Ouroboros Spine ice

she knew the songs.

aya, aya.

the songs spoke of love and joy. they were meant to be sung with others, beside the lake which made their voices greater, more sonorous. several times akmaaksi had been there, bent over the pelts as her cousins sang out.

summer trilling. birds called to one another in the high red branches of firemother. akmaaksi leaned more comfortably against the bark, eyes half-shut. 

here there was no singing. there was no laughter. there was silence, almost complete save for wind sister in firemother's canopy. the air was soft to taste. once more the girl attempted to draw her mother's face inside her mind, to sketch out the details of what she was missing.

he walked nearby, to keep an eye out.

a silence had descended upon him. he ignored the songs; he ignored the dance of leaves in the trees; he did not seek comfort in the sky as he once had.

he was there only for akmaaksi, his family. she was all that remained. firemother stood tall and tautukpik did not see, because he did not care to see.

tautupik did not sing. he did not look at firemother. 

but he did not need akmaaksi to speak. he wore the glower of his namesake. and just as they did, her own snowy owl watched over their nest.

with mother gone and father halving his time between moonglow and brecheliant, it was often the two of them, asleep next to one another. there were many instances in which akmaaski had slept among her cousins as well, enjoying the warmth of her aunt's nearness.

but they laughed and played and she was alone in her silence the way she was not with tautukpik.

she motioned to a strip of red fox, there in the dirt. she had grown bored of scraping it.

often he would wait until the remaining sister slept, and then leave. only when she wasn't aware of it. only when he knew he could go to that hollow place that was once kannoyak's, to sleep on the beaver pelt. one day it was not there, and since then tautukpik had grown restless. he found little comfort among the cousins. many days tautukpik would think of leaving to seek out nutuyikruk, but they were only thoughts.

he came to rely upon akmaaksi's routine more than his own. waking before her, keeping watch, eating only after she had eaten; more focused on keeping her close than anyone, in keeping her fed and happy and present rather than himself, but in this way was dependent.

when akmaaksi showed the piece of fox, tautukpik went to it with a bowed head to gather scents, but did not touch it.

they were there for one another.

akmaaski wondered if her brother remembered their sibling, the one who had passed before anaa, before nutuyikruk had gone missing, before taataa had gone to live somewhere else.

before. before.

did he remember the fragrance of cedars and the whisper of wind on closed eyelids?

she reached forward to nudge his ears with her muzzle.

one day i will find her. nutu. i will bring her home. he pledged this often, and only to akmaaksi's ears.

leaning against her as she stood near.

if aapa can't do it, i can do it. but he would do it alone; the spirits did not speak to him these days, and the green had left the sky.

fire girl watched owl boy bend his neck over the pelt. it became his in that moment. all she had was shared with tautukpik, no matter that they wanted for no meals in moonglow. even if they were given the same treat, she touted it back to her brother with a somber expression.

it was almost a ritual.

it was almost a ritual too, the way he muttered these things, the way he said them with all his force and strength. 

her eyes said she believed him. not even aapa was allowed to look into them now. and anaa; she remembered her mother as she was: laughing, singing. all but dancing, her form catching to golden autumn light. they had walked together. they had spoken.

and then ariadne was gone. perhaps it was why she remembered the begining, over and over and over.

he grips the pelt in his teeth. it is only a small bolt of red fur, almost a scarf; he draws it close and with a shake of his head it finds a place across his shoulders.

there were no more words. he had said this often enough for akmaaksi by now, this promise.

tautukpik wasn't big enough to have any impact on the world as he knew it, not yet anyway. if their father had not found their sister yet, what hope was there that tautukpik would manage? but he knew he would. it wasn't trust, or faith, or anything more than a deeply held certainty.

one day. one day they'd be together again; they'd be a family, and tautukpik would not let them go.

maybe akmaaksi had already led it go.

in some moments, anaa's face was bright. she laughed, caught forever in the beauty of early motherhood and her own ambition.

in others, akmaaksi only sensed her mother through the ancestral memory that ties one's soul at birth.

cedar. sunlight. windsong. mother.

she adjusted the pelt over tautukpik's shoulders, smoothing it down. he looked very fine in it; the sight of him drew a very rare smile from akmaaksi, just a quick flick along the corners of her mouth. one day he would look like this but taller, and walk back home as ipiktok had done.

would grandmother speak of marrying him off too?

the girl's humour faded. moonmother could not send tautukpik away — right? she would not?

his stomach grumbled and brought him out of whatever reverie had rooted the boy to the spot. he felt akmaaksi's touch as she lightly pestered over him, and moved to share a breath with her. she smiled, and he felt warm, but he did not smile back.

tautukpik began to lead his sister through the grass to where he could smell food; the scent of the earth rose up around them, eager for rain, and as they walked together in companionable silence, drops began to pitter-patter all around them.

firegirl trailed owlbrother.

when tautukpik was close, akmaaksi felt free enough to stop her watchfulness for a time. he was more than observant for the both of them. rain felt good upon the small face now lifted into it.

rain. snow. this touch of coolness in so much heat reminded akmaaksi again of the cedars.

her stomach growled, and her own hawk's-eyes began to search.