Dictionary of my Heart
Ameokk tells August various Storm Speak words over the course of ~9 yrs, despite September urging (conditioning) them to forget them, and despite their own twisted emotions over many of them. Part of them wants to forget too, but half in guilt and half in spite, they refuse to. August helps.
Author's Notes
Aug is 14 and amek 16 here
Yamnay: to share the sky
Ketet: a swear
Tejak: sing
Tuyyan: sorry
Kuom: loud
Ja: signifier to make something more
Vettuj: red
Araverej: forever-rain, or rain/storm that seems never to end
Ameokk had helped August up one of the tallest trees, supporting him when he missed a grip and pulling him up when the climb was too steep.
Now, the overgrown forests of Daharus spilled Infront of them, a tapestry of yellow and green canopies supported by towering brown roots that looked like tangled yarn. In the few spaces sparse of trees, pools of water reflected the sky in shards of blue glass. The clouds above, some of which the canopies grazed, were feathery slight things that moved lazily across the sky.
August admired the view, his side pressed to Ameokk’s to absorb their warmth. The breeze was biting, but in an exciting way that made a grin curl onto their muzzle.
“I have a word for you.” Ameokk said.
August turned to them.
Their gaze was tracking the clouds, expression empty.
He clicked softly in affirmative, not able to discern their tone, then waited.
“Yamnay. It means friend.”
“Yamnay?” He repeated as a cautious warmth spread in his chest. Friend.
“YA-mnay” They corrected gently. “The ya is emphasized.”
He tried again, and this time Amek clicked yes, he had gotten it right. The clicks sounded sharp and pleased, maybe even a tad surprised. It made August smile.
They both continued to admire the view in a content silence. After a bit, a rude gust of wind nearly pushed August off the branch.
He scrambled to get his claws into the wood for a better grip, Ameokk’s tail pressing him further into their side.
“O – okay, maybe we should go down now,” August laughed.
They snickered, “Sure.”
Once they got down a few branches, protected from the wind by the canopy, Ameokk spoke again.
Their voice was nearly swallowed by the whispering leaves, “Yamnay directly translates as flyer.”
They were turned towards an opening in the canopy, a sliver of blue sky that had broken through the green.
“Because you fly with those you like, and it’s nice to share the sky.”