Firestone Hot Springs moontooth

The culture of the seal hunters seemed rich and fascinating. There had been no such rituals in his own upbringing, although he had witnessed and heard of many more amongst his larger family in Round Valley. Growing up on the spine, they hunted together without marking it in any way. Kills were celebrated, but more for the meal than for the feat. They sang together, and his mother would tell them stories in the dark. She had told him that they were given two names, so that one could be used where the fae might overhear, and the other, only in close company — an intimacy he allowed very few.

"Nine times only, and you killed your own," the panther marveled, after logging away the names that'd been spoken. His mind returned to conjuring the fight that must have taken place. There was so little detail of what went on under the water. He supposed he would have to see it for himself one day.

"You really think you can make me into a seal hunter?" he asked — and it was an honest question! But there was something just a little lascivious in his tone. There had been too much talk of making boys into men to pass over it entirely. Still, he went on in all earnesty: "I would learn, if you would teach me."