Permafrost Hollows puuksraak

The permafrost hollows stretched before her, a latticework of brittle branches clawing at the gray sky, their thin black arms sheathed in an icy rime. Sulukinak moved among them like a shadow, her breath barely visible in the wet snow that sifted endlessly from the heavens. Each step she took pressed shallow into the crusted earth, leaving faint trails of indentations soon claimed by the relentless wind. The forest was lifeless, the air thick with silence save for the occasional groan of a tree swaying under the weight of the season.
She stopped, her eyes lifting to the mountain that reared against the south, its crags lost in the gauzy veil of weather.
The murmur of the Everdark whispered to her through the skeletal trees. It was not a voice but a feeling, crawling up from the marrow of her bones, urging her toward something unnamed. This was the legacy of the Muradoii, her mother’s people, who revered the deathly quiet of the ice and the sharp truths of survival. Her mother, whose words had been wrapped in the cold beauty of certainty, who had knelt before the vast expanse of the frozen land and called it sacred. Sulukinak had thought herself free of it, of her mother’s faith and its endless sacrifices. But there were moments—like now—when she could not deny its presence, the way it seemed to reach for her across time.
The memory of her near-death on the ice flickered unbidden. The cruel sunlight gleaming off an endless sea of white, her breath burning sharp as glass in her throat, her limbs screaming for warmth that would never come. The Muradoii would have called her survival a gift from the Everdark itself, a test endured and passed. Sulukinak had not felt chosen; she had felt broken.
And yet, she was here. She stared at the mountain’s shrouded peak and then looked away, her jaw tightening. It was not the mountain that unsettled her. It was the growing awareness that she no longer knew what she sought.

Nimbus emerged from the gray lattice of trees, his silvered coat blending with the frost-laden air, his pale eyes fixed on the distant figure. He had followed her trail—not because he had meant to, but because it had been there, weaving faintly through the snow like a thread. Something about the path she left behind had drawn him, though he couldn’t quite say why.

Now he stood a short distance away, his breath curling faintly in the cold as he watched her. The woman seemed carved from the same icebound world she walked in, a part of the permafrost itself, yet somehow apart from it. Her gaze was on the mountain, though her expression betrayed no reverence, only something deeper, quieter—a tension he understood too well.

You move like the wind doesn’t dare to touch you, Nimbus said, his voice low, though it carried in the empty stillness of the forest. He stepped closer, the brittle snow crunching softly beneath his paws. I suppose that’s fitting. You seem like someone who’s walked far enough to forget what it means to leave footprints.

For someone like Sulukinak who lived the life of a shadow at the best if times, being alone had never been an issue worth consulting. She did not know that the extended solitude of her upbringing had spoiled something in her spirit. Neither did she consider how her farther roaming from the Saatsine may be perceived by her fellow hunters - she always returned from her adventures, and besides that she wasn't often missed. Sulukinak doubted anyone beyond her uncle even considered her.

To be suddenly in the company of a stranger was unsettling to her usual dynamic; to be perceived - by friend, family, or foe - was normally a heavily controlled ordeal and yet, now, this frostwalker had managed to find and follow her.

He spoke and she turned her attention sharply towards him as one might brandish a flint spear-point. Eyes flaring wide initially, body tense and low, but not yet moving.

She studied the man and the words which crawled up from the snowy hill, as if they clawed from the very earth. Sulukinak's silence spoke volumes - and her body, coiled now, made certain he knew not to get too close.

Nimbus didn’t flinch at her sudden attention, though the sharpness of her gaze cut through him like a shard of ice. He stood his ground but made no move to close the space between them, his posture loose and unthreatening, as though he were as much a part of the drifting snow as the flakes falling around them.  

He exhaled slowly, his breath ghosting into the cold air before disappearing altogether. Easy, he said softly, his voice low and steady, careful not to disturb whatever fragile peace hung between them. I’m not here to crowd you.

