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Entry tags:
02. arch
The entrance is open, and so he bows his head as he steps through the arched entrance of the chief's tent. Both the chief and his mate are present, as is Valla the Mother-of-Many. He places his hands together in front of him and looks from face to face for explanation. It isn't until the newborn bundled in rags gives a cry that he understands why they have called him.
“It is said that Valla chooses her fathers.” The chief speaks, and Daimd listens.
Valla nods and bares a teat to the child's groping mouth, speaking to him, “She is yours, Daimd.”
He feels remarkably unstirred. They have tried to name children his before: Kurzag, the wild song; Mang, the young violence; Zelop and Polez, the twins. He has never bonded with a child. He sees no reason why this one will be different.
The chief recognises his silence, and raises a hand, “You must see.”
“Yes, Chief.” Obediently, he moves to the babe, stopping an arm's length away. Valla looks at him, and he meets her eye. He remembers her lust, the sway of her hips and the curve of the breast that now rests beneath the infant's desperate fingers. He has always thought she looks best with a child on her chest.
“Her name is Valm.” She speaks lowly, to keep their conversation private.
Daimd thinks the name is assumptive, a combination of the two of theirs. He looks at the miniscule head and waits. The waiting is his least favourite part. He knows that some of the children in the tribe bear his blood, but he is father to none of them. He only waits for them to demonstrate that their mother is the parent they choose.
Valm stops her suckling suddenly and wriggles insistently in her mother's arms, twisting to his direction. Valla holds her firmly and extends her towards him, looking expectant and triumphant. Daimd offers the pointer finger of his left hand, and Valm clings to it tightly. Daimd stares at the connection where flesh touches flesh. He swears he saw whiteness spark, for an instant.
“She is yours.” Valla repeats, but as she does, the babe releases her grip and turns back to her mother's warmth. Valla's expression changes, and Daimd backs away.
“Was there a bond, Daimd?”
He bows his head and quickly excuses himself. He will not let them declare him a father. He will not let them give him a word. But he will not lie to his chief.
The next day, he leaves.
“It is said that Valla chooses her fathers.” The chief speaks, and Daimd listens.
Valla nods and bares a teat to the child's groping mouth, speaking to him, “She is yours, Daimd.”
He feels remarkably unstirred. They have tried to name children his before: Kurzag, the wild song; Mang, the young violence; Zelop and Polez, the twins. He has never bonded with a child. He sees no reason why this one will be different.
The chief recognises his silence, and raises a hand, “You must see.”
“Yes, Chief.” Obediently, he moves to the babe, stopping an arm's length away. Valla looks at him, and he meets her eye. He remembers her lust, the sway of her hips and the curve of the breast that now rests beneath the infant's desperate fingers. He has always thought she looks best with a child on her chest.
“Her name is Valm.” She speaks lowly, to keep their conversation private.
Daimd thinks the name is assumptive, a combination of the two of theirs. He looks at the miniscule head and waits. The waiting is his least favourite part. He knows that some of the children in the tribe bear his blood, but he is father to none of them. He only waits for them to demonstrate that their mother is the parent they choose.
Valm stops her suckling suddenly and wriggles insistently in her mother's arms, twisting to his direction. Valla holds her firmly and extends her towards him, looking expectant and triumphant. Daimd offers the pointer finger of his left hand, and Valm clings to it tightly. Daimd stares at the connection where flesh touches flesh. He swears he saw whiteness spark, for an instant.
“She is yours.” Valla repeats, but as she does, the babe releases her grip and turns back to her mother's warmth. Valla's expression changes, and Daimd backs away.
“Was there a bond, Daimd?”
He bows his head and quickly excuses himself. He will not let them declare him a father. He will not let them give him a word. But he will not lie to his chief.
The next day, he leaves.