Moonspear I will go down with this ship

ultimately, her mind had returned to that woman aurewen had brought here. she desired fiercely to avoid @Kukutux altogether, and yet the burning, sharp-edged part of herself wanted to seek the woman out. to question her, or find some shard of her mother reflected on her and act, finally, on her rage, she did not know. 

it is the anger that wins. it always has, truly, and her mother's visit are bellows on the bare embers of ire she'd almost extinguished. they fan the anger into rage, hate, anything to avoid the truth of it all. anger is familiar, apathy is terrifying. and so she finds the woman's trail early the morning, and begins to hunt her down.

she wandered, idly clutching the rabbitfur  along her shoulders. moonspear was larger than she had expected, full of brazen wolves around a strongly enforced hierarchy.

in some ways it was like it had been upon the aisle, and in others it was foreign to kukutux, who still understood very little about moonspear or the truth of why she had been traded.

the morning found her dutifully awake, having spent an awkward and sleepless night in her new home. she coursed a game trail shyly, and her hesitant gaze alighted on a figure moving her way, and swiftly. 

kukutux shivered.

it is only when she finds the woman that Isilme is sharply reminded that she is without a plan. she stops, stiffly, when she is noticed; the woman's quiver does not go unnoticed. gaze finds too whatever is slung over her shoulders—otter? rabbit? she is odd, but this does not diffuse her anger. 

sharp inhale, and she abruptly sits in an attempt to curb her desire to flat out attack the woman merely for her connection to Aure. practicality still has a say, and it warns quietly that this is a packmate, and not her mother. "why'd she bring you here?" she deadpans, itching to move, to do something, but ultimately remaining planted.

moonsilver, coins for eyes. kukutux blinked rapidly at the younger wolf's harsh tone. by "she" the duck assumed andraste; was this why hydra had rushed away from them all?

"i was brought to repay," she began shakily, jadestone eyes flickering to the hard glow of the girl's own. "and i was brought to find a husband." 

her voice had dropped several octaves; kukutux curved in upon herself, desperate to understand why the words had come so harshly.

the words seem to have a physical effect on the woman, one which serves to bring the girl pause. suddenly, it is clear; she is nothing but cruel, now. she swallows, remembers her brother's words. "I wanted Hydra to kill her but she said we should kill her power over us instead. She's not family anymore and she'll never be able to undo that. She never deserved us." her unwavering anger cracks, splinters. it turns inward, gradually, warps to hate. 

the woman speaks, and the girl shakes her head. "she's wrong. you can't repay debts with other wolves' lives." this time, her voice lacks the same edge, though it still made hard with tension. the girl curls in on herself, and the last of her anger shatters. this is her doing, and there comes none of the satisfaction she'd first wanted to gain from this interaction. "I'm sorry. I'm—why did you come here to find a husband?" she lowers herself, shame as effective a deterrent of anger as any.

the ice in the girl's voice began to crack, dissolve, like the edges of a winterbound stream beneath sunlight. kukutux flicked her eyes up, appraised the girl a wary moment.

"hydra told me that forgiveness was not hers to give. is it yours?" the more kukutux looked at the young wolf, the more the resemblance between she and andraste grew more pronounced.

it made her shrewd, brought bolder words to her mouth.

"there were none in courtfall," the duck murmured softly, happy to change their discourse. "i believe that i am meant to be wife and mother, to carry on the ways of my people. i was happy to come to moonspear for that reason alone."

not to be traded, but to hopefully flourish alongside this girl and the others that called the mountain their home.

in a situation entirely out of her control, forgiveness is the only weapon she clutches close; she knows she will, can never give it. dragomir had been clear last they'd spoke, she did not deserve them, and she did not deserve any closure for what she had done. "and my brother's." she affirms, declaring, "we will never give it." 

wife and mother. they were things she wanted naught to do with, but she could accept the woman's desire for them. if anything, it made it clear that she had had say in her coming here, and her mother had not regarded her entirely as some object. 

evidently, she accepts these reasons. and yet, "why do you want children?" there was a difference, she thought, between wanting to be a mother and wanting to have children.

kuktutux was beginning to piece together the parts of a image she would rather not see. dark bones lurking in the shadows behind the airy queen of mist and springtime she had followed at courtfall.

she made no more mention of husbands, pulling the skin more tightly around her thin shoulders, and coloring at the girl's question.

why else would a woman wish to bring joy to a man's hearth, a name for her mother? but the duck had learned that the denziens of the teekon wilds did not understand such concepts, no matter how well she felt her explanations.

"it ... want to tell my mother's stories to my daughters, so they are not forgotten. it is all i have of her now."

the waterfowl pulled chin into chestfur quietly. "i am kukutux."