Different

“Well… You should wait…” Father said calmly as the fire cackled behind them. Bard tilted his head slightly.

“Wait to have children?” he asked, moving to tend the fire. Sen came after him, biting her lip and seeming embarrassed by the change in direction of the conversation. Bard sat down and moved some coals to stir the fire. Sen sat next to him and then shifted away. He gently shook his head. Of all their conversations, this is what she was bothered by? He found it a bit cute.

“There is no need to look so nervous. This is knowledge, and knowledge is only ever a burden when ignored.” Father chuckled as Sen shifted.

The water around them gave to a gentle atmosphere and presence that calmed them till the fire popped as sap lit. Sen nearly jumped, but them timidly settled closer to Bard. He moved a hand to touch hers in a way of comforting her. She looked over and then away. Bard barely caught sight of flushed cheeks before she gazed at the fire again.

“A tree does not rush to bear fruit. It must root itself first, grow strong, weather the seasons. If it flowers too soon, the fruit is weak, and the tree struggles to hold its own weight. A child is much the same. And in your case, the growing season is different than what either of you have been told.”

“As… you mean pregnancy?” Sen squeaked.

“Because of our different races,” Bard said, almost overlapping her. He stopped and looked down as she seemed to shrink.

“Long ago, before the war took so much, I knew of a handful of mixed-race couples. They were rare… and persecuted, yes. But I remember their stories, their fears, their joys. And I remember their children.”

His voice softened, growing almost melodic as he spoke.

“For your people, Bard” he said, his voice carrying over as if directly to him. “Pregnancy has always been a guessing game. When one begins, how long it will last—it was often determined by signs rather than certainty. And for your people,” he turned his words to Sen, “the timing was clearer. Fifteen months, almost always. But for children born between both worlds, it is neither one nor the other. The child will take twelve months to grow, and the signs you expect may not appear as you think.”

Sen seemed to squirm under the talk. Bard could understand it. When traveling with the catfolk, sometimes their direct conversations about these sorts of things had made him squirm, but compared to the way the villagers had talked when he had wandered around, he preferred it and so had gotten less sensitive about it. Though, his mind caught hold of something Father had said.

“Twelve months?” he echoed.

“It seems long now, but time moves as it will. And your future children will not follow only one rhythm. That is why you must learn to listen.” He paused and then shifted, sending a few bits of wood down around them.

“Tell me, how do you know when a song is about to change its pace?”

Bard blinked at the sudden shift but answered without hesitation. "You listen to the way it builds. There are patterns, changes in tension… even if there’s no sign yet, you can feel it coming."

“Sen? How do you know when the seasons are changing before the first frost or the first bloom?”

Her gaze moved to Father. She considered, then answered slowly. "The trees. They feel different. The air smells different… things shift, even if you can’t see it yet."

“Then you both already know how to understand this.”

Sen’s eyes widened, while Bard exhaled, as if something had settled in place within him.

“Your child will not follow the exact pattern of either of your people, but you are both already attuned to rhythms greater than yourselves. You must pay attention, learn what to expect—not from old traditions, but from what is happening in the moment. And, as all wise musicians and children of the wood know, patience and preparation will make all the difference.”

He let the words sink in, then finally added,

"That is why I advise you to wait—not out of fear, but so that when the time comes, you are ready to listen to what your child needs and not just what the world expects."

A silence fell, not the kind that came from discomfort, but the kind that came from the weight of something understood. The fire popped, sending up a spray of embers.

Bard reached for the instrument beside him, fingers running over the wood, lost in thought. Sen exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the shapes of the trees surrounding them.

And Father simply stilled, content in knowing that the roots were already beginning to grow.

Bard paused and looked out at the sunset in the forest. It made sense. He knew Father shared it like that because of how much he listened to the forest. He hadn’t thought that their lives could be a song that he and Sen would create, weaving together and adjusting as challenges came up. Establishing a ‘normal’ tune and then adjusting it as circumstances that arise made sense.

