge while he had the weight of his own vision––Caiyha had revealed herself to him, too, but while her gift had come in the form of a riddle, it hadn’t outright given him danger, only the possibility to read danger into it; blood on snowy ground could be interpreted as many things. Danger? Pursuit of prey? He was a hunter following something wounded through the winter snow, and it was leading him into something unknown. It was neither good nor evil, only… confusing. But the First Witch’s message was clear in the whispered command that had coursed through his blood: follow. Whatever the trail was meant to be, it was something she wanted him to follow.

And yet to Naiya, the All-Mother had issued a warning in the form of death. Death that was in their future.

What was Caiyha trying to tell their family?

“Caiyha speaks in riddles,” Shahar murmured. “Good and ill, never telling which one.”

He ran idle fingers through Naiya’s hair, traces of frustration lacing through a redoubled bout of worry.

I asked the goddess about our future as a family and she sent me a vision of death.

“Does she warn us, to avoid?” he asked, more of himself than Naiya. “Is her vision of the inevitable, or the possible?”

The idea of death for their family being inevitable sent fear to grip at his heart with icy fingers. He turned to bury his face in Naiya’s hair, embrace tightening. A myriad of desires flickered over his hands; uncertainty, not knowing, frustration, unwilling to yield, but above them all was a fearful will protect, stand with you; there must have been a reason Caiyha had sent Naiya such a vision and not others of the pavilion. Was Naiya’s future with death more entangled than theirs? He didn’t want to believe that. Whatever the coming seasons held, Shahar would not let Naiya weather them in solitary silence. He wanted to share the weight of her fears, and, if it came down to it, he would be the first to leap in front of those fears to protect her from them. He would protect her until there was no more air for him to breathe, and if he died he would remain on until there was nothing left of his soul.

Naiya would not face her vision alone; if the future came for her, it would have to come for both of them.

Bittersweet gladness, gratitude. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. Gratitude, letting me help you.

[Naiya]

First he was confused, uncertain, an unspecific worry falling over him. He did not return her fear, however, speaking softly to her, soothing her with the nature of gods and goddesses.

"Not to avoid," Her answer was hesitant, recalling the vision, "There were no choices, no opportunity to change." She debated further explanation, but when the frustration of not knowing flashed across his hands, she knew she wouldn't keep it from him. All of his signing was amassed with a greater meaning, an all encompassing promise to protect her, to stand beside her. He would help her through the fear and support her through whatever it was this vision promised.

"There were ships with dark sails, fleeing into the ocean, sunk low in the water with the weight of their cargo." She pictured the vision, dark and filled with terror. "The water was red with blood, the shore was marked with bloody prints, people and zibri had been dragged away from the city." Our city, she stressed the words, the sheer lack of belief clear in her hands. "Battered, beaten, and dusted with snow." She shook her head, "It didn't feel like something that would change. Not a riddle, a promise, for all Drykas."

He would help her, he'd told her so. He was supportive, grateful for her sharing her worries with him. She shaped courage and strength into her body, reassurance, confidence pressed into his back. "We can face it together. We can be strong. I am sure it is nothing to stress about." She wasn't sure if the words were for herself or for him.

Her fear was not gone, such things were slow to leave. There was comfort to be had, though, her husband's fingers dancing through her hair, the warm circle of his arms. She closed her eyes, chasing away the sight of the world that Caiyha promised her. The weight had not left her, though, hesitance, smaller worries, afraid to upset you.

She did not know when the snow would fall, when the ships were coming. She needed something she could take care of now. "Our family is getting bigger, you know. We have more animals to shelter. We'll need more room. A pavilion, maybe?" Gentle suggestion, "Especially with Seirei's children. It will be warmer if we are all together in a pavilion instead of spaced out in tents." She glided away from the topic that had so frightened her, looking instead at the problems that had solutions, things she could fix, make better.

She pulled back slightly from him, angling herself so she could see his face, gauge his reaction. "You are our ankal, Shahar. Our leader." Happiness, encouragement "You have wives to support you, and families that count on you." She reached out to touch his face, cupping his cheek and tracing small lines across the bow of his lip with her thumb.

Her other arm wrapped around him, mirroring the kneading he had done to her neck before in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. "You are the only man int the pavilion, though," concern, worry, "There would be no one to look after the pavilion while you are out hunting. Perhaps it is time for us to have children of our own?" Her hands signed less clearly, fluttering and picking at many signs all conveying a hopeful insecurity.

