The morning was drawing to a close by the time Tay could be convinced to go back to the village, and by the time they got there, the faint scents of dinner were already drifting out of the community kitchens right across from the well and Cour's own home. Cubs could be heard playing and squalling between the rows of woven straw eating mats while waiting for the adults to get the meal ready, but Tay knew that Kelper and the twins wouldn't be among them; Kelper had always preferred crawling off by himself with his own share, and when the twins came along, it had become a tradition among them to take their three shares (or four, when they could sneak them) and do just that. Rinč, Kayte, and Ranon usually ate at home, but with their da full of cub and Mam going out of his wits just trying to keep their littermate in order, they would probably be amusing themselves quietly in a corner of the kitchens' eating area, ignoring the other cubs' loud play and trading bits of shiny stones, their newest hobby since birds' nests had been vetoed out by their parents.
Cour's house was empty, but neither Tay nor Cour were surprised by it. Around noon, Denen always went to help with the cubs unless there was something important keeping him, and things had been fairly quiet in the way of injuries and sickness since the opening of spring.
"Here, let's go in my room. I can bring you your dinner there," Cour suggested, squeezing the thin fingers he held between his own. "It's been a busy morning, so I'm sure the cub would like to rest a little."
"You're just saying that to make me feel guilty and take a nap," Tay accused with a glint of humor in his voice, tired as it was. In truth, a nap sounded wonderful to him, and food only a little less so. With his few months of morning sickness past, the cub had been making its presence known by devouring everything he put in his stomach with a zeal surpassed only by the twins with a piece of maple-cake in their dirty little paws, and it was getting difficult to keep up.
Flashing him a smile, Cour nodded. "Of course," he teased, drawing his partner through the doorway and pressing him down onto the bed. Tay had a sudden urge to pull the apprentice corolaith down on top of him and kiss the wits out of him, and only the serious thought of what that might do to the cub kept him from blushing afterward. Cour (none the wiser) turned away from the bed and walked back out the small bedroom's door, his footsteps tapping off down the hall, first to the pantry and then to the little kitchen/eating room.
"So, what would you like?" echoed back down to Tay's sleepy ears along with the crisp rustling of many dry leaves; the entirety of the pantry, and most of the house, was filled with bundles and wrapped packets of herbs, barks, and ground mineral powders. It was impossible to go anywhere without making noise.
"I haven't made any bread today," Cour went on," but I made some yesterday that's good and soft yet. And there's those dried apples you were eating before, you liked those. I could make some porridge with apples in it if you can wait while it boils."
"Sounds good," Tay called absently, cutting off a yawn. "'S there any syrup left?"
"Certainly. The trees were good last year, there's plenty. Do you want it mixed in, or just over top?'
Tay was asleep before he could think of an answer.
It must have been the smell that woke him up, he thought drowsily, casting half a smile at Cour, who had at some point seated himself on a wicker stool next to the bed and was working busily over what looked like a bundle of clothing knitted in shades of the pale yellow that the villagers used for newborns. Cour smiled back and laid down the cloth. Leaning forward, he pressed the hint of a kiss to Tay's forehead.
"You fell asleep, so I thought I'd make you some new bread while I waited," he teased, nodding toward the kitchen where the smell was coming from. Now Tay's nose could catch the fainter scent of hot barley porridge along with it, almost canceled out by the far sweeter maple syrup that several of the males of the village had made an art out of harvesting every year. Tay could still remember his first taste of it-a bittersweet memory, because Vayrsila had given it to him to coax him to eat on the morning after his own village's destruction, but he still liked the flavour. His cub seemed to, too. For the past two weeks it had been a want of sweets in general, but maple in particular, that had been tormenting the poor cub-bearer's tongue. He was surprised he didn't just go around drooling uncontrollably, with the way it sometimes felt.
"Your sugar's waiting," Cour informed him, seeing the look on his face. His mouth twitched a little at the corner as he said it, but to his credit he didn't laugh. "I kept it warm for you on the back of the fire, since the bread's baking anyway. You want it now?"
"Yes, please," Tay replied, blinking in defeat. "I can get up..."
"No, you stay right there," Cour told him, waving a hand as he rose. "I trust you not to drop things in my bed. Well, except the cub," he added thoughtfully, and walked out.
Tay gaped. "What?" he tried to say, but nothing came out, though his mouth remained open like a fish's. He had never really considered where he would have the cub, since the only place he had ever slept was his own bed in Vayrsila's house, but now he realised that having Cunelbren there was an impossibility.
"That's..." he managed to squeeze out as Cour came back with a steaming bowl in one hand and a flat, polished wooden spoon in the other.
"Twistedly romantic?" Cour suggested cheerfully, handing over the bowl. Dazed, Tay took it. "Thank you, but it's only practical. Vayrsila would have cubs himself if you came home like that, and as he's both too old and the wrong sex, you might find it simpler to have him here."
His face straightened suddenly and turned serious. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, pulling the stool closer and sitting on it.