The fire fluttered and then went dim. Bard stirred the coals, and it came back to life again. The war erased more than just people. Knowledge, traditions, understanding and wisdom; these things were gone. So too were the experiences that could have helped him and Sen know what to expect. If not for Father sharing, he could have gotten anxious waiting for the year to come to a close.

Sen moved in closer, being small and somewhat stiff.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“I don’t like how straightforward this conversation was. It’s inappropriate.” She harrumphed. Bard let out a single forced chuckle before placing his arm around her, the water nearly boiling in the pot before them.

“It’s better that we know. Otherwise, you could have panicked while our kids were born ‘early’.” He said, emphasizing the council. She shivered and moved a bit away, clutching her arms as she cradled herself.

“Bard. This… it isn’t okay to be so open about this.”

“Hmmm. Well, do you not want kids?” he asked, and she stiffened hard, and then shook as she tried to look at him.

“I… I do… but… you were the one who said not to…” she said. Bard tilted his head as his eyes squeezed shut, trying to figure out how she had heard that from him. “Back in the village. You got after me… a lot. I thought you didn’t want kids or wanted to talk about it till after the marriage.” She answered the unspoken question. “Plus, I only overheard things before my grandfather would be quiet when he realized I was there. I figured that it wasn’t something we were supposed to talk about.”

“Oh Sen.” Bard said as he rose to get the meat from its pack, the water ready to receive. “I never meant that we couldn’t talk about it. I didn’t want to have to worry about any… and you… well,” he became flustered, feeling a strange heat rise as she brought up those memories. He looked to Father, who had grown very quiet. Seeing him looking that way, Sen also cast her glance there. The sun was nearly down, so it made it seem like he was going to fade into the darkness of the night, becoming a background to their conversation.

“I suppose… this is something we made assumptions about,” Sen said carefully. Bard nodded.“Wasn’t there a question about family and kids on the ground?”

Bard didn’t know. He hadn’t paid attention to those and with the growing darkness, not only would it be harder to read, he felt like there was still a lot to go over. Father remained quiet, as if he was asleep or not participating in the conversation. His song, however, was what still told Bard that he was alive and doing well.

“Hey Sen?” Bard asked as he stirred the meat, checking they were tender again. “What was growing up with a mother and father like?” She perked up and then tilted her heard as she looked skyward.

“My mother died when I was young. I was about twenty or so years old. I got a lot of time with her, if you look at how long humans live, but… it’s not a lot when you look at how old my grandfather is.” She looked wistful as she spoke before curling up and staring at the fire. “When mom and dad were together, I would see them teasing each other, sometimes they would argue, but mostly… I remember them smiling and holding each other often. Even when they were sad.”

“Dad offered to take me on trips, so mom could focus, but I wanted to be with her the most. She was the best mom in the whole world. I loved spending time with her, listening to her, sitting in her lap or playing with her.”

Bard hummed as he listened. She sounded sad while she spoke, despite the words being so enviable.

“Dad didn’t let me see her body when they found her dead. It was really hard to understand at the time because I was so young. I wanted to see her one more time. But I learned from grandfather a long time later what the humans had done to her. I’m not sure I would have handled it well, but still… it does hurt that I couldn’t see her again.”

Bard stopped what he was doing and looked as she buried her head into her knees, curled up like a little ball. He quickly glanced to make sure the food wouldn’t burn or overcook and rose. He planted himself quietly next to her. Very gently, he placed his arm around her, offering her comfort. At first, she seemed resistant, but then, slowly, she leaned against him, becoming unbalanced and uncurling. She leaned against him, and he briefly noticed the glint of tears on her arms.

While he held her, he was grateful his family had perished at a young age. If he had more memories of them, he was sure he would have struggled a lot more. He stopped himself. After being with Elvira and Ruegar had shown him what it was like to be parents, but then thinking of the chief and how Elvira had handled it made him pause. He wondered if all the things Elder Pathfinder had taught were how he managed to be seemingly less effected by their passing.

However, the idea of having children in this era did bother him. What if he and Sen were killed by shades and their children were left behind. Would they be able to survive? In his case, it was a miracle that he was alive, raised by Father Tree. Sen still had her father and grandfather, but the future wasn’t certain. Tears came unbidden as he thought on this. One fell before he managed to wipe them away. Sen flinched and then looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he said, and she looked at him with concern.

