#mm 1

"Ater Shi'ar. As always, I am grateful for your guarding eye. Please, watch over me and my loved ones as we attend our business today." She paused and rolled her thoughts over her tongue. "And I know it's unusual for a gnome like me to keep praying on behalf of an orc, but—" she lifted her gaze just enough to watch the sunlight glimmer in the symbols of the moons, the Sho-Kihai. "Please, keep watch over He'esh a little while longer, Ater Shi'ar; and I pray the Sho-Kihai will guide his journey over the Arc, when his time comes."

He'esh, who had taught her the ancestral language of orcs and gnomes alike. It was his tutelage that allowed her to write new songs, rather than relying on memorized lyrics. And now he wanted her to sing his death and ease his passing into the next life.

Evarin dug her fingers into the dirt and bowed low. So low, her braided hair fell over her shoulder, and her prayer pendant brushed the ground. She pressed her snout against the largest stone of the altar, kissing it as gently as if it were her own mother's cheek.

"Amer Naharin," she whispered, "lend me your strength. Singing to end a life is so much harder than singing to heal a wound or sickness. And taking the lead of a choir I'm not familiar with is a challenge of its own. Please, send me a stone token to help me stay focused during these rehearsals, so I can face my duty with a calm and clear mind." She sat up and closed her eyes once more, taking deep breaths as she began her meditation.

Reaching into her own soul and extending its senses, Evarin could feel the bright energy of the earth's magic all around her. The smell of the pine incense and the feeling of dirt beneath her fingers kept her anchored, though she was only entering a shallow meditation and didn't need a safety line.

Her sunflowers glowed with living energy, nearly formless compared to animal souls. Beneath and around the flowers, little pinpricks of insect life glittered like stars. Evarin stretched her soul senses further through the immense light of her tree home, reshaped by the work of botanical singers who coaxed its wood to grow into rooms and hallways. And through those hallways, Evarin found the familiar form of her husband's soul as he approached her altar room.

His was an erratic soul, mangled by magic trauma in his early childhood. It still bore the scars of that trauma; tattered edges like the flickering tongues of a fire. His skin, too, was marked by those scars, though they were well hidden by his feathers. At his side, Evarin could feel the presence of his dog. Or rather, the creature shaped like a dog, which chose to act like a dog, but certainly did not have the soul of a dog. She was a strange entity, full of magical energy like a vessel full of water that sloshed around with every motion.

Evarin pulled the edges of her soul back to herself, relaxing and feeling refreshed just the same as she did after stretching her physical body. Grounding herself in her senses, she could hear her husband's soft footsteps coming to her door, his bird-like talons and his dog's short claws all tapping and scratching the wood floor.

“Ev? I’m ready to go when you- ah,” Morianon’s voice broke the silence, “sorry,” he dropped to a whisper and his footsteps retreated a short distance, followed by the scrambling noise of his dog turning to join him. Evarin couldn’t help the breathy laugh that slipped from her lips and fell over the stone altar as she bowed a second time.

"Amer Naharin, I thank you for the living magic you share with us." Evarin straightened up and dipped her hands in the bowl of water to the side of the altar, letting the dirt fall from her fingers. She touched the altar and left a damp handprint there, a silent prayer to the spirits of the water, the Arelai. Their fickle nature made them difficult to pray to, but those they took a liking to were always blessed with luck. She sighed and lifted herself up, standing and wiping her hands on her pants, just beside the dirt smudges on her knees. Her ears twitched at the soft sound of knuckles tapping the wall, and she turned to face her husband with a smile.

“Done?” he asked, standing sheepishly in the doorway with the dog at his feet and his green-feathered wings tucked around his body, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He walked forward as Evarin shook her head and welcomed him in. He too, had to duck through the doorway, as he was only a knuckle's length shorter than her. He'd stood taller than her, once, when they were naive teens still figuring out the right way to fall in love.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was nearly done.” Evarin met Morianon in the middle, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and pressing her forehead to his, touching their wedding tattoos together. He smelled of mint, covering the harsher stench of the medicinal tea he drank twice a day to keep his soul stable. He raised his head to nip at the hairs between her brows, preening them with his beak tooth. Evarin returned the gesture with a kiss on the scarred gash between his mouth and the gaping remnant of his nose.

"I'm ready to leave if you are," he repeated, "your parents are probably waiting."

"I know, I'm ready now." She took Morianon's hand and they walked back to the door, where Sitla sat witing, wagging her skinny tail. She didn’t enter the altar room, only stretching her neck over the threshold with her tall ears at full attention and her pale eyes wide open. They were a startling sight against the blackish brown color of her hairless skin, but it was a sight Evarin had long gotten used to. Sitla was a small thing, standing just tall enough to press her cold nose agaisnt Evarin's upper thigh in greeting. She trailed behind her people like a shadow, only her eyes and beaded collar catching enough light to make her visible in the dim hallway.

Seamless wood walls curved and opened into the large central room at the heart of the enormous tree. It was an elvish styled home, one they shared with Morianon's adoptive sister and her husband. The central room held a conversation pit lined with couches and pillows, right next to the kitchen's low wall. A few shelves around the room held little decorative shrines to the deities of the household; an elvish custom, though not a single member of their household was a full elf. Morianon and his sister were both half elves, of different sorts, and his sister's husband was stroi, a cousin of the elves.

At the entryway, Evarin took her favorite jacket from its hook on the wall and wrapped herself in it. Like most of her favorite clothes, it had been a gift from her father. He wove the colored wool on his loom, building the intricate patterns row by row, and had a seamstress finish the work. Wearing it brought her comfort beyond the warmth of the wool.

