Larksong Grotto sleeping dog beside you

nanuralaaq stepped light-footed around the mountains, now. moving away from the boulder, now in-between two spires. one to her left, the other to her right, the snowwoman had ascended upon ledges and outcroppings, and now found herself within a grotto of sorts. as she crossed into the vegetation, the snow seemed to ebb away, and the air appeared to warm. huntress shook out her pelt, snow falling to the ground.

water turned and flowed in the breeze ; a pool sat up ahead, and so rala would work her way towards it. birds sung and chirped and called within the trees. a peaceful melody. she would hum back to them, tail swaying as she water grew ever closer. when she stopped by the rim of the pool, she would dip her head down, craning a thickly furred neck and delighting in the coolness that almost stung her throat. how refreshing.

rala moved away from the snowmelt, now. turning to a patch of thick grass where she would lay herself, simply relaxing ; enjoying the moment. good times where to be had, to be enjoyed, savoured, for there was no knowing when all could go terribly wrong.

The stillness was shattered by the crunch of heavy paws against stone. Crimson eyes gleamed from the shadows, cutting through the dappled light that danced upon the grotto’s walls. Her scarred pelt bristled faintly as she sniffed the air, her sharp gaze locking onto the wolf.

Snow fell in thick plumes, dancing upon the white hunter's pelt. Melting into the heat of her rumbling body. Her massive frame was obscured by the outcropping. Her eyes following every movement of the snow-white wolf as she drank from the pool. Her breath curled faintly in the warming air.

The smaller wolf moved with grace, her thick fur catching the sunlight in a way that made Sivaak’s lips twitch. It was admiration—but not in any sense of gentleness. Sivaak’s mind wandered briefly, unbidden, to what that pelt might feel like between her teeth. Would it taste like frost? Like the cold, biting air of the black sea? Or would it burn on her tongue, fiery and alive, like the scent of this strange, careless woman? Her jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as the thought gnawed at her.

The woman of snow lay down now, her form relaxed, unworried.

She waited. The hunt was never about rushing.

and terribly wrong it could go.

snowwoman was also huntress, though she had yet to either know or confirm the similarity between her and the watcher. hair on her nape stood on end, as if electrified ; her body knew more than her mind could perceive. ears perked, then, a feeling of deep worry settling within her gut. she had not known it, the primal urge to run, since...

a careful breath drew her body upwards, slow and graceful, almost like that of a mountainous feline. eyes, wide, dawn in colour and scanning the trees, wore thin pupils. those of a predator. and although she was compact in size, she was no weak woman. nattirnik tuquttiji, she was. angunasukti. it ran in her blood. anaanaujuq ataatangalu.

patch of white within the woods. she stared, unmoving, body stilled, heart beating at a relaxed pace, although her paws, her claws, sunk into the ground, as if it were caribou that was beneath her. i know you are there, nanuralaaq said. come out from the trees, takunnaqti. voice careful, almost gentle. she did not want this to be a fight.

Sivaak’s breath curled faintly in the warming air as she lingered in the shadows, her crimson eyes narrowing at the snowwoman’s words. So, the woman had sharp senses after all. The faintest curl tugged at Sivaak’s lip, revealing the glint of a tooth, but she did not step forward. Not yet.

The smaller wolf stood with a grace that Sivaak could not help but admire, her lithe frame poised and alert. For a moment, she did nothing, letting the tension grow thick between them. She watched the snowwoman’s dawn-colored eyes search the trees, watched the way her claws sank into the earth as though she were bracing for an attack. Good. Sivaak liked her this way—still, strong.

Then, at last, she moved.

Sivaak emerged slowly from the cover of the trees. “You know I am here,” Sivaak growled, her voice low and rough, crackling like ice breaking beneath a heavy paw. “But you stay. You do not run.”

Her head tilted slightly, a predator’s curiosity flickering in her expression as her gaze traced the smaller wolf’s stance. “That is good. Running show fear. Fear make Sivaak hungry.” Her voice tasted sick upon her own tongue as it clawed out from her mouth to run the length of her mauled muzzle.

