Ouroboros Spine tuvragaa ⊪

kuktutux had taken to her sleeping place the last several days, chilled and weakened by her time in the snow.

yet even as she lay quilted with pelts, moonwoman thought upon her vision, and tried to pull together tendrils of how she might strengthen her village a last time.

something came. Sedna had spoken.

cowled at the entrance to her ulaq, kukutux sat down in wincing way and attempted to focus her mind.

she called for @Masa.

masa, still, is a recluse. but that had always been how it was—and how it would continue to be, as far as he was concerned. moonglow had been welcoming, as welcoming as it could be given he did not converse with its people often.

he kept to himself. he patrolled, he hunted. he said thank you, he spoke only when spoken to. and one of those times was now—but who called, is what had been unexpected.

and the samurai has no choice but to heed her call. a dark head appearing from dead brush, eaten away by the frost of winter's cruelty, and yellow eyes swarming the white she-wolf.

perhaps it was the appearance of agana, but kukutux found herself reveled by memories of raimo when she saw masa appear.

it was his bearing, the silence. it was his clear skill, though himself withheld.

raimo had helped to build moonglow — perhaps it was such hone she sought now.

hospitality must not be foregone no matter how she ached.

birchbark platter. venison quivering with fat and trout caught fresh from ice. two dried strawberries, precious in the dead of snow. no more might come until sun had warmed the land.

the offering set before masa, she returned to the seat she had taken beneath the weak-tea glow of winter light. shrugging the deer-pelt more securely around her, moonwoman drew a breath.

all was not lost. her title might well fall to ajei, which was well. the duck could relax at such at thought.

"the one i chose to follow me cannot. and her daughter will not. my son will marry and his wife may wish to become moonwoman. but maybe she will not."

was it selfish to wish one of her blood in such a place? she loved ajei as a daughter, but this lineage had only been handed between one clan.

should she not cling to this? should she release it?

"perhaps you see what our village must have. to be strong. to grow. we are hunters and wives, and yet only hunting has stayed within moonglow." 

she did not know what she meant to ask!

the spread does not evade him. his eyes absorb the scene with a curiosity that is beyond him, his movements now cautious as he approaches. he does not trust this. but why? he had no reason not to.

perhaps he is not used to such kindness. come from a world of ruggedness and little kindness, this is not something he's ever seen and he does not know how to trust it. and his discomfort should be clear, from the way his ears pull backwards, the flickering of his gaze to anywhere but her.

but it is when she speaks that he might calm down, even if only a little. but still, he doesn't find himself sitting, only standing awkwardly outside of her ulaq, but now letting his eyes investigate if only a little. she tells him of her troubles.

he has only one question: why? it is visible the way it crosses his face, then he looks at her, yellow eyes distant of any emotion. he feels... sympathy for her. it is a harsh tale; unfortunately, the bitter truth of life, often. he sees that she is a woman who fears the downfall of what she has built, and masa blinks gently.

you have my sympathies. a voice handsome, but a voice strained by a life lived hard—a life that has only spanned a few years, and yet he exudes the presence of someone who has lived for longer. masa lets himself sit, finally. why do you tell me this?

"because you are not nuiruk," kukutux said with honesty, noting that at last he had come to himself, to peace. "because your new eyes may see what mine do not."

she swallowed; "i do not wish to make a carrying of what has happened before. to — live in the years gone on, when there were many moon villages. i must look forward." somehow speaking to the taciturn man was easy, no matter the fact that he might spread the news of their broken kinship ties.

to whom? what enemies did moonglow possess?

he was young, she saw now, to her eyes a boy just becoming man. his eyes held more centuries than his pelt proclaimed, however.

"will you tell me of your kin, masa? your village which is home?"

she speaks like snowfall. soft, careful—and he knows that her words smooth him. the guard hairs, color of ebony, smoothen against his backside as he both visibly and mentally relaxes. the guard is ever present, but there is no need to carry himself with such demeanor before this woman.

he sees much wisdom in her. wisdom that he could benefit from, learn from. this is a woman who has nurtured many, a mother to many—masa feels great reverence bubbling within his chest, shallow, but a pool that grows. he dips his head, a crown bowed for her, eyes narrowed upon the ground as he listens.

he does not eat, because it would be rude to if not invited—but his eyes are persistent upon the spread. looking upon tasty meat, ignoring the grumble of his stomach. he has not eaten yet, today, he realizes. too busy patrolling, too caught up in a bout of daily brooding.

he casts his eyes upwards to the moonwoman. but there is no harm in living in the past. he says, suddenly, brows coming to screw together in heavy thought, emotion that falls over his yellow eyes so often cold. you mourn what is gone. it is healthy to. to know what is remiss—then you may fix it going forward. she did not ask for his opinion, but he gave it anyway.