[Colt]

Caiyha had not warned them so that they might avoid the future––at least, Naiya did not think so. Her vision had not been presented as a possibility, but as an inevitability.

Whereas Shahar’s vision was nothing but questions.

His wife told him of what the First Witch had revealed to her: black ships, an ocean of blood, a city, their city, battered and covered in snow. Drykas and zibri alike, pulled into the ocean with only prints as proof of their existence. What did it mean? What horrors did the ocean hold for them? How did he protect his family if he didn’t know what future was coming?

Against his uncertain fear, Naiya commanded confidence; she traced her strength and conviction against his back. Together, she said. Together they would face it, for together they were strong.

“Yes,” Shahar murmured. One thought, one strength. “We will face it together.”

The Dawnwhispers were few, but they would stand alongside one another when the black ships and the red sea came.

The exchange didn’t eradicate either of their fears, not completely, but it did manage to give some measure of comfort. Shahar wondered if it would be fair to share his own vision; Naiya’s had been clear, his was not. While he couldn’t imagine blood in snow making her fears worse than they already were, he certainly couldn’t imagine it making anything less confusing. Because there was little to their visions but confusion.

In the end, his deliberation was set aside when Naiya revealed the existence of something else weighing on her mind, and his concern eventually faded as he focused on what she wanted to say. There were signals of hesitance before she spoke; it was a small issue, and she didn’t want to disturb him with it.

Gentle amused gratitude, I want to know.

"Our family is getting bigger, you know,” she began. “We have more animals to shelter. We'll need more room. A pavilion, maybe?" Gentle suggestion, "Especially with Seirei's children. It will be warmer if we are all together in a pavilion instead of spaced out in tents." She separated herself from him, tilting to regard his face and, presumably, his reaction.

Shahar was uncertain of this new, unexpected direction, but he managed to keep it below actual ‘unease.’

"You are our ankal, Shahar,” Naiya continued. “Our leader." Happiness, encouragement. "You have wives to support you, and families that count on you." She stroked his face, curling her palm gently against his cheek and drawing her thumb over his lips. Her other hand found its way to his shoulders, where she began to knead at the muscles as he had done for her. "You are the only man in the pavilion, though," concern, worry, "There would be no one to look after the pavilion while you are out hunting. Perhaps it is time for us to have children of our own?" Her question was tentative; this was clearly something she had given much thought to, and beneath it was the unmistakable shape of insecure hope.

A pause. A pause that became a moment. A moment that became several moments. Shahar was motionless against his wife’s skin, silent, blank of sign or reaction; he blinked once, twice, but other than that the moments continued to stretch.

I hear you, he finally said, devoid of either positive or negative inflection. It was a recognition of what she had said, not a continuation; with such a question, it was the only safe response he could think of quickly.

Because, with such a question, Naiya had very suddenly begun angling towards unsafe ground.

It wasn’t as if he was opposed to what she had said. Winter was close, and with it would come the snow and the cold. Warmth meant safety, and warmth was lost when it was spread out. Several people in a single tent had a better chance than the same amount of people in several tents; it made sense, from a logical standpoint, especially considering the twins and the new child Seirei was carrying.

And from an emotional standpoint, it tugged at him longingly; the picture Naiya painted with her words didn’t need a heavy description. All of them, together, Naiya and Khida, Snow, Seirei and her children, Lale, together in one tent. A real pavilion. As a family. The very thought of it made something swell in his chest, because it wasn’t something he had thought about before. It was something he had been careful not to think about before, because good thoughts like that inevitably led to darker places.

Because of children. Children of his own, and of Naiya’s. Of Khida’s, too, by Drykas expectation, though he had the feeling that Khida would not be quite as eager to begin having children. Shahar himself wasn’t opposed to the idea of children, per se; since Seirei’s arrival, he had discovered that he quite liked the little creatures. Their antics and laughter and activities never failed to uplift him; another child in addition was something he wouldn’t mind at all. It wasn’t the idea of children themselves that made him uneasy, it was the fact that he knew in his heart that Naiya would not be content with him going out, finding a child for her and bringing it home.

Naiya wanted children of their, of this he was becoming certain; the tension in her words and body told him that this question had been weighing upon her heavily. She hadn’t wanted to bother him with it. She had been afraid to upset him. She was insecure. All these her signs had told him, and it was these things he had to respond first.