Morianon pulled long sleeves over his arms, and turned to Evarin for help securing their ties. His shoulders remained bare to give his wings space; all his clothes had a neck strap or buttoned collar and wide open backs that only covered the space between his wings and tail. Evarin couldn't help running her hands over the soft feathers that poked out of the gaps in his clothes, admiring their colors. Deep forest green on his backside, with dappled cream spots all over. And on his front side, a dleicate sky blue with black dapples instead. If it weren't for his clothing, he would be nearly invisible flying through the forest canopy. With a wry smile, Morianon pushed her hands away and knelt on the floor to wrap his feet in cloth shoes, working around Sitla as she shoved her head under his arm. Once his feet were covered, he turned to the dog and buttoned a simple white vest around her torso, with a leash attached to the back of it.

Edit: I found it !

Cautiously, Evarin released the closures and let the top fall to the floor. Her breasts, real true breasts, sagged a little under their own weight, pulling at the healed incisions. Evarin couldn't help the grin that wrinkled her snout as she looked down, eyes darting between her reflection and her actual body.

With a gleeful giggle, she turned this way and that, just as she had the first time she wore a fancy dancing skirt for the annual sunflower festival. Her breasts: hers! Round and perky, though they would soften and sag with time as her body acclimated to the pixie wax implants.

She ran her fingers over her breasts, tracing the incision lines. Eyes gleaming, she moved her hands beneath her breasts and bounced them a little, taking great joy in how hefty they felt.

She would grow into them, if Anita was right about how far her secondary growth spurt would take her. Tall as her mother, maybe taller. It was hard to know just how much her orcish heritage would come through. For once, the thought of it didn't draw a frown to her face.

"Having fun?" Morianon's voice cut through her captivation and she watched her cheeks grow red in the mirror before she finally noticed his figure standing a little ways behind her.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come in!" Evarin clasped her arms over her breasts, turning to face her husband. He chuckled and stepped closer, his smile growing wider as he looked at her chest.

"Couldn't wait for me, huh?"

"I was just so excited to finally take that top off," Evarin apologized, "I was about to go get you, really!"

"I think it was better this way," Morianon replied, "you looked so happy, just now. I don't know that I've seen you smile like that since our wedding day." Gently, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards the mirror again. She let her arms fall to her sides and stared at herself once more, taking in the sight of her breasts as if they might vanish the moment she looked away.

"I spent so long avoiding this," she murmured. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away, shaking her head. "I always sort of felt like it didn't matter. I thought I was comfortable enough in my body, you know? I didn't hate it. And it's not like my body needs me to love it; I don't love my hands just for existing, so I don't need to love the rest of my body either."

"Do you love your body now?" Morianon’s hands drifted towards her chest as he embraced her from behind. She nodded and laid her hands over his, pulling them around to cup her breasts. He gave them a gentle squeeze and grinned, which only made Evarin giggle again.

"I love it so much." Evarin's voice cracked and the tears spilled out with her laughter. "It's so silly, but I really do." She looked over her full reflection, shifting on her feet and tilting her hips. "Do you know the silliest thing about it?"

"Hm?"

"I think I like my penis much better now too."

"Do you?" Morianon leaned forward and peered around her shoulder. Evarin ran one hand down her belly, and he followed the motion, until they each had a hand on her breasts and a hand at her hips.

"I've gone back and forth on it so many times," Evarin sighed, "hated it at first, then felt sort of neutral. You made me feel like it was a real part of me, but now—" her eyes lit up— "it's like I just couldn't see my body as a whole thing before, you know? Just parts that had their own purposes. And now I think it looks like a body. My body." She squeezed Morianon's hands and he returned the gesture.

"I don't really know what to say," he laughed, "I'm just happy to see you smile like this. I could spend a lifetime watching your joy." He rested his cheek on her shoulder and curled his wings forward to encircle them both. "Say it again, Ev. Tell me how happy you are; tell me you love your body now."

"I do! I love my body, I truly love it now."

"Every inch?"

K'arik knelt in front of the altar, below the wall of skulls, and looked up into the shadowy gaze of his grandmother. [dead pronoun] death still stung his heart. Elkha's hands were the ones that taught him how to sign, gave him the ability to communicate. He bowed low before [dead pronoun], allowing his emotions and his tears to fall to the floor, giving them over to his ancestors. Raising himself with a trembling sigh, he opened a small pitcher of scented oil and poured it into the shallow dish on the altar. The unseasonable fragrance of blossoming flowers and fresh herbs filled the air, strong enough to reach the dead with an assurance that their descendants remained faithful. K'arik breathed it in and raised his eyes to his grandmother's skull once more.

"Good morning, anna-dar," he signed, "I hope you are well today. Adda-nar is tired, but he is alright." He paused and let his grief pour down his cheeks, but tried to stifle the sob that shuddered in his throat. "We all miss you. I know you watch over us, but we miss you." The skulls on the wall became vague white shapes through his watery eyes, but he persisted in his prayer. "Help me stay strong," he pleaded with grasping hands, "uncle Ikar is already making trouble for us, and the dwarven nobles arrive today. T'oren and I have much work to do."

As he cried, bowing his head and trying to calm his trembling hands, K'arik felt a warm touch on his back. He turned and found his brother, smiling as he came to kneel at the altar. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of them wordlessly stared up at their ancestors. Despite their age, the skulls looked almost new; cared for as lovingly as though they were still alive. Their names and titles were carved into little frames below them, each one individualized with symbols befitting their personalities and roles in the family. K'arik let his gaze linger on each one in turn as he signed their names and repeated his plea for support. At the very top, there was a name without a skull, replaced by a pair of dire elk antlers. Kahar Ashalen-Kit'aer, the clan founder, whose skull rested in the sanctuary.