Cedar Sweep qapiŋaiq

Kigipigak saw how the children grew.

He watched as @Asivaq slimmed with the less frequent meals, as he was busy patrolling their village limits and escorting strangers through to the other side.

He saw @Stratos from time to time picking up the slack, and felt within himself a seething sense of self-loathing for not being man enough for his wife and children. For needing the help of this brother. For the face of Aiolos he saw when he glimpsed the boy, or the familiarity of Kukutux he saw in his own wife when his duties ended in the late evenings.

He approached his wife this night as she contended with their children, each which could stand on their own now, and had their eyes open, and their ears slowly curling up and open. It would soon be time to make a decision — and while it was not right for the Sangilak to decide this for them, he had already reached a conclusion.

We must leave. This village that his Issumatar had chosen; this place where their dead son was laid to rest; so near his aokatti, so perfect in every way except where things had faltered. This place may hold the spirit of our son, but it is not a place for the others. I spend too much time acting the ferryman for Reyna's people — there is anger in his voice but it is not for Asivaq, and so while Kigipigak is steeped in it, he does not match her eye.

The children have found their feet. It might take time to move them, but I believe we must. His head bows so that he can keep his anger away from her, and to show her respect — knowing it was ultimately up to his wife.

They'd been running themselves ragged; Asivaq had become a shell of the woman she used to be. Without a village, she was left to tend to the children while her husband watched the wolves who had sequestered themselves into a corner with nowhere to go.

Kigipigak came to her at an unusual time—during peak hours of foot traffic!—and she felt her heart drop at the sight of him. She looked him over for injuries as he drew closer and, thankfully, found no indication of them; it was the last thing they needed. She breathed a sigh of relief as he began to speak.

"We must leave. This place may hold the spirit of our son, but it is not a place for the others. I spend too much time acting the ferryman for Reyna's people —" She sensed his anger; she felt it, too. Thoughts of relocation had been at the forefront of her mind, but she had assumed that their children were still too young to make the journey. "—The children have found their feet. It might take time to move them, but I believe we must."

She was quick to respond to his request. You are right, husband, she agreed, her voice faint with fatigue. We are running ourselves ragged for a place we know is not home—it is not worth ... this. She pushed herself onto all fours, her legs shaking as she steadied herself.

We will leave as soon as we're ready—which should not take long. There isn't much that I want to bring. They still had plenty of daylight to get going.

She exhaled, feeling relief-driven tears prick in the corner of her eyes. Thank you, husband. I was trying to wait a little longer until they were older ... but you are right. This is not our home, and it will never be. We must find our place. Together.

Malguk had found her time nestled under her Aaka's tail. Her face, covered in a silly way with strands of tail fur blocking the light. If not hers, it was Sisamat's. The way his tail wriggled sometimes made her unable to contain herself! How was she supposed to save it from the jaws of her teeth when he tempted them so? Aaka fed them, and never left them, and she decided that Aaka would stay with them forever! Aaka was forbidden from leaving, because Aaka fed them, Aaka loved them, and Aaka had the most beautiful voice ever!

But Aaka had been quiet lately. And slow. There were her back legs that trembled when she climbed over top of them, and she did not sing with the same joys as she once had when she jumped before her face. There was something quiet about their own little ulaq.

It always felt better when Aapa appeared. "Aaba?" Oblivious to talk, and anything they ever could have meant, she paddled over in bounding steps. Nuzzled at his leg, climbed up it and tried to swat his attention slowly. Aapa always made Aaka smile so wide.

"Aaba.." Aapa! Aapa! She loved Aapa. Aapa perhaps was here with yummies? With songs? Aapa could be here only to see them, but regardless, the baby's mouth moved to express all of these things. "Aaba.. Baaaa. Aaba hoome?" There was something in the way they spoke to one another right now, and the way they moved, that made her feel so strange. "Aaba... Aaba.."

Kigipigak did not like feeling so weak and so useless. He did not want his wife to see him that way either, and so he chose to bury that, and what surfaced instead was impatience and frustration which he had rarely ever shown; this was a sign that there was something wrong, but that was all.

I will gather some things while you watch the children, then. Tell me of anything in particular, I will be sure to get it. Already he was thinking of all the little toys he had brought to the den while Asivaq had been pregnant, many of which still sat untouched.

One of the children took notice of things, and Kigipigak softened to see Malguk, reveling over the size of her, while whe climbed and crowed to him. Little one, Malguk, hello.

He pressed his nose to her forehead and used his muzzle to smooth the fur between her ears.

Sticks, Asivaq decided after a beat. For the children to play with when we take breaks and for their teeth that still need to come in. Their molars would come in any day now, and she knew they'd need something to ease the discomfort.

While she was relieved to know when they were leaving, shame was also prevalent. She'd failed once again, and she couldn't help but question whether or not she was fit to be an Issumatar; all she had to show for her time as the village's head was a dead child and an unsuccessful settlement.

Asivaq watched Kigipigak and Malguk interact, her heart softening at the sight of father and daughter. Is there anything I can do for you, husband? she asked, her voice quiet.