With his belly satisfied and the woman busy with her work, Tulimaq saw no reason to linger long within her camp. His intrigue over the boy hunter drew him along an obvious path: along the patrol route that the boy had taken earlier.
It was not long before Tulimaq came upon him. The same tension that had appeared between them at the ulaq surfaced again once their eyes met, but the boy stopped and stared, he did not run. It was as if he knew what was coming.
The distance from the camp was considerable enough that the red streaks linking the ulax looked faint. The caribou milled in an almost drunken fashion across the plains, watched by canine shapes that wove between.
The boy looked angry. Tulimaq wondered why — but truthfully, did not care. His wonder was over other things. Before he could speak his mind, the white wolf spoke up.
Kigipigak heard this and began to bristle, but said nothing. The implication was strong enough to him: You will join me. The elder Tartok did not ask, as it was not the way of their people. Kigipigak was subordinate to this man by virtue of his age and experience; if he should so call for him, he knew he had no choice.
And yet, the man said nothing. He began to prowl away again, seemingly leaving this up to Kigipigak; or more appropriately, letting the threat hang in the air for him to digest.
Kigipigak stared daggers after the man until he was only a black smear against the snow, breaths pluming from his snout. He returned to his patrol of the herd, but his mind and heart were unfocused.
It was not long before Tulimaq came upon him. The same tension that had appeared between them at the ulaq surfaced again once their eyes met, but the boy stopped and stared, he did not run. It was as if he knew what was coming.
The distance from the camp was considerable enough that the red streaks linking the ulax looked faint. The caribou milled in an almost drunken fashion across the plains, watched by canine shapes that wove between.
The boy looked angry. Tulimaq wondered why — but truthfully, did not care. His wonder was over other things. Before he could speak his mind, the white wolf spoke up.
You are Tartok.As if such distinction mattered. Kigipigak thought himself to be wise in the way of his people, but this other wolf was older, at least to match his mother, and had the look of something predatory. Even so, he was not familiar.
As are you.Tulimaq answered, having learned as much from the snow-woman.
But you are not among your own people.It was an observation as well as a criticism, and he knew the boy felt the words keenly by the way his jaw tightened.
My savaktuk hunts the caribou further north.
Kigipigak heard this and began to bristle, but said nothing. The implication was strong enough to him: You will join me. The elder Tartok did not ask, as it was not the way of their people. Kigipigak was subordinate to this man by virtue of his age and experience; if he should so call for him, he knew he had no choice.
And yet, the man said nothing. He began to prowl away again, seemingly leaving this up to Kigipigak; or more appropriately, letting the threat hang in the air for him to digest.
Kigipigak stared daggers after the man until he was only a black smear against the snow, breaths pluming from his snout. He returned to his patrol of the herd, but his mind and heart were unfocused.
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