His pale eyes flicked to her coiled frame, taking in the tension that rippled just beneath the surface. A part of him recognized it—not just the readiness to defend, but the deeper thing it masked. A life spent unseen didn’t leave a soul untouched, and hers, he suspected, bore the same jagged edges as his own.  

Nimbus shifted slightly, as if to remind her he wasn’t some phantom come to haunt her. His movements were slow, deliberate, the kind of ease that came from navigating wary strangers and hostile silences. I won’t stay long, he said, his tone light, almost indifferent, though there was a weight behind his words. Just passing through, like the wind. No one notices when it leaves, either.

He turned his head slightly, casting his gaze out toward the horizon, where the snow blurred into the sky in an endless expanse of white. Funny thing about the wind, he murmured, more to himself than to her. It goes where it pleases, but even it gets tired of running sometimes.

He was older than her. She was reminded of the caribou-men from her training days, and of her uncle, and maybe they were the same age or maybe her uncle was even older, she could not tell. But he regarded Sulukinak carefully. His movement was deliberate; she felt like she was watching a conversation in slow motion and from afar.

No one notices when it leaves, either. He still spoke of the wind, and yet of himself, and of herself.

He looked to the horizon. She looked at him, and then the sky which shuddered around them, and back again. Agitation crept down her spine but it was not for him.

Can't be tired. Chase caribou — hunt with uncle, with Saatsine. She says these things in a soft voice, one closer to a girl's murmurings than the woman she was becoming.

An aside, more to herself: They would notice.

Nimbus let her words settle into the stillness between them, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his thoughts turned inward. The weight of her agitation wasn’t lost on him, though he made no move to address it directly. Instead, he stood like the mountains, steady and weathered, his breath curling into the air in faint puffs.

His eyes shifted to her then, pale and discerning. He saw the tension in her frame, the conflict in her voice. She reminded him of younger days, of long shadows cast by shared hunts and the quiet pride of proving oneself. But life had worn on him differently, carving solitude into his bones.

You’ve got something to run to, he said after a moment, his words slow, deliberate. Something worth noticing. There was no bitterness in the statement, only an edge of reflection. It was an acknowledgment, not envy.

He didn’t look at her again, not immediately. Instead, he turned his focus to the distant sky, where the clouds rolled heavy and restless. Somewhere within him, the ache of an old loss stirred, but he buried it as deeply as the snow beneath his paws.

But I'll say that I did notice you finally spoke. Now I don't have to ramble bullshit about the wind.

Something to run to? She supposed he was right. Her uncle was a powerful individual and soon he would not only have his new wife, but new children to raise in his ways; but he would always need those with the skills and the tenacity to follow the caribou herds. Much effort had been put forth by Sun Eater to keep her sharp, and get her trained by others of their ilk, and when she had returned from all of that he had not driven her away.

The man said more, he mentioned something about the wind again and Sulukinak did not know how to feel amusement, at least not through spoken communication. Her brow furrowed and her only response was, ...bull shit? Thinking only of the caribou bulls and one of their products which could be used for tracking their movements.

He shifted his weight, his paw scraping lightly against the snow. It’s not… literal. Bullshit’s more like… nonsense, y’know? Like saying something that doesn’t make sense, or something you don’t believe. His explanation felt clumsy, and he could almost hear the awkwardness in his tone.  

For a moment, he glanced at her, gauging her reaction before adding, It’s… a way of calling out something that’s not true. Not about bulls or their… He trailed off, deciding not to finish that thought, and instead gave a faint huff, a quiet acknowledgment of how ridiculous the explanation sounded aloud.  

The wind stirred between them, filling the brief silence. He gave a faint shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting in something like self-deprecating amusement. Guess that’s bullshit too, me trying to explain it. He shook his head slightly, his expression softening as he looked out at the snow-covered expanse.  

Though his attempt to clarify had fallen flat, there was no trace of irritation in him. Just an openness, as if the moment itself didn’t require perfection. If nothing else, it was an offering—awkward, yes, but honest.