“Bard. You’re… crying?” she moved her hands to brush at his tears and he closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he gently grabbed her hand and wiped off his own tears.

“Just a bit worried, is all. And a bit grateful,” he said as he looked towards Father Tree.

“What are you worried about?” Sen asked, and Bard took in a shaky breath to calm himself. He let it out and wiped at the beginning of a few more tears.

“Kids… neither you nor I had both parents, and the idea that I might leave my kids behind because of death… well. It’s something I don’t want to do, but also, something that scares me, because I can’t control that. I can control making my home safe, what I do, and who I surround myself with for the most part.” He took a deep breath as he managed to get his tears to stop.

“Would you regret it?” Sen asked after some time had passed.

“Regret what?”

“Having kids. Giving them a life for as long as you could, even if it wasn’t ideal? Or would you regret not even giving them the chance to live? Refusing them of that chance, even if they experienced pain and loss.”

Bard became silent as he mulled it over. It sounded like both ways would be hard.

“As for my mom and dad. They never regretted letting me live, only that they couldn’t give me a better life, the kind they had hoped for. And that’s where I stand,” she said with a calm strength. She shifted back and looked him in the face, a very serious expression that he hadn’t seen much on her before.

“Wasn’t it Elder Emotion who said fear’s not there to stop you, it’s to get you moving? If you’re worried, then you’ve got some fears, and so we should prepare ourselves. I think someone mentioned ‘prepare for the worst, hope for the best and call it good’.” She said as she tilted her head and looked upward.

“Call it good?” Bard echoed. Sen chuckled.

“Well. It was what someone told my dad. He kept preparing us for an attack from the humans after they killed my mom. And he kept doing that for a few decades. I think it was just before you appeared that he finally stopped preparing, and let his fears calm. So I guess he missed the mark,” she chuckled. Bard smiled at this. He admitted he was certainly an odd one. At the same time, he didn’t want to imagine spending so much time on things he was afraid of. It felt like a waste, or counterproductive. There was more to life than that.

While Bard mused, Sen became more small and bit her lip.

“Bard?” she said, grabbing his full attention. “One of the questions was how many kids we want… and right next to it was a remark about that you would die really early. I… well… could we talk about that?” she asked.

Bard was a bit surprised at the change in reasoning, but he shifted to face her better.

“Sure,” he said, and she still seemed a bit squeamish as they talked. When she found out he wouldn’t live much more beyond seventy years unless lucky and that he was already twenty-eight, she became a bit somber.

“But then… I can only have…” she started counting and shook her head. “That’s like one or two kids.”

“And that’s a problem? Wait. Why only one or two?” he asked.

“Well. It's typical to wait about sixteen years between kids. My mom and dad were a bit late, but they were trying when my mom passed away. So that’s why I don’t have any siblings. I was a bit envious of others who had siblings, so I wanted that for my kids, but…”

“Sixteen years! Sen, that’s really long.” He said, surprised. “Humans can have them nearly yearly, though some wait between kids, but look at Elvira’s kids, they were about two years apart.”

She looked completely flabbergasted at this. Then it dawned on her and she began to slightly nod her head.

“Fifteen months… oh.”

They discussed the differences in timetables for a while, and neither could figure out what to do about the expectations.

“I guess… we’ll just have to trust our instincts,” Bard said, and Sen agreed. “By the way, Father mentioned we should figure out what sort of home we want to raise the kids in. I’m not much of a builder, and it sounds like you want a house. Could you explain it more?” He asked. Sen obliged, and the two talked long into the night over what sort of future they felt would be good for them and any sort of children they had. Sen’s ideas were a bit foreign sometimes, until she elaborated her thinking and reasoning. And there were plenty of times Bard had to explain where he was coming from for her to see his ideas.

When Sen couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, he carried her to Kai, who had long since fallen asleep and placed her on the soft fur. Seeing her sleepy figure, he leaned down and kissed her forehead before turning himself in for the night.