Cedar Sweep [m] suqłiuġun

@Kigipigak

Three out of four of the children were thriving—their eyes had opened, they were eating, and they appeared to be generally healthy. Pinasut, on the other hand, wasn't doing as well as his siblings. Although his eyes had opened and he was meeting developmental milestones, his movements were lethargic, and his appetite was minuscule at best. Asivaq did everything she could to coax him to eat more, but he denied her advances.

She pulled back with a frown, watching him as he struggled to squirm in the opposite direction.

The children grew, their eyes opened, and Kigipigak did his best to keep everyone fed and safe; but when he came to visit them now he saw the way Asivaq looked, and grew concerned.

The pair of stoats he had culled, until then slung over his shoulder, dropped to the earth by the mouth of Asivaq's ulaq. He peered inside, so far uncertain why his wife was focused on one child rather than another.

Is everything alright?

"Is everything alright?" Kigipigak asked. He momentarily pulled her from her thoughts, giving her a chance to wrap her head around the severity of the situation; she realized that her son was beginning to reek of the inevitable.

No, Asivaq answered with a quiet confidence. Something is very wrong. She pulled their sickly son closer, cradling him against her breast as she squinted against the light that crept into the ulaq. He has not been eating and is growing slower in his movements, she explained.

We need a medic or someone skilled in medicine—I fear the worst.

Something is very wrong.

The smallest of their children, a little boy that strikingly, painfully resembled the ochre and red-browns of Kigipigak's first wife—was dwindling in size. The others had been feasting and had perhaps edged-out the competition, which was to the detriment of this one.

A part of Kigipigak did hurt to think of losing a child this way; another more base instinct told him to be done with it. The child was small and sickly, it was the runt. If his mother was here she would have culled the boy by now... Kigipigak dared not mention this while Asivaq spoke of medicine, of help.

Perhaps the kindness of the moon-wolves is not such a bad thing.

You have been mothering him the same as the others? Kigipigak asked, knowing the answer already; the implication that she had maybe chosen favorites crawled from off his tongue and he didn't even notice it. I could go to my aokatti and see if he might know what to do—Njord or his wife, I mean. Perhaps they have found a healer we could borrow.

Something sour formed in her stomach when asked if she'd been mothering their children the same. Biting back her feelings about the question, as she knew nitpicking would do them no good in this situation, she quickly and sternly answered. Of course I have.

Kigipigak then mentioned going to the Copse to seek help, and Asivaq felt relief and anxious about his plan. I think that is the best we can do, she began, her voice quieter and softer than before as she felt the pull of her mother's intuition. She held their son closer, protecting him from the harsh reality of what she would say next.

But I am not sure if he will make it through the night. I do not know why or how this is happening, was she that bad of a mother? But he is the weakest that I've seen him, and nothing I am doing is helping him.

The plan was, then, to seek out a healer.

Kigipigak already turned to go, but stopped at the den mouth when Asivaq spoke her further misgivings. She doubted anything they did could help. What kind of mother was she, to give up so soon? The man frowned and said nothing; this was a tense time for the two of them, but as the mother of the brood Asivaq was most likely feeling the failure all the more strongly.

I will go and seek help, and then come back. I will not be long. He promised this with a look over his shoulder to his wife, and his gaze softened. His mouth opened to say something along the lines of, "Maybe he is not strong enough?" But instead the man turned and departed, leaving Asivaq alone with their children.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Child death.

Kigipigak would seek help, and Asivaq would stay with the children and tend to them. Although her mind was all over the place, she knew she needed to get it together and focus on what was most important: keeping Pinasut alive. She pulled her son closer, kissed him, and cradled him as she sent a silent prayer to Sedna; please keep him safe.

Minutes turned into hours, which gave Asivaq's imagination the chance to ruminate over the situation. A part of her wondered if this was a warning that settling directly next to the Copse had its consequences and that this wasn't where they were meant to be. This thought occupied her mind, and she went through the motions of tending to the children.

Eventually, Pinasut closed his eyes and took one last shuddering breath before stilling. Everything around her seemed to stop when she realized what'd happened, and quickly, she began to nudge and lick him in an attempt to coax him awake. No—this isn't happening, she said to herself as she began to cry. Her heart shattered into a million little pieces, some of which she'd never find again, and she wailed hysterically. Pinasut, oh, my poor boy—my poor, poor boy. she managed, looking at him through flooded vision.

Then, knowing that her husband's trip was now in vain, Asivaq titled her head back and urgently summoned him, allowing her grief to show in her voice; "He's gone." was her message.

The first place he would go was northward, to where their forest met with that of the Copse. Njord had been a father before, Kigipigak knew that, and he had been many places and seen many things. Maybe he would know what to do? Meerkat also, although Kigipigak did not know her much at all; as a mother twice over (or more? He could not remember) she would have knowledge for them.

Kigipigak did not get so far.

He left the den and began to run, but it was at least a day of travel to cross to their borders, and already he doubted the boy had that long. He had been running for less than an hour when he was made to stop and listen—Asivaq's mournful message was clear.

