#lambrinder

Nanrinder swore as his fingers slipped and the stem of yet another Camilla flower broke in half and was rendered useless under his grasp. He tossed the mashed stem and the now ruined flower head to the growing pile and plucked another from the shrinking bouquet pile. The spring day was crisp and clean. The air was fresh, white fluffy clouds peppering the sky without the slightest threat of rain. Insects of all kinds flitted around the wildflowers that grew untamed on the.....Well Nanrinder wasn't quite sure what to call where he now lived with Lamb and dozens of the Lamb's devotees, Acolytes, Priests and Followers. A community, he would assume. Compound seemed too harsh a word and village didn't quite fit as it lacked any real democracy outside of Lamb's odd gentle totalitarian theocratic rule. Yes. Flowers grew wild within the Community, dotting along the paths, by the houses; only absent near the little farm that kept them all fed when meat grew thin and rare. 

Many of the acolytes of the cult wandered about, it had been a decree of rest for the day. Such simple minded creatures needed to be told to take a break-some of them had come from Groups where the idea of being idle was considered a heretical offense and would choose to work themselves to death. Many sat in little groups chatting away with gossip, some kept company of their own just enjoying the sun and day, a few newly started families fussed over one another in the early bliss of marriage or courtship.

Nanrinder felt no desire to sit among them and chatter away like squirrels. Nothing they said he could ever relate to. Unsure if something they said was to be smiled at or laughed about. Sitting in silence listening and growing restless and uncomfortable. He spent far too long sitting in silence to just be spending his time here doing it all again in an attempt to be social. And then there was the matter of the looks on their faces. He could see their discomfort with him regardless of what he did. If he tried to smile, it felt forced and strained because he didn't FEEL happy among them and they became uncomfortable. When he let his face rest, he apparently seemed annoyed or angry and they became distressed, assuming they did something wrong; upsetting or offending him. They only tolerated him and his presence among them as he was Lamb's husband. It would be rude-offensive-even heretical to object to someone 'Glorious Leader Lamb' had chosen to be their life long companion and spouse.

They would never deny him.

But he knew they wished they could.

So he kept to himself. It wasn't uncommon apparently. Some members just liked their own company. A few had been in such crowded cults that privacy was a fantastic dream and the idea of quiet was a wish that would never come true. Nanrinder didn't want to be alone. He spent so long being alone. He wanted to be among people. He tried. He tried his honest BEST. But each attempt was just more discouraging than the last to the point where he simply gave up trying.

"Fuck." He swore again as another camilla was destroyed at his hand. He added it to the pile and picked up a new one.

The only other noise aside from the distant sounds of the acolytes, the bird song, the sound of the creek not too far from the temple where they got most of their fresh drinking water-was the sound of bone knitting needles clacking against each other.

Lamb sat next to him, on the temple steps, knitting away. They had taken their crown off for a brief time to set at their feet, sticking a large ball of bright red yarn into the crown so it would not roll away again (Nanrinder wouldn’t lie, for all the atrocities the lamb had committed in his name, it was very adorable to watch him frantically chase after a ball of yarn when it rolled down the temple steps). The long strand was gobbled up by the needles and added to the numerous woven rows of a little red shirt bearing a triangle shaped mark. Lamb hummed softly at their task, some odd little tune Nanrinder had heard them hum before. Cooking, sweeping at the temple's steps-even in the odd part of the night when Nanrinder would bury his face into the thick woolen curls around Lamb's neck, his spouse's chin resting on his head, feeling their heart beat and the vibrations in their throat as they hummed. A song with no words, a melody with no meaning, a tune with no real end that could be picked up anywhere and sound just right.

Nanrinder took it back.

He did like Lamb's company. It was why he agreed to marry them.

What better way to secure the companionship of the one creature who tolerated him than to marry them?

"I was thinking.....Maybe Yggshoth." Lamb mused aloud and Nanrinder looked up from his futile task. Ah yes. That. "Maybe Absolom. Abbadon perhaps. An A name would be good." They added. Nanrinder gave a flat sniff at the thought. He hadn't been named. He had simply always....BEEN Nanrinder. Or if someone did name him-he didn't remember who exactly it was. The trouble of being so old is that sometimes the early memories would get hazy.