he seems to mentally, or emotionally, flinch away at the mention of his home. but rude, it would be, to not indulge her in the knowledge of his past when she had so openly laid out hers—or what was most important of it. his features are tight-lipped now. my clan is far. he exhales a short breath. it was only us men. i was taken from my mother at a young age.

he does not remember her face. he only remembers how she smelled. so soft, so sweet. it is a comfort he will never know again.

taught to be cruel. my innocence stolen from me. i fought, and if i did not fight, it was to die. i did not want to die. i live. but i hold no hate in my heart, his tail swishes quietly, not for them. but i do... his eyes squeeze shut. it haunts me. i have great anger—and i fear that anger.

it was there, the meaning. the reason. kukutux listened. a boy raised only by men and hardly any memory of a mother; he would have been turned to stone and quickly. she saw the struggle of the opening, and sensed it had been some long while since the doors of his heart had opened so.

still he did not eat; "you do not look cruel to me, masa," moonwoman murmured, feeling the bite of winter again in her toes, the pads of her calloused palms. "do you hold fighting in your spirit?" was he contented by it? did he wish to be freed from its clutch?

"perhaps anger must be given a test. there are many such things among the sunshine people. once i was given such a test."

briefly did moonwoman tell to masa the story of cen, of his capture, his trial, his blinding, his exile.

gently she gazed now at the hunter beside the sheltering ulaq. "tell me. did i worsen him? the granddaughter who has given up her place in lineage, aya, she spoke of his hunters. you see? it is a curse, and it is one i have made."

she was fearful for yuralria! where had she met the caribou hunters? who led them?

fighting is all i know. there is soft exasperation lingering briefly in his voice as he inhales a deep breath. to steady himself and calm his resolve. to sheathe his steel. it is what i was made for. and yet… i do not know if it is what i am.

a truth he does not often say aloud.

he watches her, the way she speaks of fear, of consequence. she carries a guilt that does not fit. if this man became a curse, then he was already lost long before her hand touched his fate.

if it was a curse, it was not yours alone. masa tentatively reaches out to paw at a cut of the meat, slowly dragging it towards him. a man does not become something from one choice alone. he must choose it himself, again and again.

those detached yellow eyes seem to soften in some measure, even if small. if he is what you say, then a man like that is already lost before you laid justice upon him.

"you do not have so many years, but already you carry the wisdom of a man with more," kukutux said quietly after a time had passed. masa had indicated a willingness to eat, and politely she grasped the fact that a man used to solitude would not appreciate eyes upon him.

"yes. he is lost. he was born with a bad spirit." the green gaze flickered in the direction of well-worn path and then back to the warrior. "but if cen has breath, there is a threat that he will come here again." he had raided moontide, had he not? a bloodless raid during the great hunt, but he had invaded all the same.

kukutux paused.

"i have the want to find him, masa. not to fight, but to know." she studied the silent hunter. "if i ask that you go, it is not to bring blood. but you must agree."

it was a chance to see wickedness and not rise to the anger he so feared.

moonwoman had the power to send masa away; she did not wish to wield it.

he is in silence, though he remains wary of her gaze. he does not trust lingering eyes, does not like the feeling of being watched. but kukutux is careful, perceptive. she understands what others might not, and so he allows himself this moment of quiet, of nourishment. but then she speaks of cen. unknown man. of bad spirits. of threats.

if he still breathes, he will return. this is not a question. it is certainty. men like that do not vanish. they linger, festering, waiting for the moment to strike. it is revenge. vengeance. he would want it! surely!

she wants him to go. but not to kill.

masa’s jaw tightens. his entire life, his purpose has been singular. seek. eliminate. eradicate threats before they grow into something worse. but she asks him to step outside of that. to know rather than destroy.

he exhales through his nose, considering.

i cannot promise kindness if i go. but i would not bring blood, unless it is forced upon me.

he will return.

this was known, in her mind. in her heart, in the beat of her blood. cen would return. he was not a man to be denied. "the caribou he follows will be far in the snow and in the cold. go to that place. i — find him. i must know that yuralria has not made a path to this man."

"this walking, it has danger." her green eyes beheld him. "i will not ask you to make a path for nothing. moonglow has much wealth, but," and here she paused;

"in my mind, i do not have the thinking that it is wealth you wish." she caught his eye.

this journey must be of his own accord.

masa listens. the task she gives him is clear—find cen. ensure that the girl, yuralria, has not been tangled in his path.
he knows the dangers of such a journey. he does not fear them.
his gaze flickers when she speaks of wealth. the offer is expected, but her next words catch his attention.
his jaw tightens, something unreadable in his yellow eyes. she is right. gold, pelts, food—these things mean little to him. they are fleeting, temporary. masa does not walk this world searching for riches.
but what does he want?
he does not answer the question aloud. instead, he exhales only.
i will go. simple, final. he does not do this for wealth, nor for gratitude. perhaps he does not even do it for her. i go now. he says. then rises. leaning quickly to snatch a cut of meat for the beginning of his journey.

exit masa!