"Oh, no," Tay breathed, still trying to fathom what had just happened. He had always known that he would move in with Cour when and if they married, as it now seemed destiny that they would, but it had never before felt as real as it had suddenly become. "I just never thought of that before. You... you don't mind either?"
"Of course not," Cour answered, smiling once more. He gestured to the forgotten bowl. "You'd better eat your porridge before it gets cold."
Pensively, Tay began to spoon the syrupy grain mixture into his mouth. He had thought over and take care of most of the birth's preparations, he was sure, but there always seemed to be just one or two more things-both little things, like how you knew when a cub was full, and big things, like where Tay should exert his 'nesting instinct'. That one still hadn't been solved, but the urge to do so had been alleviated by knitting and sewing tiny gowns, blankets, and various other things that the cub might need or want. It helped to be able to do something.
Thinking of his own projects brought to mind the yellow bundle Cour had been working on when he woke. He raised his head to study the small but elaborate need that Cour had taken it on himself to provide, finding it lying in its usual place across the blue-eyed boy's knees, its edge held with care between thumb and forefinger of his left hand, the needle pinched delicately in his right. Much better than Tay could have done, the younger Kindred thought in jealous admiration. Most males preferred to stick with heavy labour, leaving the finer work to the cub-bearers, but Cour had spent the better part of his teen years keeping house for Denen in exchange for his lessons, and had gotten as good at knitting especially as some cub-bearers twice his age. This skill he had put into something that cubs saved for future generations, an heirloom that was used over and over until it wore out.
Because a cub's birth was forbidden to any but the da's mate and sometimes the corolaith (when necessary), it had long ago become custom to make a presentation of the cub afterward, when it was clean and fed and as accustomed as it could be for some time to come. Being born was, after all, nothing to scoff at. But as a side to the formalities of presenting the cub to its family, it had also become normal to create one special gown to show off the newborn in, one gown meant entirely for beauty in a lifetime full of possessions meant for utility. It was one custom that Tay and Cour's tribes had in common, yet Tay had lost his own birthing-gown in the wreckage of his home.
"I'll make you a new one to go with a new home," Cour had said seriously, and so far the design looked as good as the one Tay's da had used if not better. Still, Tay thought he liked the feeling that had gone into it better than the thing itself.
"How is it going?" he asked shyly, balancing the bowl between his fingers to keep it still while he leaned forward for a better look at the gift. Cour laughed softly and abandoned the needle, tucking it between the strands for safekeeping. His hands spread it out gently, smoothing the wrinkles.
"Very well," he said, giving Tay a lighthearted grin. "I might perhaps have picked a simpler border, though. My hands are getting tired! Still, it'll look beautiful when it's done. Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful already," Tay declared, venturing to smile back. "Thank you, Cour. You've been too good to me." His smile faltered. "Even when you probably shouldn't. I haven't exactly been loving lately."
"I'd noticed," Cour told him quietly. "It's all right, Tay. This will pass. I know you love me, and you don't have to show it every day for me to keep knowing it."
He sighed suddenly and stood, laying his work on the stool behind him and coming forward to take the bowl before settling his longer frame on the bed next to Tay's, their feet even at the bottom rim. From here Tay could tuck his face into the smooth, hollow curve of his companion's throat, so he did, savouring the faintly musky new-hay smell that Cour so often carried and burying his newly arisen urge toward tears in it. And it came to him, abruptly as these things always did, buried headfirst in his unofficially betrothed's neck and fighting despairing tears-
He would really like to get married now.
"Cour," he whispered tremulously, "would you marry me?"
He could just smell the bafflement emanating from the older Kindred, as if it was so strong it had become a part of his scent. His front teeth dug into his bottom lip with uncertain ferocity. Maybe Cour needed more time, as he had thought Tay did...
The smell went away.
"I thought that was my line?" Cour asked, and now Tay could feel the smile curving against his hair. His heart lifted. Maybe Cour would accept, and most of the worrying would be over. Marriage was a binding thing, and once done, nothing living, dead, or halfway between could break them apart. If Cour was angry with him, or disappointed or just plain upset, he would have time to repair things without fear of losing him in the meantime. If they were married, no one would even suggest taking the cub away. It would be a good home, a stable home for Cunelbren, and Tay would know that he was doing the right thing when he went to tell Sol that he was keeping him.
He nodded at once when Cour asked gently, "Are you sure?" and for once in his life he really meant it. He was ready, without a single doubt to mar the decision. He could face Sol and all the frightening possibilities, even let him see and visit with the cub, if he had something besides himself to hold on to.
Cour let out a long breath against the crown of his head, and Tay realised suddenly that they were trembling like a pair of leaves in the chilled winds of early fall. Impulsively, he pressed a kiss to the shadowed hollow at the meeting-place of the older teen's collarbones.
"Do you want to?" he asked, trying and succeeding in keeping the tremor that wanted into his voice out. "You don't have to if you would rather wait."
"No," Cour assured as quickly as Tay himself had. His embrace tightened briefly and his right hand descended to press lightly at the side of Tay's body, the thumb smoothing over the faint swell where Cunelbren was growing.
"If you're ready, then let's get married as soon as we can."