“Children,” he said. You want, yours and mine. As before, his signs were echoingly blank of inflection; there was no warmth to them, but there was an equal lack of coldness. He paused, trying to figure out how to properly answer. “I… want children.” With you. He tried to add the sign for ‘good,’ but halted just short. His hands wouldn’t obey him. ‘Happiness,’ he tried, and that too failed him. ‘Eagerness,’ ‘joy,’ ‘positive desire,’ all these he tried to summon, to reassure his fire-wife, but all refused to come to his hands. All attempts to respond were jolted to a halt before fruition, stilted with frustration at self. Her question made his thoughts wander, down and back to places he hadn’t let them wander in years. But in this moment, Naiya’s desires were of greater importance than his, and he could rein in his thoughts for as long as it took for this conversation.

I love you, was what he eventually managed to come to; that was true and came to him easily, and was a rickety attempt to sidestep what she was asking for. He loved her, and the most cutting thing was her hopeful insecurity; whatever that stemmed from, Naiya was someone he wanted to reassure and uplift.

“Naiya,” what do you want? Stilted desire to provide.

[Naiya]

There was always more comfort to be had, but instead of turning to a lighter topic, Naiya had strode for a different uncertainty. Shahar's gentle amusement soothed her worries as she explained her thoughts, her concerns for their family in the present, not in the far off fog of her vision.

Her tangent was confusing at first to Shahar, he became uncertain. She could feel the tightening of his body that hinted at a greater stress than simple uncertainty, perhaps in response to the same unmanifested stress she felt at the new line of conversation.

She waited, restrained desire held close to her chest, as he processed the information she provided him. Her want for children, her concern about their pavilion, her concern for him as ankal. Her wait continued, and slowly a knot began to grow in the pit of her stomach. His lack of reaction more concerning than any response he might have given. She had been prepared to explain to him that she was worthy of carrying his child, or that she was more than capable of caring for a child. Any reason he presented her with, she was ready to try and discuss, to defend.

I hear you, he told her, finally, a flat signing, empty. His answer was devoid of inflection, of deeper meaning. He needed time, that was clear from his response. He was thinking, considering. She was patiently waiting, understanding need for time, watching closely as he seemed to sink into a deeper consideration.

Time passed and her hands stilled their motions against his skin. Nervous, uncertainty settling in despite her best effort to wait with patience and understanding. She had been prepared to defend her worth, but she had not really thought that she might have to. For all her planning, she could see now, she had relied on him chasing her worries away as quickly as she could find them. He always had before.

Instead silence stretched between them.

She retreated from him, the efforts unconscious, seeking her own shelter rather than the shelter of his arms. He wasn't sure, it was clear from the length of his consideration, the absolute silence of his hands. He didn't want her? Worse, didn't want her children? Her arms wrapped around herself, hugging her abdomen, seeking shelter.

Still the silence continued, her tension growing greater until he finally spoke. Still his signs were flat, devoid of character of inflection that was the greatest gift of sign. She moved again, and her hair slanted across her face, a curtain to hide behind.

"I... want children." With you. The words came finally, still flat, but there. Cautious relief was her response, laced with self-doubt and nervous tension. He searched for words, his hands shaking with inwardly pointed frustration.

He was distant again, his eyes changing as his mind took him down some new line of thought. His hands finally said something with certainty. "I love you." It wasn't an answer, a reassurance, perhaps, but it did not help her here, now.

"Naiya," her name was a croon on his lips. A desire to provide shaped his hands, drawn with hesitance, he'd had to force it out, force himself to offer such a thing. She wasn't sure how to continue.

She wanted intimacy, love, sex, children. She wanted him to desire her, the way a man should desire his wife. She wanted a child born of them both, a son to carry on their name, to lead their family when she ans Shahar grew old and returned to the grass. She wanted Seirei to be safe, her twins to be warm and comfortable in a pavilion that could stand together. She wanted a family.

How could she explain that to him if it wasn't clear yet? How could she tell him that when he was clearly so uncomfortable with the idea.

She had fallen still once more, echoing the silence that had been the most clear reaction Shahar had had to her inquiry. She searched for words, searched for answers. More than that, the right answer, the one that would set things right between them.

She was blank, finding nothing to help her, to guide her onto the right path. She needed him, needed his reassurance. She was not sure that she could still ask that of him. Was it okay? She had become notably separate from him, she had closed herself off.

She peered up at him, reaching a delicate hand towards him seeking permission to touch him once more. She extended herself only part way, awaiting his response, should he have one.

