Wheeling Gull Isle nauyak-agaayulik

When he was feeling more capable, Mojag chose to explore a little bit. Even though he should have been resting or eating, he was enamored by the island and its differences; exploring came naturally, and besides he wanted to learn more about this place and its people.

By happenstance he found @Bartholomew alone, head bowed. The boy didn't know what the man was doing but there was a somber air about him, one that Mojag found great comfort in. He was reminded of the altars at home and the various spiritual ways of his people, and took to watching the man in his own quiet contemplation, unwilling to disturb what looked to be an important moment.

morning prayers were constant.

he would sit in the lavender fields, he would worship over and over. praise for the growth and flourish of the island. prayed for the growth and flourish of those who lived upon it.

he prayed specifically for the bear woman.

he prayed specifically for the washed boy.

all of these things took time and patience to work through. each must be genuine and from his very being — which was not hard in and of itself. but it required much of his focus. much of his mental stamina.

until warm, gold eyes fell upon the one in his prayers. the boy was so similar to himself. he could look upon him as a son without second thought.

he wondered whose son he really was.

silently, he beckoned the boy closer.

He could not help but compare the man to Cerne, who had once visited. When welcomed close Mojag tread carefully in case there was something about the earth - or upon it - that might be precious, thinking of the seer-man's stone and the game they had played. He did not see such an object here.

There was nothing but the man, but that was alright.

I greet you, the boy went on to murmur, a customary introduction he'd noticed the others of Moonglow used often; this was his first time using it, and it felt so formal. So did the man, though - serious, yet warm.

Are you -- do you speak with the spirits?

the boy was religious.

or had been, or knew of it. these things did not matter. curiosity would always be enough for bartholomew to divulge.

but he had grown used to gentle guiding, no longer immediately smiting those who might not follow.

blessed day, mo — and only one. he confessed with a warm smile. have you heard of God?

he had long since grown used to the negative answers.

The man followed one spirit in particular, or, maybe not a spirit but some nameless force, and hearing the name of it - as simply God - did not change Mojag's assumptions.

No, he answered, the tone of which was inviting and filled with curiosity. As if he anticipated a lesson - and well, he did! When his anaa spoke of things like the rain she had a similar air about her as this man. Or when Kukutux spoke of the fire mother tree.

I was taught about spirits from a man who visited my village, and we played a game with a stone. He said he could see things with it - but I didn't see anything.

the land was riddled with those of religion.

he had only once encountered a man of his same cloth. the rest followed...others. like this man that the boy spoke of.

i need nothing but myself to talk to God. he explained, soft and fatherly. no altars, no stones, no...grand setting. that's my favorite part. that i can reach Him anytime, anywhere. as long as my heart is open and my words true.

The way the man spoke of this God, reverent yet humble at the same time, appealed to the boy. Being able to speak to something powerful, like firemother or in the case of this man, the God he chose to follow, wasn't all that different from one-another.

Is that why you are here? Mo asked next, innocent enough about it. He had no reason to question what Bartholomew said and was not yet old enough to really question the fundamentals.

He gave a small pause to listen to an answer, but Mojag's thoughts were elsewhere, so he very well may have missed it, and spoke his next question hastily: Are you on a quest?

he thought of abraham, in the way the boy asked questions easily.

for a moment his heart hurt. he would turn this into a good thing. a moment to share and extend his knowledge to another generation.

it is.

but the boy was already prepared to ask about quests. bartholomew laughed warmly.

i supposed it could be called that, hm? i seek to make a safe place, peaceful and kind. i find it in me to do this through the strength and guidance of God.

he thought for a moment, before he volleyed the question.

were you on a quest?

It sounded like this man was lonely. Up until his transition to the island Mojag had never been truly alone, and had never associated it with a negative connotation. He didn't here either - Bartholomew wanted a village. That's what he wished to build here.

The boy's heart ached in a profound way.

I... was. A lump in his throat. For my dad. His spirit wandered away. If I want to be a hunter, I have to find him. Except he couldn't do that here, could he?

his father.

spirit wandered away.

was this a quest of death? it sounded as such. bartholomew wondered what sort of turmoil the boy carried with him, to be faced with such a heavy burden.

it is...maybe not the same, but heda, the young woman there when you arrived. he cleared his throat. softening his voice once more. she is a grand hunter. have you spoken to her?

The boy's eyes grew large, owlish; intrigue flowed within them.

I've talked to her! I know Heda. He liked to think they had become the best of friends rather quickly, and his tail began to wag with a happy beat. I didn't know she was a hunter. His mouth became an oh, and then he was grinning.

Do y'think she'd help me? I gotta be the best hunter.

maybe a fade and something new? <33

his eyes crinkled at the corner. warm and fatherly.

i do not see why she would not. should we go find her? he offered this with a soft wave of his sea salt curling tail.

he imagined heda would take well to this one.