Iktome Plains Inop tuKua tikillugu

Beware: phone post below.

The scent in the air hadn't gone unnoticed, but it had been ignored. Such a great deal of time had passed since the last time that he'd traveled so far beyond the borders of his home, and so he knew not of the packs occupying the area. It was assumed that the scent belonged to an accompanied child; the mistake made by settling on such an unsupported guess would later be revealed, though for now he was oblivious.

Perhaps he was oblivious, too, to the fact that his son did not actually find hunting to be interesting, or maybe he just didn't care. When it came to Atshen, the elder Inuit knew not what to think or how to act. He knew only that the boy was his son—well, he was pretty sure anyways—and that he should try and trust the kid. It would be he and his siblings passing on the man's name once they were all of age, so the least he could do was offer to the younger male some piece of faith. So, when the boy wandered off under the guise of a hunter, Kove forced himself to stay put. Worst case scenario, Atshen got lost and was never seen or heard from again—which wouldn't be too bad, actually. With that thought in mind, keeping himself from pursuing the boy became a hell of a lot easier.