"Vikoth is also nice. Haar recommended the name Shilveth. Apparently it's a common name in his old home village."

" I don't think we should take naming advice from Haar." Nanrinder finally said. "I saw him eating shit the other day." He could hear Lamb sigh-quietly muttering 'I thought I got him out of that habit' under their breath.

"Well some of them can't help it. Although I wish they wouldn't-there's more than enough to eat here that they don't need to DO THAT again." Lamb grumbled. The one thing that seemed to put their relatively even temper on edge was the acolytes eating shit. Apparently food had been so scarce in some cults, that desperation had driven many to.....recycle what they had excreted for the nutrients. And many regretfully developed a taste for it.

"Nothing a stern talking to won't fix." Nanrinder finally looped the stem around and tied it off before it could break and slip off again. That seemed to be Lamb’s go to methods these days-try reason and negotiation before force. "They adore you. If you decree eating shit illegal, I'm sure they'd obey without hesitation."

"I just worry for their health, is all. Nothing about that is natural or healthy-well. I take it back. I hear the Rabbit folk do that but mainly due to something about their digestion, I don't know." Lamb waved it away. "I don't see what's wrong with my cooking that shit seems to be preferable. I like to think I'm a good cook by now."

It was true. Lamb was a very good cook by now. The meats were always rich and tender-fall apart off the bone, there never was a single stray bone left in any fish meat that could get caught in the throat. The Berries and Vegetables grown on the farm were always fresh and clean tasting-seasoned and cooked in such a way they didn't lose flavor. It could have been the fact he spent so long not needing sustenance that when he took the first bite of what should have been a bland mix of potato gruel and squirrel meat that he found he couldn’t have enough. And it was even better tasting when actual high quality ingredients were used. Lamb could even make gruel taste good. Nanrinder wouldn't lie; Lamb's cooking was delicious and he could understand why everyone loved eating together at such a long communal table in the evenings regardless of the current situation the community found themselves in. 

Good food apparently did make for good company.   

He lightly patted Lamb's thigh with a hand, assuringly.

"Your cooking is fine." He reassured his spouse. "They're just all insane and weird." Lamb smiled at him and resumed their knitting.

"Oothelia is nice too."

"Back on that again, are we?" Nanrinder resumed his weaving. "You know it won't arrive for quite a few months."

"Well-I mean, I know that!" Lamb defended shuffling their hooves in place a bit. "It's just. I'm rather excited is all. I want to give them a good name."

"Then why not a traditional name? Aren't there any Sheep names you'd want to give them?" Nanrinder watched as Lamb's face scrunched up a bit as they undid a stitch and redid it. Lamb was always fond about talking about their people, their traditions. His siblings had spent his entire time imprisoned destroying Lamb’s people, that Lamb didn’t want the memory of his culture to be lost. So they had taught many of the followers to knit, sheep songs, traditions and values that once belonged to their family. Lamb loved their culture.

"I don't know, They all seem so.....old." They remarked. "I don't want my children to be made fun of for having some antique of a name like 'Phillip.' or 'Patience' "

"No one would dare make fun of the child of the leader." Nanrinder tosse another broken flower to his side. His reserves were growing small, he'd probably have to get new flowers. Lamb smiled slightly.

"Well. They can have a little fun prodded them. For humility. I don't want them growing up with an ego and letting it go to their head. An ego should be earned, not gifted by birth right."

"...I like Kainnek." Nanrinder finally complied to the conversation he knew Lamb wanted to have.

“Kainnek is a bit hard to pronounce.”

“And Yggsloth is easy on the tongue then?”

“Well Yggsloth isn’t my FIRST choice of a name. I do want an A name, I just don’t know what yet.” Lamb hummed. “Arandelle, Ayorthelle, maybe Aminstable….” They laid their knitting down for a moment and looked at Nanrinder. “Would you be opposed to the name Aymthall?”