"Sivaak not want to eat you. Do not fear Sivaak."

the feeling only deepened within rala's gut as the moments stretched, long and sharp with tension. tree-lingering stranger did not move for a second, two, more. but then she came forwards, and words begun to roll from her tongue, broken. i do not run.

and she noticed the embers of curiosity behind otherwise scarlet eyes, glimmering like thin blood beneath the sun, upon the broken crags of black sands. tales of claws decorated her skin. rala thought they were beautiful - the scars. dark against the moon-white of her pelt. not only her face ; stories, dark and pointed, ran across her body.

the tellings of a huntress. of nunaq. she reminded rala of her sisters. admirable in that way. pale like her, like them. like ataata, angajuqqaaq. the sinupiult people.

fear means prey, she spoke, then. her words were collected, accented with a northern tongue. tail moved on its own accord, flicking back and forth as she studied the stranger. no, not stranger ; she appeared to refer to herself in third person. sivaak, she said. and so polar-cub would return with a title of her own: i am nanuralaaq. cub of polar bear.

then, with squinted eyes, she said: i am not your prey - you know this, for if she was, the woman would have ran by now, long gone. instead, she stood her place, firm in her presence within the grotto, within these lands. she would not go tested, and she believed that sivaak knew such a thing to be true. i will not fear you, sivaak.

rala moved slightly forwards, then, eyes flickering to the long marks upon her muzzle. you are arnaq kappiasuktuq, a smile upon her face. my people would say, 'she is beautiful'. as they were a testament to strength - and strength was the only way to survive the harsh winters of muskox grounds. she gave a nod that carried respect.

Sivaak watched the snowwoman with unblinking eyes, her head tilting slightly at the words that rolled from her tongue—collected, calm, steady. This one did not flinch, did not cower. She stood firm beneath Sivaak’s crimson gaze, speaking of fear and prey as though she understood the primal language that lived in Sivaak’s blood.

The compliment that followed caught her off guard, not for its meaning but for its boldness. Arnaq kappiasuktuq. Her scars—beautiful.

A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in Sivaak’s chest, sharp and humorless. “Beautiful,” she repeated, her tone cold and cutting, though the glint in her eye betrayed something deeper. "Sivaak is not." A correction, though not ungrateful. She had never been called beautiful. Such a thing Sivaak was not. She was strong. Ugly. Eyes full of beady malice, of hunger, of depravity. She was Blood-chief of Cragblood, Muradoii woman who led Hunters. Such a thing unheard of before.

She stepped closer now, her bulk looming as she closed the distance between them. She did not lunge, did not strike. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying the smaller wolf with a gaze that was no longer purely predatory.

"What people does Nanuralaaq hail from?" She rumbles out, voice like that of the gravel beneath the black sea's thick currents. "Bearwoman alone. Not safe."

and it was with a deep laughter, rolling like looming thunder from grey clouds, that snowwoman's words were met with. eyes, pale, echoing the blizzards in which the trekked within, searched those of poppies. a faint glimmer shone within them ; a glimmer that rala could not determine the meaning of, and so she would remain quiet, not fighting sivaak on the matter. only blinking - almost admiring the woman.

her approach was not met with disdain, nor malice, nor distrust. rather, it was met with a step of rala's own. they stood close, now, and the woman had to look upwards, though it was with confidence in which she tilted her jaw, peering at the large wolf that stood before her. well-muscled, a survivor. grounds of the muskox, she answered. we hunt them. caribou, too. umingmak pijjutingit is what we call the lands.

past, history, any and all information would go unrestrained. there was little to share, and even smaller reason to keep it hidden. nanuralaaq was an honest woman, unabashed and with very little shame to her name. and so, she would speak: we are called immuksiugasuktiit. the ox hunters. they are akin to bison, you know them? big and brown. ferocious creatures, a dry chuckle, then, as she thought of their sharp hooves.

not safe, you say. why? for her size, she wondered. or for her lack of company? polar-cub could hold her own, that much she knew. she was rather speedy, as well, though short legs did not hold up well when it came to sprinting long distances. she would ask sivaak, too, of her hailing, should she seem interested in sharing the tale.

word vomit

She knew bison, had seen their kind in lands farther inland, but muskox… the idea of such creatures stirred a flicker of interest. “Big, brown, and ferocious,” she growled, the faintest edge of approval coloring her tone. “Wolves who hunt them must be strong—or dead.”

Her gaze swept over Nanuralaaq again, tracing the lines of muscle beneath her pale pelt. Small, compact.

“Sivaak does not hunt ox. She hunts sea. Caribou. Coyotes, sometimes, because annoy Sivaak.” A cruel smirk played at her lips, her teeth flashing briefly as her gaze lingered on the smaller wolf. “Whatever bleeds, Sivaak hunts.”

