Ratonhnhaké:ton/Connor Kenway (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lifethatisscratched) wrote2014-04-01 01:52 am
lifethatisscratched) wrote2014-04-01 01:52 am
The Night
He hears her, sometimes.
Late at night, when she thinks he’s asleep in their longhouse, his mother will stamp and shout with Clan Mother, words flying off her tongue like so many daggers. The meaning of some of them escapes him, but he is no fool. To Clan Mother, their people’s neutrality is non-negotiable – that the land they are on, the land they have sworn to protect, must never see them fall to the strife and grief of war. To his own, Clan Mother is a fool, one that is only giving the men from beyond the valley more time to refine their machinations. More words roll off her tongue – Lancaster, Logstown, Easton – and just as their argument threatens to wake the whole village, his mother will exit Clan Mother’s longhouse in a huff, hands clenched into fists and muttering things under her breath.
(One day, he asks Kanen'tó:kon about the meaning of some of those things, and his friend’s eyes go wide and his mouth forms an O, and that, Ratonhnhaké:ton thinks, is all he needs to know.)
Except tonight, she is a little too fast coming back to their longhouse, and he is a little too slow dashing away from the opening and settling down onto the bedroll.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton?”
He freezes, not daring even to blink. Moonlight seeps through the roof, reflecting off his pupils, and Kaniehtí:io takes a step forward, crouching down to run her fingers through his hair.
“[Did I wake you?]”
Slowly, he regains his nerve and shakes his head. “[I was listening.]”
She sighs, letting the pad of her thumb trace over his cheek. “[You know you shouldn’t do that.]”
“[I can’t help it,]” he protests. “[You’re loud.]”
“[I suppose I am,]” she concedes. “[But that doesn’t mean you should listen in.]”
He huffs, but relents.
“[Why don’t you go to sleep?]” she suggests. “[We can talk about it in the morning.]”
“[I can’t sleep.]”
“[You can’t sleep?]” she repeats, stilling her fingers. He nods.
“[How about a song? Would that help?]”
He nods again, his lips curling into a smile. For a moment, he thinks he sees Mother share it before she starts, the words quietly curling around him as she sings, just loud enough to be heard over the lap of the basinwater on the shore and the crickets chirping in the brush and the midsummer night wind whispering through the village.
The words are like magic, and as she sings, his eyelids become heavier and heavier until they finally droop closed, his arms and legs curled by his side. His breathing is soft, but regular. Satisfied, Kaniehtí:io withdraws her hand from his hair, pulling a blanket over his small frame.
“[Sleep well, my son.]”
She rests the back of one hand on his cheek, smiling despite herself.
“[I love you.]”
Late at night, when she thinks he’s asleep in their longhouse, his mother will stamp and shout with Clan Mother, words flying off her tongue like so many daggers. The meaning of some of them escapes him, but he is no fool. To Clan Mother, their people’s neutrality is non-negotiable – that the land they are on, the land they have sworn to protect, must never see them fall to the strife and grief of war. To his own, Clan Mother is a fool, one that is only giving the men from beyond the valley more time to refine their machinations. More words roll off her tongue – Lancaster, Logstown, Easton – and just as their argument threatens to wake the whole village, his mother will exit Clan Mother’s longhouse in a huff, hands clenched into fists and muttering things under her breath.
(One day, he asks Kanen'tó:kon about the meaning of some of those things, and his friend’s eyes go wide and his mouth forms an O, and that, Ratonhnhaké:ton thinks, is all he needs to know.)
Except tonight, she is a little too fast coming back to their longhouse, and he is a little too slow dashing away from the opening and settling down onto the bedroll.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton?”
He freezes, not daring even to blink. Moonlight seeps through the roof, reflecting off his pupils, and Kaniehtí:io takes a step forward, crouching down to run her fingers through his hair.
“[Did I wake you?]”
Slowly, he regains his nerve and shakes his head. “[I was listening.]”
She sighs, letting the pad of her thumb trace over his cheek. “[You know you shouldn’t do that.]”
“[I can’t help it,]” he protests. “[You’re loud.]”
“[I suppose I am,]” she concedes. “[But that doesn’t mean you should listen in.]”
He huffs, but relents.
“[Why don’t you go to sleep?]” she suggests. “[We can talk about it in the morning.]”
“[I can’t sleep.]”
“[You can’t sleep?]” she repeats, stilling her fingers. He nods.
“[How about a song? Would that help?]”
He nods again, his lips curling into a smile. For a moment, he thinks he sees Mother share it before she starts, the words quietly curling around him as she sings, just loud enough to be heard over the lap of the basinwater on the shore and the crickets chirping in the brush and the midsummer night wind whispering through the village.
Ho, ho, watanay
Ho, ho, watanay
Ho, ho, watanay
Ki-yo-ki-na
Ki-yo-ki-na
Ho, ho, watanay
Ho, ho, watanay
Ki-yo-ki-na
Ki-yo-ki-na
The words are like magic, and as she sings, his eyelids become heavier and heavier until they finally droop closed, his arms and legs curled by his side. His breathing is soft, but regular. Satisfied, Kaniehtí:io withdraws her hand from his hair, pulling a blanket over his small frame.
“[Sleep well, my son.]”
She rests the back of one hand on his cheek, smiling despite herself.
“[I love you.]”