Your voice (in my throat)

(They thought they had forgotten how to do it.)

(Or maybe it was just easier to stop.)

The early morning air made their head feel fuzzy. It prickled against their arms, which laid bare on top of the comforter.

From the window, light fell into the room, filtered through leafed branches. The swatches of yellow and orange crawled over the blue comforter and warmed their skin, swaying from the wind outside.

Their eyes ached looking at them. Or maybe that was just their headache.

The rustling of fabric scratched at their ears as they sat up. Got out of bed. Glanced at the mirror – they were presentable enough if they kept to the less-traveled hallways.

They didn’t bother with day clothes yet – merely shifted to primal form to avoid the “not properly dressed” situation entirely. There was still a bit of time to truly dress before they had to leave.

They always made sure to get up early enough to have a bit of time.

They could’ve found the room with their eyes closed, their paws knew the path as if they’d left indents in the wood from all the times they’d walked it. The Blackstone walls of the manor, decorated with ivy and tapestries, blurred around them as they went, their mind empty.

The room was far below, one of the farthest below in the building, and Ame floated over stairs and stairs and stairs until they hit the door. Literally. Face planted into it.

August must have thought that was them knocking because it soon opened.

“Oh! Hi,” August greeted, smiling, as if he could be expecting anyone else. He was still in his fragile form, hair flattened on one side from sleep.

“Good morning, August.” Ame summoned a smile too and shifted to match him. Golden keyaa particles followed them from the shift as they walked in without preamble, knowing they were welcomed to.

“Gods below, I could not get to sleep last night,” They whined, stretching in an exaggerated manner and yawning loudly, something that would usually earn a snicker from August. “I doubt you could hear it, but our guests last night really overstayed their welcome.” Ame grimaced in distaste. “And I mean really, truly. It was meant to be a meeting, not a party.”

August shut his door gently, the bells and various knickknacks hanging from it jingled as they thumped against the wood. “You’re right, I didn’t hear anything.”

No snicker? And a quieter than normal August? That was odd.

They scoffed, “Be glad you didn’t. It was dreadful. They were dreadful.” Ame plopped onto August’s bed and wrapped his blanket around themself like a cape. “I don’t have the time for breakfast, unfortunately. But,” They grinned, and brandished one finger for emphasis, “I can hang out for a bit. Probably for an hour or so, before I have,” they pointed a thumb behind them, “to head out.”

August was still standing by the door, and, after a longer than average beat of silence, Ame looked towards him. His eyes were squinted, just slightly, staring at them.

Ah. Something is the matter with August.

Ame trilled in question. “Have I something on my face? Or clothes? Personally, I think this nightgown is rather stylish,” they flourished the frilled cuffs, “though not everyone can appreciate pink whistle-worms patterned against such a vibrant green, I suppose.”

August clicked a no. It was a quick, high note followed by a lower one, muffled since his mandibles were hidden in his mouth.

Luckily, Ame didn’t have to coerce August to explain what was worrying him.

“No – I just... I thought I was imagining it the last couple times. But. You keep using my voice when you greet me, or say hi to me.”

Their thoughts stuttered in place. That was, in no way, what they were expecting him to say.

Ame blinked. “Sorry – I what?”

“Use my voice. You know, mimicking it. I thought it was the same way you do when you’re teasing me or making a joke or something – but then you don’t do that, and just switch back to your voice right after.”

Ame heard the unsaid question. Why? Why are you doing that?

This was concerning because they couldn’t remember doing that at all. And August was making it sound like this had happened at least several times.

And Ame didn’t know why.

They were scraping at the corners of their brain trying to figure it out and they had no idea why they were doing that.

“I… well …”

“I don’t mind!” August said, “I only. I was just curious. If there was a meaning to it, like, uhm, with your whistling – I know that’s a storm spirit thing.”

I know that’s a storm spirit thing.

Oh.

Abruptly, the early-morning fuzz lifted completely from Ame’s mind.

Because, shockingly, it was a storm spirit thing.

Amek had forgotten.

Abruptly, the memories of other voices sung in their head. The voices of other storm spirits. They remembered how those voices rumbled in their throat, and the sound of their own voice on the tongue of another.

And, abruptly, their chest shuddered with a barely swallowed sob.

“Ameokk?” August’s voice was frightened.

“I’m fine.” Their voice was flat and quiet. “It is a storm spirit thing, but don’t worry about it.”

August’s hands wrung together in front of him. “Okay.”

They reclaimed control of their breathing quickly, a learned skill. Yet their head was still full of voices they didn’t want to hear.

They smiled. “You were telling me last night about the book you’re reading. It was about history, wasn’t it?”

“I –yeah… “August wasn’t smiling, and his hands still clutched at each other. Though he did shuffle closer to sit next to Ameokk. “Do you want to hear about it?”

Just barely, they could hear him purring, a crackling, hesitant noise, and Ameokk didn’t know whether it was meant to comfort him or them. The thought made their eyes ache, and their chest ache too. Or maybe that was just their headache.

Amek clicked a yes. It was two high, short notes, made by hitting one’s mandibles together a certain way. They didn’t have mandibles. But the noise was easy to mimic, a learned skill.