pride is not the word i'm searching for

Under, over, though. Under, over, through. Braiding was methodical to Raikal. A simple pattern they could repeat, ad infinitum (or, at least, until they ran out of material). It was repetitive, it was soothing, it was easy. A process one could repeat forever, always knowing the next step. In its own way, it was calming.

“Aaaaaabbbaaaaaaaaaa!”

Unless, of course, you were braiding the hair of the most fidgety, tender-headed seven-year old in the entire northern islands.

“Ah- I’m sorry, Rukime!” Raikal instantly loosened their grip over their son’s hair, “Did I hurt you?”

“You pulled too tightly, Abba...” Rukime complained, looking up at Raikal from where he sat in their lap. Raikal was weak willed to him- his big, sad brown eyes, the worried crease in his brow, the way he pouted his lips when he was upset. He looked so much like his mother (especially with his hair still loose and curling around his head in a dark, cloud-like puff), and perhaps that was why Raikal found it so easy to say yes to him and so hard to say no (they indeed felt the same way about Odalia). But Odalia said that many of little Rukime’s expressions were Raikal’s own- the way he frowned, the way he smiled, the sly, playful look in his eyes when he was up to mischief.

“I’m sorry, Rue,” Raikal repeated. “I’ll be more gentle from now on.” They leaned over, and planted a kiss on their son’s forehead, eliciting another, now giggling, exclamation, “Abba!”

From where she sat across the room, busy with her mending, Odalia made a dissaproving tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. “He’s never going to learn to sit still if you’re always so gentle with him.” She hummed.

“Ahh, but how can I say no to a face like his?” Raikal laughed back, and tickled Rukime’s bony arms, eliciting more giggles.

“If you wish for his hair to be braided anytime soon, you’ll have to.” Odalia laughed. She leaned up from her seat and put aside her sewing supplies, shaking out the wrap-shirt she had just been mending. “Rue, come here. Let’s see if this fits you still.”

Dutifully (and to perhaps avoid any further hair-braiding related traumas), Rukime sprung to his feet and walked over to his mother. Odalia helped him drape the wrap-shirt over his simple undershirt, though it only came down to his mid-stomach.

“You’re getting so tall so fast, child!” Odalia laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll have to let out the hem again.”

“Sorry, Mama.” Rukime said softly. “Can I watch you sew? Can you embroider little flowers like you did on my sleep shirt?”

“Later,” Odalia chided. “Now, go let you Abba braid your hair. Maybe once it’s all braided, you can help me.”

“Finneeeeeeeeeee.” Rukime slumped his whole body down, in the frustrated way only children could, and sat back down in front of Raikal. “Why do I have to have my hair braided, anyways? I want to wear it loose, like you two have it.”

“Rue, if you want to go out running and playing like you do, you’ll have to have it braided!” Raikal explained, putting their hands on their son’s shoulders. “Otherwise it’d get matted and messy. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No... I guess not...” Rukime sighed heavily.

“And,” Raikal added, taking a small pouch from the inside of their cloak, “If you sit well, you can pick out which color beads you’d like me to put on your braids this time.”

Of course, Raikal had no intention of not letting Rukime pick out the colors for his own hair beads, but the ploy succeeded as a way to get the little boy to sit still for a while. “Sure!” Rukime smiled, and Raikal handed him the bead pouch to sort through while they braided.

Their family fell back into the steady, rhythmic silence of the night. They had been in the cottage for only a few weeks now, and only a few weeks into the future and they would have to leave it. Their times of respite together were brief- only when political duty steered Naiyta away from the harem, only when attention was so removed from them that they could sneak away. It was a miracle that they even could- the cottage itself, in a remote northern village too close to the corvi settlements that Naiyta would never venture there, looked after by one of Raikal’s distant relatives in the years they weren’t there. Their absence, a story corroborated by Odalia’s cousin, who had entered the harem with her and felt pity for her relative and the young child a product of her foolish dalliances. The reality they currently shared was too good- too good that they had each other, that they had this brief respite of freedom, too good that their master and keeper did not yet know. But every day, every hour, every minute they had, Raikal would savor til their dying breath.

Rukime was a shy child. He did not get along well with the other children in the harem (of course, non Naiyta’s- a truth that helped hide their secret all the more, though the Lifebringer, in all its benevolence, at times lent use of the lower-ranked consorts to military officials, visiting dignitaries, and the like). He hovered by his mother and never said a word- and for reason. Since he could speak, Odalia and Raikal had pressed him to never let anyone know the truths of his life- the reality of who his family was. It was better that he went unnoticed. Rukime, to the world (or Anore, as he was known), was a tight-lipped, quiet little boy who hid behind his mother and could scarcely look a stranger in the eye.

In the cottage, though, Rukime flourished. He climbed the trees and splashed in the creek and caught bugs he always presented proudly to his parents. He was rarely without a smile on his face, even when he fell or tripped from his misadventures. Odalia was worried about his overconfindence, how he was so eager to climb to the tallest trees he could find, but Raikal reassured her. “It’s in his blood,” they said, “Rook children love to be up in the trees.” In the cottage, Rukime wore his Corvi talisman, that bore Raikal’s own flight feathers. In the cottage, Rukime was called by his Corvi name, that Raikal had given him. In the cottage, Rukime was Raikal’s son.

Once Rukime’s hair had been tamed into neat, brow-length braids, they ate, they washed up, and they put Rukime to bed. The cottage was only one room, with sleeping quarters on one side and a common space on the other, so Raikal and Odalia had to stay quiet as their son slept.

They sat by the fire, voices low, arm in arm.

“I was thinking we could go to the shore tomorrow,” Raikal said softly, “Let Rukime see the ocean.” There was a beach within an hour’s walking distance. A cold, rocky one, like the shores in Raikal’s homeland.

“That would be nice.” Odalia replied. She kept her eyes on the flickering fireplace. “To see the ocean again.”

They fell silent again. Odalia wrapped her hand around Raikal’s, squeezing it.

“How long do you think this is going to last?” She said quietly.

“I don’t know.” It was Raikal’s honest answer. I hope, forever.