It wasn't by chance that he ventured as far as he did. Why his feet never tired, his shoulders never ached, or the urge to turn back was never voiced. Even now, with his faith teetering on a saw worn and broken, did he know. This was where he was meant to be, where the Star Mother yearned to show him his future. Their future.

She led him until the path broke at the top of the mountain, rocks crumbling beneath his feet and rolling back where he'd come— reminiscent of pieces of his past falling away with every step taken. It was unlike many other mountains he'd seen and climbed, unlike the one he and his sister often ran off to in their weakest and most irate of moments. Something about it was different...almost whole in a way he couldn't describe.

Behind him, trailing (hobbling) with the weight of secrets she did not yet wish to share, was Tove. It was her he sought in the midst of his excitement, her that he wished to show this home—their home—if she so wished.

Istia ūndegon, starfire.  Ēza showed nyke bisa, shown nyke bisa future. (You must see, Starfire. She has shown me this, showed me this future.)

I think it to be ours. Though those were words he kept to himself, still too frightened that she might flee and take his unborn children with her. Not that he would deserve anything less, but perhaps giving her a home better than a hollowed log may sway her.

Like a young pup seeing a squirrel, suddenly:

Se jurnegon! arlī inkot kesīr, iemnȳ se cavern, kostā urnēbagon se starlight. (And look! Back behind here, within the cavern, you can watch the starlight.) His hurried steps led him to the caves that crept back into the mountain—a home within a home. For them. For others.

Help me make home, yes?