Ouroboros Spine And do you ever feel like you're alone?

The land of Moonglow bore few similarities to Nasamiituuq's birthplace by the sea. The girl took the change in stride, adaptable as any child, but even so the adjustment was not without its difficulties. She found it difficult to sleep. It was so quiet here compared to the constant sound of the waves at Saltshore.

Late at night, she sought her mother. Anaa, Her voice was little more than a whisper as she addressed @Vairë, not wanting to wake her brothers. I can't sleep. I miss home. She looked imploringly at her mother with eyes beginning to turn green in their transition from blue to gold.

Being home was…different.

Seeing her children in the spaces she had once occupied as a child was disorienting, though she had always meant to visit. And, of course, it was always nice to see her parents.

But, she missed the sea. Saltshore. Rhaegal. All of it.

Nasamiituuq would find her mother already wide awake, staring at the distant sky imploringly. The young woman turned, reaching out to run her tongue over her daughter’s dark head.

I know, aahmaaĝix̂, but we could not stay. Not alone. Already, the places where Vairë had begun to thin were bulking, now able to eat with someone to watch her children in the meantime.

Would you like a story?

Nasamiituuq frowned deeply at that, but did not protest. As much as she wished to, she knew that anaa knew what was best. Instead she nodded quietly. A story would help. Maybe she would be able to sleep.

But her heart still ached for home, even as she prepared to listen attentively to all that Vairë said.

Story taken from here if anyone would like to read it in its entirety

Vairë gave a smile, small, but present, then back to the sky she looked. She thought, and she thought, before she let out a soft “ah!” of a sound.

I will tell you of Raven and his Grandmother. She said, pointing to a distant black spot against the dark sky.

In her barrabara at the end of a large village, lived an old grandmother with her grandson, a raven. The two lived apart from the other villagers because they were disliked. When the men returned from fishing for cod, the raven would come and beg for food, but they would never give him any of their catch. But when all had left the beach, the raven would come and pick up any leftover refuse, even sick fish. On these, raven and his grandmother lived.

One winter was extremely cold. Hunting was impossible; food became so scarce the villages neared starvation. Even their chief had but little left. So the chief called all his people together and urged them to use every effort to obtain food enough for all, or they would starve.

She told the story in a soft voice, slipping into a high, crowing tone for Raven’s voice, and a creaky older tone for Grandmother. Until she reached the last of the tale.

The raven's first wife, the chief's daughter, had a son by him, a little raven. She had it in her arms at the beach and walked in front of raven, where he could notice her. "Here is your child, look at it," she called. But he ignored her. She called to him several times and continued to show him the baby. At last he said, "Come closer--nearer still." But when she could not stand his odour any longer, she left him without a word.

Death occurred as a result of the feast. Many of the people ate so much fat on the spot that they died soon after. The rest of the people had eaten so much and filled their barrabaras so full, that during the night they all suffocated. Of the entire village, only three were left--the raven, his new wife, and the grandmother. There they lived on as their descendants do to this day. She tucked her daughter close to her, eyes still on the sky. Sadness closed her throat.

This should have been a story told beside the sea.