you gave her the name of her spirit before she went.

that is all you could give, daughter.

kukutux was silent, her eyes trained upon the gentle breeze over the face of anik lake.

her children live on.

but nothing tooteega whispered soothed the moonwoman, nor turned her eyes from despair.

lynx at last came; sunyellow eyes burning; 

you blame mauruk.

tears slid in crystalline rivulets along moonwoman's face.

"i blame mauruk."

you blame yourself.

"i blame myself."

these words, quiet yet aloud; they pulled the sobbing from her chest and eased inside her a tight rein of true pain which had existed since the death of her sea island girl.

if i had done better. better with my healing. with my naming.

lynx shook her head.

you are still wondering why he came back. you grieved him. you sang for him. now he has come home. now you have lost a second child. tell me what you believe, moonwoman.

that returning from death has a cost. mauruk's return was — was her.

the leaves hued in autumnal dress fell softly around kukutux as she stared into the lake, the crush of that price crushing her ribs in agonized breaths.