It took Nanrinder aback a little bit. One of his guards-silent and unspeaking, thru all their years together-was named Aym. Nanrinder couldn’t claim that it saddened him when Lamb had to strike them down-Aym and their brother Baal. But he knew they were released finally from their duty, perhaps seeking rest elsewhere in the great beyond that he never was to know or traverse. As it was not the place of death to see beyond the gate of the material and spiritual plane. But rather act as it’s doorman. But he had a soft spot for them both. Even though his imprisonment he felt horribly terribly alone, and neither of his guards ever spoke a word to him not to condemn him or comfort him even once, he found some vague comfort to their presence despite it being one of indifference.

“I….I would have to think on that one.” Nanrinder hesitantly answered. “But I do like it. Keep that one on the back burner if we can’t think of a better one.” He saw from the corner of his eyes Lamb rubbing the curve of their stomach, he could just barely hear them muttering something about ‘almost getting you a name, so you better come when we call for you.’ to the unborn child

It wasn't very visible beneath their cloak or the layers of wool they had. But Lamb recently had one of the acolytes sheer them (a tentative long process that was more crying on the shearer's part, terrified they'd hurt Lamb in the process) resulting in their wool cut short and close against their body. Every now and then their cloak rode up a bit as they tried to readjust their knitting and he could see the small but well defined outline of their stomach that had not been there a few months ago.

It had honestly been such a process, Nanrinder was still unsure of how they even got to this point.

They had been wed a year after Nanrinder came here, a tentative but rather bold courtship by the Lamb who had apparently ‘adored and admired him’ since they first laid eyes on him. So starved for love and attention, Nanrinder responded a bit too eagerly for his own liking to their advances, but nonetheless the outcome was still favorable with a small ceremony witnessed by their followers. They took leave from duties, briefly appointing a highly trusted stand-in and spent most of their time alone in solitude kissing and holding one another; more on Nanrinder's part to be held. It had been so long since anyone had ever touched him with that sort of gentleness that he rarely wanted to relinquish that submission of power. Sweet words and gestures of affection-it completely flew over Nanrinder's head what a pair of newlyweds were SUPPOSED to do on their wedding night. Lamb never pressed him into it-seemingly just as glad to be with him as he was with Lamb. It wasn't until they more or less returned to the normalcy of everyday life when Acolytes asked him if he enjoyed his 'special time' with knowing nudges and sly winks that it actually OCCURRED to him that is what they were meant to do.

Nanrinder spent roughly a week and a half avoiding everyone more than usual out of sheer embarrassment.

A thousand years was a very VERY long time to forget about certain rites and rituals of mortals.

The thought only came back when Lamb began to behave......excessively towards him a few months later. Bleating and prancing around him, rubbing up against him every chance they got. Waggling their poofy nub of a tail at him when they bent over to pick up anything off the ground-casting glances over their shoulder as if to check if he were looking. It was only until Lamb knocked him to the ground after the dismissal from the morning Sermon, whining that they had been neglectful to poor Nanrinder, that he didn't even notice their signs and signals for him.

It would honestly have helped if anyone updated Nanrinder about the courtship and mating signals of an essentially defunct and critically endangered race.

His humiliation streak finally ended when Lamb decided to start a new sort of 'ceremony' to throw during the spring-as a sort of reward for a year of prosperity and full storehouses of food and resources. A Fertility ritual. Many of the followers were young and full of desires, many of which had been tramped down by former cults enforcing chastity and shame for such natural wants that the response to the proposal was resoundingly positive.

"It's high time we start breeding new followers rather than wandering into the woods in hopes of finding more strays." Lamb had tittered after their decree. "And who better to lead the ceremony than us and by example?"

Nanrinder didn't know he'd enjoy the exhibitionism of it so much; maybe it was just the idea that the Lamb-their glorious exalted leader, their god in mortal form-eagerly bent over the alter where every sermon was spoke, bleating hysterically to be bred like some common whore; or maybe it was the noises of the followers indulging their own rapturous coitus with spontaneously picked partners below that egged him on. It didn't quite matter; other than a thousand year long dry spell finally ended and somebody who wasn't him had the rather.....unseemly duty of mopping the temple afterwards.

