held back any recollection

"Mana allin musquykunayuq kasankichu?"^[1]

"Arí."^[2] For the first time in what feels like hours, Samiyuq attempts to uncurl hir fingers from hir still-full, long-cold mug of sugared milk. "What else?"

They sit down next to hir in the middle of the barn, gently shoving away the goat who tries to press her face into theirs. (Kachki,^[3] the black one with the white splash over her nose is Kachki, named for her persnickety habits; she was born while Samiyuq was away, but ze knows her name, all their names, ze'll know their names for years to come, they have names.) Somehow ze can't draw hir eyes away from the fixed point of nothingness they've locked into, but ze allows hirself to lean into them, only realizing as they warm hir side and pull a woolen shawl around hir shoulders how deeply the pre-dawn air has sunk into hir skin. "Noqaman ñiy."^[4]

Ze's told them almost nothing in the year and a half since ze made it home. Not even the good—the novelty of new places and the friends ze made who would die for hir as soon as ze for them, some of whom even survived—and certainly not any of what ze did. Not that ze snaps at the goats when they come to hir for food because ze can't handle the idea that they trust hir, or that ze comes to the barn on hir worst nights anyway because it's the closest ze can get to sitting in the colony room, surrounded by chewing and clattering instead of clicking and fluttering but most importantly surrounded by life. Asking is, Samiyuq thinks, more their way of letting hir know they're there than an actual request, so ze doesn't bother to try for subtlety about changing the subject. "Tell me a story about Peru."

They run a gentle hand through hir hair, tugging a column curls apart without speaking. By the time they've reached the ends Samiyuq already regrets the question. Peru always cheered them up when it was something to look forward to; they used to promise Samiyuq that ze would love how the mountains felt like the earth cradling everyone who looked at them, and that they would celebrate reuniting with their parents and cousins by cooking every type of potato they could get their hands on. They only bring it up with melancholy wistfulness now. They don't protest, though, which Samiyuq isn't sure whether ze should feel better or worse about.

Maybe they want to be reminded sometimes, despite everything.

"Have I ever told you," they ask eventually, still in Runasimi, "about the time I was there for finding a sullu?"^[5] Samiyuq shakes hir head, and they go on quietly, resuming brushing through hir hair with their fingers as they speak. "They make machines now to tell when an alpaca is pregnant, but my parents are too traditional for that. Fate does as it wills. A sullu is still fairly rare, though. The first one Tayta ever found came the first morning he started teaching me to butcher." Ze doesn't need so see them smile to hear the shift in their voice. "He called me his luck charm."

Ze's heard that last bit before, and wonders from time to time how much hir grandfather's nickname trickled through to hir own. "You must have been excited."

Two goats look up, and Samiyuq jumps, as they laugh. "It was a morning like this. I was tired and cranky and eight years old. All I cared about was that alpacas were fluffy and cute and we were killing one. Then at dinner all I cared about was that they were tasty." They fall briefly silent, then speak again more quietly. "We always have choices, but we do what we need to, too."

They don't know, Samiyuq reminds hirself. They can guess about the humans, and they're not wrong, but they can't know about the bats.

"What if I didn't do it right?" ze asks, shifting to English—the language of Capitol and rebels alike, by and large, and the language ze's grown used to thinking of death in over these last long years. Ze curls hir hands hard around hir mug again, suddenly as freshly furious as if the Treaty had been signed yesterday and not wanting to show them. All of that, all of it, the dead allies and the dead bats and the dead people ze killed—"What if it didn't change anything?"

"Everything you did, if it did nothing else, brought you home to me."

It's been a long time since Samiyuq could bring hirself to cry in front of anyone else, but ze turns and hides hir face into their shoulder anyway. "I'm sorry," ze says, which doesn't mean enough. Neither does, "Pampachaykuway,"^[6] but ze tries. "Wasinchisman hamurqani qanrí mana aylluykiman rinkichu^[7], pampachaykuway."

They wrap their arms around Samiyuq, who can no longer pretend that ze's shivering with the chill. "K'acha,"^[8] they murmur into hir hair, "I would rather have you with me than anything else in the world." Ze presses hir face in their shoulder harder and squeezes hir eyes shut, as though that can block out their words along with their face. "Never apologize to me for coming back." Ze swallows and nods roughly, and they tighten their hold. "K'acha. Sami." Luck. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too." Even muffled, ze can hear the choke in hir own voice—how the words come out like news, like a revelation. Like another apology.

"Munayki,"^[9] they say, and hold hir until the goats begin to demand breakfast.



Title song is "Insomnia Plague" by Sea Oleena.

[1] Are you having bad dreams (lit. are bad dreams with you)?
[2] Yes.
[3] Thorn.
[4] Tell me (lit. say to me).
[5] Fetus; in this context, alpaca fetus, which (along with llama fetuses) are considered lucky throughout much of the Andes.
[6] I'm sorry.
[7] I came home (lit. to our house) and you won't go home (lit. to your community). [Ayllu most accurately refers to a community composed of a network of families; see here.]
[8] Beautiful (term of endearment).
[9] I love you.