"I love you, too." Shared, returned, but that wasn't her answer. I want you, "Shahar." Husband and wife, shared desire but there was more to her signing, an inflection of joy, a shaping around something else, too. Growth of family, lineage here she grew hesitant once more afraid to upset, unwilling to push away. Her desire for children was not worth trouble not worth losing Shahar.

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[Colt]

She listened to him, listened to the silence, listened to his hands, and the more she listened, the less certain she became. His words and signs were not reassuring, and it hurt because he wanted them to be. He had a vague understanding of what Naiya wanted to hear, and he wanted nothing more than to give her exactly what she wanted.

But he couldn’t.

Unable to drag desire onto his hands, his frustration at self only grew. Without knowing it, Naiya was pressing into deep, treacherous waters in Shahar’s heart that he had not tread for years, waters that he had spent so long trying to pretend weren’t there. Children were not the issue. He wanted children. Little ones to run and play with and teach, and he knew Naiya wanted them, too. And he couldn’t tell her what was holding him back.

Naiya was affected by his checkered half-responses, and she pulled away from him. She wrapped herself up uncertainly. She closed herself back up.

Guilt, love, don’t want to hurt. When she reached for him, he immediately moved to meet her halfway and pulled her hand to his chest.

"I love you, too." Shared, returned, I want you, "Shahar." Husband and wife, shared desire. Beneath it were undertones of happiness and something else he couldn’t quite decipher. Growth of family, lineage… hesitance. She didn’t want to upset. She was backing down, making it clear that it was not worth it. She closed up again.

His self-frustration increased tenfold, inching perilously close to the threshold of loathing; Naiya’s desires were simple, and to any Drykas but him it would seem silly that she would even have to desire them. She wanted children, she was his wife, it was automatic that he should give them to her. Neither of them were the perfect picture of Drykas life, but from an outside perspective it would seem absurd that Naiya even had to ask, or that Shahar should fail to provide.

It pained him that such a thing was necessary for her, and that even at her request he couldn’t give her a full answer. Love was strong, but it could also blind; Shahar should have known the burden Naiya would face in him when he had asked to marry her. He had always been good at forgetting those things he didn’t want to remember, and pretending like he could forget them forever. He hadn’t wanted to think about this night that would surely come. He hadn’t wanted to think about opening that black, agonizing bag of memories that she would one day ask after. He didn’t want her to know what he really was.

Because how could she love him if she knew the truth about the man she had tied herself to?

His hands flickered through one sign after another, half-formed and blending together; supposed to be, self-disgust, fear, wrongness, lack of worth, should have known, shouldn’t have, bad action, have wronged you, I’m sorry, never told, should have told, couldn’t tell, unforgiven. They tumbled out before he could stop them, building up and spilling over a barrier that he had put so much into pushing back. They had always been there, in the back of his mind, but Naiya was asking for them, and his blessed ignorance was slipping away with each passing moment. The black bag was struggling, its demon prisoner clawing to get out, baring poisonous fangs and grinning yellow eyes. I’m still here, they said from the darkness behind his eyelids.

[Naiya]

Her reach for him was welcomed, meeting her outstretched hound half way and pulling her across the divide. She splayed her hand across his chest, arcing across their bed back towards him pushing herself forward. There was an urgency, as Shahar's frustration at himself grew more prominent, growing dark.

He was in pain, and she had caused it. Apology she drew the shape on his chest, confusion, the sign followed, drawn in much the same way. She pressed herself away from the gravity of their bed, the cover pooling around her hips. She could see his agitation growing, she tried to chase it away, her position propped upon her elbow allowing her to feather signs before him reassurance, peace, all traced with the echo of apology. She had caused him this pain, this trouble. She draped herself across his chest, her hair forming a shelter around them.

His hands flickered a myriad signs, disgust, fear, wrong, apology. More, too fast for her to understand all run together.

"Shahar," Love, lack of understanding, too fast. She signed the words between others, reassurances, comforts, and some movements that were nothing more than touch, a simple comfort that took no words. "Shahar." Can't tell what? "Please." Want to understand, want to help.

Her tension only continued, grew stronger. Her desire for children had caused him this pain. Her questions had brought him to this. Her desire had forced him in to this frenzied upset.

She moved again, giving him space,though her hands did not leave him. She sat beside his prone form, her hands having given up sign completely to instead trace the lines of muscle that crossed his abdomen.

"I want to understand, Shahar." Her words were cautious, gentle, tight with a tension that knotted its cold fingers in her belly. "Please, maybe I can help."

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