But to the flock it seemingly worked; the cult leader had done their magic yet again.  A few numbers of the Acolytes did fall pregnant that had attended the ceremony-pleased as anything that they not only fulfilled the purpose of the ceremony, but excited to foster new life into the world. It wasn't uncommon for children to be the first to sacrifice in cults-as they were easy to produce and didn't resist. For many, this wouldn't be their first children having lost many before coming here. This would be the first time they'd be able to keep their babies rather than sacrificing them to a hungry creature or an vast hole or some kind of ritual to please something otherworldly.

And Lamb had fallen in the family way as well.

It probably helped that now Nanrinder understood the bleats and tail wagging Lamb would do at him and comply very enthusiastically. That probably increased the odds.

And now they sat here on the steps of the temple together.

Discussing baby names. And knitting tiny shirts.

The idea flustered Nanrinder at times. Flustered, frightened, confused, rejoiced-so many conflicting emotions all at the same time. But all of them....in a sort of good way. For so long he had been The One Who Waits. The unchanging constant for everyone. Who everyone will inevitably meet sooner or later.

And now he was to be 'Papa Nanrinder.'

"I just had a thought." He said.

"Mn?"

"What will the child call you?" He inquired. Lamb paused in their knitting.

"What do you mean?" They replied, tilting their head to one side, almost puzzled.

"I mean.....well.....A Male is called a Father. A Female is called a Mother. But you do not adhere to really either labeling of either gender. So what will the child call you?" Nanrinder repeated, being a bit more deliberate and up front. Lamb blinked their large round eyes and knitted a few more lines on the shirt before holding it up a bit, to size it up.

"Well. Traditionally among Sheep, Maaba is a rather gender neutral term for a parent or an older relative." They replied, cinching off the last row and pulling the needles away, stabbing them down into the ball of yarn for safe keeping. "There, that seems about right."

"Seems a bit big. Maaba you say?" Nanrinder mumbled as he rubbed the shirt between his fingers-knitted from the wool of Lamb themself. It was soft and felt luxurious, undoubtedly ideal for keeping a newborn warm in the chilly winter months that would follow their birth.

"Yes. I had two Maaba's growing up, siblings of my mother. And they'll grow into the shirt." Lamb folded up the shirt and laid it next to them. "More room in the clothes means more room to grow and I want our children to grow big and strong like their handsome handsome papa." Lamb tickled under Nanrinder's chin which set him purring, scrunching his eyes closed at the gentle ministrations.  He couldn't help but pout when Lamb stopped but picked up the flower crown he had woven and laid it on his spouse's head. "Aw, for me?"

"Yes." Nanrinder mumbled, feeling red and embarrassed again. Lamb leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You really are such a wonderful, wonderful husband." They mumbled before snuggling up against Nanrinder. Nanrinder continued to purr as he watched Lamb pick up the knitting needles and start knitting again-another long series of loops into loops.

"Another shirt?" He inquired, confused. Lamb had just finished the first one. Lamb hummed in confirmation.

"Of course. One for each child."

"I'm sorry, for each child?"

"Did you not know that?" Lamb inquired, genuine and confused  at Nanrinder's lack of knowledge. "Lambs usually give birth in pairs. Most every lamb is a twin or a triplet."

"So we're having TWO?"

"Most likely." They patted their stomach as if to check. “I mean, there’s no telling with these things, my mother had expected me to be a twin, but I came out a single….Yes, yes, I ‘m quite sure, two of them at least. Call it an expecting Maaba’s intuition.”

It shouldn't have come at such a surprise, Lamb seemed so much farther along than the others, they'd soon double in size and-

"We can barely pick ONE name, now we must pick TWO?" Nanrinder sighed, rubbing his temples. Being this creative was not their strong suit. Lamb chuckled softly to themself setting to work properly on this new shirt for apparently the second of their impending children that would be there by autumn.

"Well, like you said. We have quite a few months ahead of us. We have all the time in the world." Nanrinder thinly smiled at this, picking up one of the few remaining camillia’s in his possession, twirling it around in between his fingers. 

Yes. 

All the time in the world.