Shadowwyn Moor Hydrurga

Their number grew by one, and in that one there came a multitude. Provided that Morwenna was a successful wife to the Sun Eater then the Saatsine would have many smaller mouths to feed; 'that would be easy to handle,' thought Sulukinak, who lacked any familiarity with children or the caring of a life.

She thought of the harvest constantly now.

Even as she stalked the outer edges of the caribou herd and feigned interest in their own patterns upon the moor, Sulukinak could think of nothing else. The reaching pelt of winter draped across the green here so that everything was either frost-covered or blanketed in white and she stared out at the expanse, imagining the sound of the sea rolling beneath ice.

The command of her uncle was to seek the woman called @Suliya and to learn her ways—which were somehow different from the Sun Eater's lanzadoii, and the elk hunter's sharadoii, and closer to the work of her own mother. As eager as Sulukinak was to accomplish any task put before her, she was reluctant to seek out this woman.

What if she turned out to be another anatkuk?

suliya’s pale eyes flicked toward the voice that called her. the frosted air carried a sharpness, and the weight of responsibility loomed heavy as the saatsine wolves prepared for the inevitable turning of the season.

you call for me, she greeted plainly, stepping toward the girl who had summoned her, her posture steady and unwavering. her tone carried neither hostility nor warmth, simply a matter-of-factness that matched her measured steps. her eyes, sharp and assessing, fixed on the younger wolf, searching her expression.

what do you seek? she asked, her voice low but clear. a faint tilt of her head betrayed the flicker of curiosity beneath her composed exterior. the saatsine way demanded strength and purpose; she wondered if this girl’s call carried either.

as she waited for an answer, her thoughts wove briefly to the words of sun eater, to the paths she herself had yet to decide upon. her own questions remained unanswered, but she held them close, guarding them like the treasures of a muradoii spirit. now, she would see what this one sought from her.

The herd flowed like a tide across the moor. The crushing of the snow to their steps was intermittent but it reminded Sulukinak of when pieces of ice would graze one-another in their passing. Sometimes a caribou would lift its crowned head and bugle, and to that Sulukinak would wince, or turn back her ears, until she became used to that too and barely stirred when the trumpets sounded.

The girl was so focused on her observation of the herd that she did not hear the other woman drawing close until it was too late, and whatever reluctance she upheld about their meeting drove a spike of anxiety through Sulukinak. There was not a lot known about this gilded woman, at least to the shadow girl, and now that they were close, and available, Sulukinak could shift her study to them instead of the herd.

There was nothing motherly about this woman, which to Sulukinak was all too familiar. She was cold and hard in the same way as Sun Eater; she was serious, and she was focused, and the way she looked upon the herd and upon Sulukinak was the same. It was unsettling because of how familiar it was.

Uncle said to meet you, she began.

He has taught me of the lanzadoii, and sent me to learn of sharadoii with hunting men. He said you were something different. He had used the word muradoii but in this moment, in her currently hypervigilant state, Sulukinak's mind did not hold tightly to that, and she forgot it. Do you know the everdark? Where it is ice and sea?

suliya's fur rippled as a chill coursed through her spine, not from the cold of the air but from the weight of the girl's words. her ears twitched, an involuntary reaction, but she kept her expression neutral as she studied her more closely. the girl—no, the woman, for there was an edge of maturity to her that even her youth could not mask—bore the scent of sun eater and the blood of their shared lineage. niece, yet unfamiliar.

her lips pressed together at first, unsure how to respond. the mention of the everdark stirred something deep within her—a sacred place, a name woven into the very marrow of her muradoii heritage. a place she had never seen, only heard of in whispered tones and shadowed stories.

the everdark, she said, her voice cool but steady, her gaze narrowing slightly. what would you know of it? her words carried neither accusation nor warmth, only the weight of curiosity layered with suspicion.

that is a sacred name, suliya added after a pause, letting the words linger in the crisp air between them. a womb of life and death for the muradoii. ice and sea, yes, but more than that. much more. so tell me, she leaned slightly closer, her pale eyes pinning her, why do you ask about a place that even the spirits tread carefully upon?

There is something like recognition within Suliya at the mention of this place. When she speaks of it there isn't so much an edge to her words but a caution. As if to speak of this place was to invite its attention. It is the new knowledge being shared that piques Sulukinak's interest the most—that it is sacred. The fact that it is known in any sense does strike Sulukinak as suspicious. In her very short life she had mentioned this place to so few, and never had this sort of reaction.

It is a place of long darkness. Where there is no land and only ice, and the sea is often angry. People there do not live as a village; there are hungry men that come and go, and—women there, who speak with spirits. In her mind's eye now is the figure of her mother superimposed upon Suliya. Sharp-bodied, frenzied Nukilik with a bent neck over a chasm in the ice, beckoning. There, and gone again.

