Emberflame Ridge xvi kinignik

While exploring the mountain range (and pointedly avoiding Stjornuati and his kin) Kigipigak had found his way to a thicket of willows. The scent of wolves was there but fading; he found himself lured towards a well used cache that still held some morsels, perhaps filled days ago before the wolves of the willow-wood dispersed. 

He carried the femur of a roe deer between his teeth as he moseyed along the ridge, weaving awkwardly when the bulbous end of the bone became too heavy or awkward for him to lift. From time to time he would let it drag; it carved a nice trench in a patch of loose soil, coming away muddy and ember-clad with leaf litter.

For the time being Kigipigak was content keeping himself entertained, alone. He tried not to let his thoughts stray back to the brother-sister duo, but like anything you tried not to think about, it was all that he could really focus on.

While it seemed the wolves were determined to settle upon the Watch, it did not stop them from roaming where they pleased, oftentimes outright disappearing for a few days before returning. The point of such journeys, Dart was unsure, but he supposed wolves were bigger — in both size and number — they needed far more food than a simple cliff could provide.

His suspicions were apparently confirmed when he spotted the great white wolf from a few days ago dragging what appeared to be the leftovers of some poor creature's haunch through the flame-touched forest. The raven banked from his flight through the treetops before landing on a branch high above the wandering man and his htfjársjóður.

Knowing wolves were quite protective of their food stuffs, D'Artagnan did not land too near, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. He leaned forward, letting out a low growling sound, hoping to imitate one of the man's pack mates.

Kigipigak was nearly an adult; he would have been further accomplished by now if he had stayed within Unnuakvik, either with one wife betrothed to him or with blood shed in battle. He should have been participating in the blood sport of his transitional phase. The trials, showing off his prowess and his maturation, which would culminate in him becoming a man. Instead he was here, shamed for following traditions he believed everyone carried with them, playing with himself and his bone.

Was it his fault? Had he somehow invited these changes to transpire? He had come up with the idea of Valmua being the issumatar and based it on the way his mother ran his home tribe; Sedna had beaten other women for the rank, chased them, and built a tribe worthy of the First's blessing. All that Kigipigak had wanted now was to elevate Valmua in the same way; was that not how the north was to be run? Had he been lied to, or was his village that far off the grid —

So his thoughts went; the bone dragging along or catching against debris he could not see. When it caught against a nook of knobby roots the momentum ceased and he nearly choked when it wedged far back between his teeth, gaping his maw wide. With a cough he released it and spun as if to attack; but there came a growling. It sounded wrong—sickly, dissonant—and as Kigipigak turned to face the sound he flashed his teeth.

Then he saw the bird, which was not what he had expected.

It was not his pseudo-growl that caught his attention, but instead the man tripped and almost lodged the femur down his throat...then he realised he was not alone. Dart couldn't help but loose a series of soft caws as a form of laughter at the wolf's fumble, before he noticed the glint of sharpened teeth and a copper gaze that had spotted him among the treetops.

No surprise there, seeing how the white raven stood out like a hare in the snow.

The bird quietened and hopped to the edge of his branch, leaning forward to address the wolf. "Ave, great white," he called down with a grin. "Quite a snack you have fetched there, yes?"

Kigipigak thought for a moment that he could be dreaming. The world felt very real, from the bone he had dropped to the sound of laughter in the air; except it was a light and shrieking sound at once, causing the hairs to raise on the back of his neck. Nails on a chalkboard.

He had not encountered an intelligent raven before—not at least, one that could speak. These were strange days indeed.

With a huff he looks to the bone where it is stuck and licks his lips. A plaything at best. Too little meat left on it to satisfy a belly like mine. A thought then came to Kigipigak. The end is stuck in the briar. If you can free it I will let you near to eat what remains.

A deal?