Morning Hope Rising, Part 11

She opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through the thatch roof door across her brown-eyed outlander warrior’s feet. She always seemed to end up curled at his feet. She knew it came from an old Temple of Peace story, but she just couldn’t remember what it meant.

She remembered that her lover had managed to make it well past midnight, and he seemed to be able to move despite the red lid. Now, she just had to let him wake on his own. She reached down to the chee-chin over her ankle, rubbed its ear and chin, stating “Moving. You move.”

As it got up, she quietly stretched her legs. Her motion though startled him. His eyes popped open, and he reached to gently brush her shoulder.

“We made it, didn’t we, Snowcat?”

“You move… and breathe. But remember… you?”

He cringed. He hated the way her voice and eloquence were lost. As she crawled along his body to sit up, he pushed himself up. She accidentally scratched his hip with the ring, and he jerked, “Ouch!”

She jumped. “Sorry. Ring… not same… must learn.” She shook her ring hand as though it were too heavy. “Bad… for sword…”

He made it into a seated position with his back against the wall. She smoothed the union furs and knelt beside him. Two chee-chin nuzzled her legs and settled to rest their heads on her knees and thighs.

“Okay, mister. First song?”

“Seriously, you had to do ‘Merchant’s Silver’ again, didn’t you, you little vixen?”

“Snowcat’s not a vixen. It’s a good song.” She petulantly spit the words out; he loved the flashes of spunk.

He laughed, and she smiled again, narrowing her eyes so only the centers of the stars could be seen.

“Which song’s next?”

“‘Sun Seal Slaughter,’” he sighed.

“Good. Next?”

“It was that sequel pair. You do love sequels. ‘Minstrel and Maiden’ followed by ‘Maiden Moon Crawling’…”

“Crawler, not Crawling…”

“Whatever.”

“Last one?”

His eyes got misty, and he reached for her cheek. “Blessed Union.”

She smiled, swooping in, kissing his forehead and nose. Then she kissed his lips and began nibbling before backing away.

He wrapped her in his arms, and burying his face in her neck, “It’s almost over, Snowcat. It works, it works. Those chee-chin…”

“Will it? For everyone?”

He continued weeping. “The pockets the stuff didn’t get to… me… why not just kill them with chee-chin cute? Even if it doesn’t work for everyone, at least the littles would get at least one safe friend and have a little joy? Then we stop and retire; we don’t fight; we live with each other and the girls. We enjoy life.”

Her body stiffened, and he continued to weep. Most War God warriors don’t live long enough to have a family, and the ones who do usually don’t want the burden of a family. Yet here she was, almost ready for her little to have a little. Maybe peace was the right answer. After all, how could she even serve the War God anymore if she couldn’t speak her mind even with the chee-chin around?

“Peace might be good,” she sighed. He sobbed even harder.

“Chee-chin grow everywhere?” she asked. The rest of her chee-chin broke their watch in the corner, and the chee-chin at her knees got up. They formed a circle around the couple, and they were all touching each other. Their eyes got wide and looked as though their eyeballs were spinning. Then they began to make a sound. It was almost melodic.

“What means… this? Why they… sound sing?” She asked, struggling to process his tears and their behavior.

He stopped and looked. “Oh, lady. This just got complicated. Get dressed in something other than that wrap. We’re about to lose the rest of the day if I’m right.”

She got panicky. The chee-chin were still making that odd noise. “Why? What? Means?”

He sighed, pursed his lips, and smiled. “They have decided we are good enough people to have our own little farm of them, like this one.”

She dropped her jaw; her green eyes got so wide that the stars were huge.

“Hurry… the farmhands will have heard the sound and be pounding down our door. There are many ceremonies tied to this, but they usually don’t happen this time of year.”

As she dug through their things for dressier work trousers and blouse and he went searching for a tunic, the door was pounded in the traditional old language rhythm.