Qeya River pinga

The great light at the maw of the den had not yet tempted him.

Instead, he shuffled past his parents and brother to the rear of their cozy little home, finding an exposed root and taking it into his mouth. He pulled, but gently, more occupied with the feel of it against his tongue and budding teeth.

And the taste—full of memory. Full of the earth his soul had graced many times before, albeit within different paws. 

A more insistent tug, and some dirt came loose, sprinkling upon his head. The ground was beginning to thaw, ever so slowly but surely. His body knew no better, but his heart yearned for winter, and mourned the coming warm months, the space between snowfalls.

Malrok chewed thoughtfully, solemnly.

Outside the den waited Kigipigak. He did not think himself agile enough to get inside the den, nor did he want to place himself there within the ulaq that was growing cramped as the boys grew; it was better this way. He would wait in the light and watch for signs of movement, or listen for their little voices, which would one day culminate in to their first steps, hunting lessons, sparring matches, take-downs...

While he listened and looked for signs of distress from outside, he also watched the trees and kept tabs on all the sounds alongside the river; but his mind was far from this place, temporally speaking. He was living in the future already with two strapping young men at his side, a wife with freshly rounded sides again, and the bustling community of their village finally rooted in place.