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Vurawn woke alone in the sleeping-nest he shared with his sister, his worn stuffed whiskercub in his arms. Yawning, he pushed away the furs and slowly slid down to the floor, sitting to pull on his house shoes. First day’s task successfully completed, he then made his way down the short hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He slowed after a few dozen steps, realization striking - something was different. Something was wrong. There was no sound of Mama and Vurika singing songs as they tidied up from the morning’s cooking, no smell of grilled fish waiting for him to eat for firstmeal. Instead, he heard the sound of crying coming from the main room of their small shack, barely audible over the howling of the wind outside. Confused, Vurawn paused at the opening of the room and peered inside. His mother was hunched over at the table, her narrow shoulders shaking as she wept into her hands. That was unusual, and it left Vurawn feeling uneasy and confused.
“Mama,” he said quietly; she didn’t respond. Frowning, Vurawn made his way to his mother’s side, reaching up to tug on her tunic to get her attention. “Mama? Why you crying?” His mother still didn’t lower her hands, didn’t look at him, didn’t respond. Vurawn’s frown deepened, and after a moment of thought he tried another question. “Mama? Where is Rika?”
“SHE’S NOT HERE!” The sudden explosion of anger from his mother frightened Vurawn, sending him scrambling back to the safety of the hallway. “SHE’S GONE AND I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU SPEAK HER NAME AGAIN!” She broke into a fresh flood of tears, her reaction enough that he started to cry as well.
“What the fuck do you have to cry about?” she snapped, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, Vurawn. Do you understand?!” Vurawn gulped for air, frozen in place, not understanding what was happening. His mother had always had a volatile streak; Vurawn’s short life was littered with memories of Vurika and him walking on eggshells when she was upset, but this was different. This was something he’d never seen before. The hysteria in her voice frightened him, but he dared not make another sound.
“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!” his mother screamed, grabbing the closest item at hand - a cup - and throwing it in his direction. It hit the floor a few feet away, the cup shattering and cold caccoleaf splashing all over his houseshoes. The sound of the impact startled Vurawn into motion, and he ran back to the sleeping-nest as quickly as his short legs would carry him. He cowered in the corner of the room, whiskercub clutched to his chest with one hand, the other held over his mouth to stifle any sounds he might accidentally make. He couldn’t understand why she’d thrown the cup at him when he’d done as she’d asked. She’d told him to be quiet, and he’d stopped making noise, so why had she gotten even more angry? What had he done wrong? And where was Vurika?
Aside from a few trips to the refresher, he spent the day hiding near the sleeping-nest, doing his very best to be quiet. His belly was empty, but his mind was filled with questions and worries; he didn’t dare seek resolution of any of them from his mother. She had been very clear that he was to be quiet and unseen.
When darkness fell, Vurawn wondered who was going to tuck him into bed, who would recite the magic spells that kept the ice-wights and the angry ghosts and the dancing lights away so he could safely sleep through the night. Vurika had always done so, and she had held onto him while they snuggled under the sleeping furs. Vurawn had never slept alone before, but he gradually realized that if Vurika wasn’t here, then he would have to do it himself. He pulled off his house shoes and climbed into the sleeping-nest, the space feeling too large and too cold now that he was alone within it. He whispered the spells that Vurika had taught him to keep the monsters away, hoping he remembered all the words. Vurawn lay down under the sleeping furs, and buried his face in his whiskercub, and cried as quietly as he could.
He missed Vurika. He didn’t like being alone and he didn’t want her to go away again. Vurawn promised himself that he would tell her that when he woke up tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d be back, and his mother wouldn’t yell at him like that again, and everything would be as it should be. The thought comforted him a little, and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.
----
Vurawn woke alone in the sleeping-nest he shared with his sister, his worn stuffed whiskercub in his arms. Yawning, pushed away the furs and slowly slid down to the floor, sitting to pull on his house shoes. First day’s task successfully completed, he then made his way down the short hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He slowed after a few dozen steps; again, there was no sound of Mama and Vurika in the kitchen, no smell of cooked firstmeal. He crept to the doorway and looked inside to find his mother in the same place as the day before, bent over on the table asleep. His tummy was hurting from hunger, but he was afraid to make his mother angry again by asking for food, or where Vurika was.
After a few minutes, Vurawn retreated to the nest and grabbed his whiskercub, then crept back into the main room, moving as slowly and quietly as possible, his eyes locked on his mother’s sleeping form. The bins and baskets where most of the food was kept were too high for him to reach without pulling up a chair, and that would make noise - but Vurika had shown him a secret place where she had put some jerky and hard biscuits away for them to eat on the days when Papa was out on the water and Mama was in one of her moods. He picked up the can and held it close, then crept back out of the room into the hallway, towards the door. If Vurika wasn’t here, Vurawn reasoned, he would just wait for her to come home.