She looked now bright-eyed and challenging towards Suliya, watching her, intense as she studied what reactions might take place.

suliya regarded the girl with a steady, measured gaze, her breath curling faintly in the icy air. these things you speak of, she began, voice low and deliberate, they are true.

she let the weight of her words settle before continuing, a flicker of something sharp and unspoken passing behind her pale eyes. but the women, they hold themselves firm to the ice. it is their strength, their shelter. they are not like those who wander. the words carried no malice, only a quiet, unshakable certainty, as though she spoke of something carved into her very bones.

inwardly, her thoughts turned to her mother— the spirit talker of the ice. she remembered the stories. their home had been the sheaths, endless and cold, and yet alive with the murmurs of spirits. the men had always returned with their biddings—tokens from raids, offerings of food. in return for children, they had brought these things, and the women had made their homes strong.

but suliya said none of this aloud. instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying the woman with a faint spark of curiosity. why do you ask of the everdark? she said, her tone careful, as if weighing the question’s significance. do you seek to know it, or does it call to you already?

Her uncle had claimed this woman knew of things because of her connection with her people. Sulukinak had her suspicions and by now, in this brief conversation, she had seen the truth of it. Now Suliya sought recompense: information in exchange for what was spared to Sulukinak.

They regard one-another with the same shrewd expression and it is the shadow girl who breaks away first.

My mother is—was...?—Anatkuk. Finally the truth of it. Kiviuq lost in the dark would find her. Sometimes ask for magic. Sometimes ask for spirit-talking. She traded with them. There was a deeper understanding there, one that perhaps the other woman would understand.

Meat was hard to come-by. So was warmth (in whatever form a man might seek).

She hid us from them. Me, my brothers... There wasn't a softening of her gaze as she spoke of these things, these people. They had been far-removed from her life for so long now! Sulukinak had moved on. Do you know conclave? Her eyes went to the caribou; a stag faced some elders with heavy crowns, and from this distance Sulukinak could see their rising ire in the puff of breaths between them.

She called it harvest. Said, 'We give to Sedna, Sasuma, and sea.' Her voice wavered slightly, and then she was silent; it was the most she had told anyone of these things, even her Dutch man, even to Uncle. Now she shared in the hope her secrets might not be secret; maybe Suliya and her people knew more.

suliya listened, the weight of the girl’s words settling over her like a heavy snowfall. there was something raw in the way sulukinak spoke—something that stirred memories buried deep in suliya’s own heart. the mention of anatkuk, of the prayers, of the harvest—these were things she knew intimately, things whispered in the everdark among the sisterhood of muradoii women.

i know these things, she said softly, her voice low but steady. her gaze shifted from the girl to the caribou in the distance, their breath mingling with the cold air like specters of their ancestors. we prayed to our own gods, hidden away. sedna. sasuma. spirits of ice and sea. they were ours alone—no man was allowed to know their names, their rituals. it was the sisterhood that held the secrets.

she drew a slow breath, her eyes flickering back to sulukinak. your mother—she must've followed the old ways. the conclave, as you call it, is what we knew as the gathering. it was sacred. a time to give, to ask, to barter. but it was also a time to protect. women like us, like your mother, hid what needed hiding. because the world beyond the everdark… it takes what it does not understand.

her voice hardened slightly, but not with anger—more a firm conviction. it is not easy to carry that weight. to be the one who knows, who hides, who guards. your mother—she gave you more than you might realize. she gave you the knowledge to keep walking, even when the path is hidden.

suliya's gaze softened slightly, a rare thing, and she nodded toward the girl. this has been the women's way of muradoii. one that i have only envied, from the stories my mother whispered in hushed breaths.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mentions of blood, ritual behavior, parental abuse.

I know of these things.

Everything clicked in to place. Suliya spoke the names of these gods her mother favored, she knew of the conclave between mother and child, and when she spoke of harvest Sulukinak could not keep her focus upon the moment any longer. Her eyes dropped; she felt her shoulders raise and tighten, her breath hitch.

What had her mother given her? It wasn't knowledge. It wasn't safety or food or warmth, all things that would have shaped Sulukinak in to a better person, a more capable person.

She tried to take us to the water. The voice that came from her now was so small and unfamiliar. She had found a hole in the ice, for seal fishing we thought. There were words spoken I did not know. There were strange magics that she used. We ate as a family—and I remember— These were things she had not spoken of to anyone. Secret things she was told never to share; things Sulukinak had kept well buried.

Conclave is for mother and child. It is not for children. That was what Nukilik had always told them. She had prepared them for the harvest as best she knew how; and so the children had not been afraid when they were cut, bled, and given to the water. These things were gruesome—but Sulukinak recalled as much as she could now, the information flowing from her without her own control.

Details of the symbols cut in to her brothers; words spoken in both languages familiar and unfamiliar; the way the sea went red with their offerings and then so black! And the sleepiness of her brothers as they grew weak. But how she stayed awake through it all, she, alone. And when they began to fade and Nukilik moved to have them dropped through the ice, how Sulukinak had rallied and fought for their sake.