The question Nanuralaaq posed drew a snort from Sivaak, her expression sharpening. “Not safe because alone,” she said bluntly, as if it were obvious. When inquired about her own culture, the tip of Sivaak's tail twitches. As if she is eager to share but doesn't wish to revel in it. She draws herself to her thick haunches, reaching a nose to inhale a greedy inhale of Rala's scent. Memorizing it.

“Three kinds of caribou hunters,” Sivaak says. “Sharadoii, Lanzadoii, Muradoii. Each follows the caribou in their way. Each speaks their own tongue, but we share one to trade, to speak when we must. It is weak. No soul in it. Just words.”

“Sivaak is Muradoii. Muradoii are sea hunters. We wait where caribou cross the black sands and come to the sea. We take what we want. Meat, blood, life. Caribou feed us. So do wolves, sometimes. Sharadoii know this. Lanzadoii know this. They fear us.”

“Muradoii do not trade. We raid. We take wolves who cross our lands. Slaves. Meat. Whatever pleases Muradoii.”

Her lips curled slightly, baring teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sivaak led Cragblood. My pack. My blood. We lived by the sea, where waves are black and sands colder than snow. Strongest hunters, hardest winters. But Muradoii do not stay together forever. Not always.” Her voice grew quieter, but no less sharp. “Muradoii fight. To lead, to take. That is our way.”

She spoke as if she were still not bitter, raving, about Rhyak's betrayal. "It seem cruel, but it is way. All Sivaak know."

i <3 word vomit

both, rala knew. strong and dead. several souls had fallen to the thunderous paws of the muskox ; those who got too cocky, too close. but she would not tell of such losses, instead giving a single nod, particularly directed at the 'strong' aspect. daughter of chief knew how to hide weaknesses under the watchful eye of predators.

caribou, that she could relate to. though even the mention of the sea triggered the fur on her nape to tingle, to stand on end. the raging, black seas, crashing against the tall crags and the dark sands, violent tides that grew cold in the coming dawn. to rala, 'whatever bleeds' sounded wasteful. a glimmer of disapproval shone behind her eyes for a short moment. only a fraction of a second, before her gaze flickered to those of scarlet.

ah, yes, that was what she had thought. she gave a soft hum before she spoke: yes, i know. but i rather be alone than have dead weight holding me back, a traveller such as herself had no time to be dragged down, rather she wished to remain nomadic for as long as possible before she eventually settled. perhaps she could find a partner.

polar-cub would watch, then, perked ears a telltale sign of listening, of intrigue, as sivaak spoke. sharadoii, lanzadoii and muradoii. she would keep the sirenames in mind, should she stumble upon them once more. did sivaak know of any family within these lands? rala thought that, if she did, she would probably be with them by now. or, perhaps she did not like them all that much. she spoke of being feared. chief of cragblood.

her lowering voice spoke of something deeper, of a distant sorrow that the edge of her voice attempted to hide. dawn-eyed girl gave a soft blink. i see, the woman spoke, then, partially unknowing in what to say. she did not agree with raiding, with taking innocents, but she knew the desperation of cruel winters. of the ravaging seasons.

do you know if you have any family within these lands? other muradoii? for if she had made the travel, they could have done the same, surely. part of nanuralaaq wondered, then, if any of her own people had followed after her, although she doubted it. she hoped, should any follow her steps, that it would not be kurauviatu man.

Family.

The word itself was an ache, a phantom tether to a life she had clawed her way out of. Her tail gave a sharp flick, dismissing whatever flicker of sentiment might have passed through her.

“Muradoii do not follow,” she growled, her voice low and deliberate. “They fight. They take. If family comes here, it is not for me. It is for the hunt.”

She shifted her weight, her scarred shoulders rolling. “Cragblood was my family. Not just blood, but my wolves. My raiders. My hunters. That is gone now. Lost to sea and snow.” Her tone didn’t waver.

“Family is weakness,” she said bluntly, the words sharp as claws. “Muradoii do not cling. We kill. We survive. Anything else? Waste of breath.” Though she spoke harshly, it droned as if practiced. As if it were merely something she had told herself time and time again. Burned into her brain. Not truly believed.

She tilted her head slightly, studying Nanuralaaq with an unreadable expression, her crimson eyes glinting like embers. “You? You think your family comes for you?” There was no mockery in her voice, only a blunt curiosity.