Getting dressed to go outside was much harder when you had to do it by yourself.
He struggled into his furs - the pants were easy enough, but he couldn’t quite manage the buttons on his coat; luckily, the weather was still mild and the coat was slightly big on him, so he could just hold it closed against the wind if it got too cold. He pulled on his boots and his hat, though the lacings on both were beyond him. Mittens on his hands, the can of food in the crook of his arm and his whiskercub held in his teeth, Vurawn pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The cold hit as it always did, though the springtime temperatures were more than bearable. He carefully made his way to the little upside-down boat with a hole in the bottom in front of the house and climbed inside.
The boat was their safe place, where they could go when Mama was upset, and they could be as loud or boisterous as they wanted. The interior was decorated with drawings made with charcoal on the bleached wood that still smelled of the salt sea, and little piles of pretty stones and broken shells, giant fish scales and pieces of netting. Old blankets and a grungy fur were placed on the ground; an emergency lantern hung from old rope, crisscrossing across the top of the space.
Vurawn had half expected Vurika to be inside, waiting.
It wasn’t exactly warm in their little private world, but it was out of the wind and blowing snow. Vurawn moved further into the space and settled in, pulling open the can and starting to work on a piece of old, tough, nearly flavorless fish jerky.
Hours passed. Vurawn turned on the lamp when the cold had become too much, its small light warming the space enough to keep him from becoming sleepy. He chewed on a biscuit, so hard that it hurt his teeth to do so. He examined the rocks, and he played with the netting; when he became too sad and too lonely, he hugged his whiskercub tight and told it that Vurika would be back soon, and they just had to be brave.
Night fell.
Vurawn was shivering; he had been in the cold all day, and by the time he had thought he should go back inside, it was too dark to leave the safety of his playhouse. Any number of monsters or predators could be lurking out there, waiting for him to step outside so they could snatch him up and eat him. He wanted to be inside in the warmth of the shack, tucked under the furs of the sleeping-nest next to the warmth of his sister’s body, his belly full and mind at ease. Unsure of what to do, he remained where he was, his whiskercub’s tear-soaked fur becoming hard with a crust of ice.
The sound of footsteps crunching on the snow made him hold his breath. A monster?
Relief flooded through Vurawn when a face peered in from outside the hole, glowing red eyes fixed on him. “Rika!” he cried, reaching out his arms.
“Vurawn? What are you doing out here, it’s freezing!” Not Vurika. But not a monster, either. He crawled forward and held out his arms.
“Papa,” he cried, pressing his face against his father when he was lifted, holding onto the fur of his coat like he might vanish, too.
“Shh, shh, Vurawn. Stop crying. Why are you out here instead of in bed?”
“I waiting for Rika,” Vurawn replied.
His father sighed, then leaned down to turn off the lantern and pick up the forgotten whiskercub.
“Vurika is gone, Vurawn. You need to forget about her. And I don’t want you outside on your own after dark, you know that.”
“Yes, Papa,” Vurawn meekly replied.
His father brought Vurawn inside and removed his furs. He sat Vurawn down on the table and made him some cooked grains, the warm food filling his belly and making him sleepy before he had finished the bowl. He took Vurawn in and put him in fresh clothes, then tucked him into the nest. He said the spells to keep the ice wights and vengeful ghosts and dancing lights away, then leaned down and pressed his forehead to Vurawn’s.
“Papa?” Vurawn asked softly, “Where is Rika?”
“She’s gone, Vurawn. Now go to sleep.”
“Why Mama angry?”
His father didn’t answer right away, but smiled sadly as he smoothed his hand over Vurawn’s hair. “Things will be ok. You know how your Mama is, son. You…” He paused, and let out a small sigh. “You just have to let it roll off.”
“Roll off?”
“You know how water falls off a Skireet’s back? Whenever your Mama gets like this, remember that. Let her words roll off. Things are going to be different from now on, but it’ll be ok.”
Vurawn nodded, and smiled softly as his father pressed his forehead to his once more. Things were different, and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but if his father could handle it, so could he. He snuggled down in his furs, hugging his whiskercub, and drifted off to sleep to the sound of his parents arguing in angry, hushed tones in the next room over.
----
It would take weeks for Vurawn to fully understand that Vurika was gone and she wasn’t coming back; it would take years for Thrawn to fully understand why his mother never treated him the same ever again.