The running. The hiding. Escaping the everdark and leaving her mother there alone upon the ice.

Sharply she comes back to the present, looking wide-eyed to Suliya.

What did she give me, then, Suliya? If you know so much of this. What did she give when all I remember is what she tried to take? Incensed by the memories and the telling, Sulukinak's usual aloof demeanor had long since faded for this panicked, frightened girl.

She had not run far enough.

suliya listened. the poor girl of a lost heritage, understood by none, falling incessantly down a hole of confusion, loss, and ultimately— a lack of belonging.

what her mother did— suliya could not judge. for women of muradoii had their reasons— less it be that their had been...a mistake with her birth. the spirts could've whispered, the offerings of her children enough to satiate their hungry gods, but even so...

suliya moved towards the girl. an urge to comfort, to help her understand what had happened. suliya was no expert on their traditions, but her mother had sacrificed much to tell her all that she could.

her wide-eyed restlessness had suliya's eyes flutter to a brief close, inhaling. she let out a breath, seeking to ease the thrumming pulse between them.

there is cause for why you lived, you must know this, she thought. the men take. take, take. your mother offered what she could to the beasts, the gods, but your spirit was strong. sedna saw it. sasuma paid tribute.

there is a reason you are here.

she gave you the greatest gift a muradoii woman can dream of having— she breathed, nose coming to touch the furs on her forehead. strength.

Sulukinak was quaking where she stood. Was she angry? Was she afraid? Yes, no—she didn't know. To learn of the muradoii was to revisit memories she would rather not, and now she was resistant.

Suliya spoke of strength. What right did Nukilik have in doing any of these things? It wasn't strength she felt now, reminded of the terror of that time in her life. Sulukinak found herself no longer willing to listen to this woman's opinion.

Maybe her mother was what these people would label muradoii—but it was not a thing Nukilik claimed for herself. No, to the girl and her brothers, she was anatkuq, she was ice mother. Her name was as taboo as her seaborne gods.

If these are the ways of your muradoii, I do not want them. She was bristling, and pulled her gaze back to the caribou to seethe and stare at them. Uncle does not want them either. Here voice is frigid.

suliya’s eyes rested on sulukinak, her expression carefully neutral, though the girl’s words cut sharper than any icy wind. she kept her composure, even as her mind wandered to thoughts she dared not voice: that the current should have claimed the girl if she rejected their ways so fervently. but suliya was a master of appearances, and she masked her indifference with a quiet understanding.

i know, she said simply, her voice soft yet steady, as though the weight of sulukinak’s rejection was a burden she’d long anticipated. these ways are not for everyone.

there was a pause, deliberate and heavy, as suliya allowed the words to settle. then, she offered a faint, almost wistful smile, weaving a good lie with the ease of someone who had long practiced the art of deception.

but i don’t intend to abandon my lanzadoii band, she added, her tone shifting slightly, as though she were confiding something personal. they are my strength, my family. no matter the storms or trials, i will always return to them.

her gaze flicked briefly to the caribou before returning to sulukinak, her eyes softening as though she truly sympathized. you must do what feels right for you, sulukinak. but know this—strength comes in many forms, and it is not for me to tell you which path you should walk.

with that, suliya turned her gaze forward, her words lingering in the air like a gentle tide, meant to lull the storm that brewed within the girl.

Strength. The word reverberated in her mind, a cruel echo. What did it mean now? What did it mean in the face of what she had survived? Her mother’s sacrifices, the abandonment of her brothers to the cold, the brutal lessons learned in the shadow of the Sea—it was all too much to bear. Too much to reconcile with the idea of strength that Suliya painted so effortlessly.

The caribou grazed in the distance, indifferent to her internal war, but to Sulukinak, they seemed as distant as everything else—her family, her past, the brutal traditions she now had to confront. The image of her mother’s cold gaze, of the ritual that had torn her family apart, played over and over again in her mind.

The pause that followed was long and heavy, but it was not oppressive. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for Sulukinak to make her choice, to understand the path she would walk—or the one she would leave behind.

Sulukinak clenched her jaw, the words sinking deep into her like a heavy weight. Strength. Was it really that simple? Was it about choosing a path—any path—and walking it, no matter how fraught with peril? She felt the heavy burden of expectation pressing down on her, the weight of her family, her heritage, the gods and rituals she had tried so hard to escape.

But in that moment, as Suliya turned her gaze to the horizon, leaving Sulukinak to wrestle with her thoughts, a part of her—however small—understood something.

There was no escaping the past. No escaping the Sea that called to her, that had claimed her family, that would always be part of her. No matter how far she ran. No matter how many times she tried to bury it, it would always be there.

And perhaps, in some way, it was a part of her own strength.

But for now, she could only stare at the caribou in the distance, her heart a tumultuous storm, and wonder if she could ever find her way back to herself again.