He's gone.

Selfishly Kigipigak was glad he was not there to witness it. Had she taken matters in to her own power? Had the boy given up on his own? Was it the Tartok part of him or the Nuiruk which could not sustain? Again, he thought, At least it is over with; at least the others lived. And what if she had let this happen on purpose? This was a shock even for Kigipigak—but a valid concern, too.

Such were his feelings muddled with thoughts and emotions; a cacophony which buzzed like wasps and nested in his chest, while he made his way slowly back to Asivaq.

When he arrived again at the ulaq he stands outside and cannot even look to see inside, he will not do it.

Asivaq was numb by the time Kigipigak returned; tear-stained eyes had dried, and her cheeks were wet with the residue of her crying. Pinasut remained in her arms, and she cradled him every so often, in between caring for the children that had survived so far. Her mind had run rampant with superstitions, and she felt severe foreboding.

This place was not their home; this land was cursed.

She should've seen the signs and the guilt of losing a child, and realizing she'd picked the wrong territory gnawed at her until she was only a shell of herself. Still, she managed to find the softest fur and wrap her son in it, sparing her husband of her failure. He would not see Pinasut; this was Asivaq's burden alone to carry.

This was her fault; the spirits were angry with her after everything she’d done wrong.

This is not our home, she croaked, speaking for the first time since her son had died. There is evil here, and we must protect our children and find a new home. She refused to bury her son here.

What should he do? The boy was gone. He had no chance and the family would be better off moving on, there were living pups to protect and feed and— This is not our home.

The voice of his wife carries from the ulaq with a decree. She has made the choice, and Kigipigak agrees, but he knows that they cannot go yet. We will go. When they're stronger. Moving those that remain over any distance was dangerous.

He would not refuse his issumatar anything, though. This was not where they were meant to be, and the death of their boy was proof enough of that. The land was cursed—or maybe it is me.

Kigipigak thinks darkly of the Moonwoman, and wonders if she would go so far as to curse them in such a way; how else to prove he would be a bad husband, and teach Asivaq to be wary?

There is a caveat, and although Asivaq is eager to leave, she ultimately agrees. As much as I want to get out now, you are right, husband, she decides, looking at their remaining children somberly. She pulls each of them into her arms, replacing the space their son once occupied with the reminders of what mattered most—their survival.

Is there a way that Tartok honors the dead? she wondered, already thinking of where she could place Pinasut's death ulaq.

He wanted to take the lost boy and be rid of him. There was no attachment between himself and the boy; he was not living, he was not part of their family any longer. He had not been strong enough.

Asivaq's question earns a brief silence. Kigipigak has never thought about what happens to those of his people after death—but in this moment he is reminded of his own father, his death, and what came after.

No, he murmurs as a response.

We value life. One less mouth means more food for the others. It was a cold way to look at things compared to the moon villages of Asivaq's birth; Kigipigak knew they sang their songs, and would expect some measure of that would comfort the new mother.

Her heart clenched at his answer; it was a lesson and harsh reality of the people she'd joined. There was silence on her end, and she considered what she would do with this information.

When you can come and keep the children warm, I will make a death ulaq for him and gather offerings for Sedna. I will sing the death songs with @Stratos when I can, but our living children will be my priority. She'd sing from her own ulaq if she had to; she would not deny their son passage to the afterlife.

She felt suddenly small; she wanted her mom. She wanted the comfort that only @Kukutux could provide and connect in the pain of losing a child.

He did not know how to help in this moment. He had never lost a child before; the feeling was not a good one, obviously, and must have been so much stronger for his wife—and knowing that, Kigipigak should have been softer. He knew that she would need time to grieve and space for the songs of her people, and that he should be acting in some way to make this easier.

When she spoke of singing the death songs with her brother, he gave a slow nod. To hear his mother's name spoken was jarring; but he knew Asivaq meant the spirit or the power that her own mother followed, and swallowed whatever sentiment did arise for himself.

With the birth of our children, our village rises. He speaks this as fact, but his voice is somber. The loss of this small boy might have been inevitable; whether it was the workings of a curse or something more random such as nature, it did not matter. I... Can watch them now, if you would like?

He moves a little closer, testing Asivaq's reaction; perhaps she wanted to be alone for some time first? Maybe the singing would come later. Kigipigak only wanted to be of use, and he was not good at sitting still.

We can fade with my next post?

Kigipigak offered to watch the children, and Asivaq quickly accepted his help. She knew that the sooner she built the death ulaq, the better. She stood and nodded, looking at him with tears in her eyes. Please, she said as she stood; the children protested the move with whines and whimpers.

He nods, and as she stands he is briefly uncertain about what to do.

Asivaq moved around him and onward. Kigipigak left the children squirming a moment longer as he oriented himself, finding it so far outside his wheelhouse and his gendered role that he was briefly too flummoxed to think of his next steps.

The children were tucked close to him; Asivaq helped, and then the married couple shared a small moment of affection as Asivaq took her time away.