Blacktail Deer Plateau from the steeples in the church yard

He wished he was home, but didn't voice such a sentiment aloud, as it was pointless. It was clear by how hunched he was that he felt small and insignificant, and the way the snow pelted at him seemed to pile and begin to bury him where he sat, utterly lost within himself for a few moments. Tuvak would've stayed there and let the snow bury him if the stranger hadn't come along—and when they spoke again, this time with a language that sounded so familiar to him, his head raised and eyes brightened in a flash of understanding. That was his mother's language—!

Ketakuluk The boy enunciated sharply, and his jaw hinged a little afterwards, his surprise quite clear upon his face. He didn't have anything to say about being lost—or maybe his single answer worked for both questions. He knew he was still in the Wilds and that somewhere out there his mother waited for him, and his siblings, and all of Diaspora, but he had no idea where to start looking nor the energy to begin that epic adventure. So here he sat, frozen in place but so very alive in the knowledge that he wasn't alone anymore. This man was like his mother; he was one of their people, somehow.

I'm hungry, and it's so cold... He began to say, but the sad tone of his own voice made his blood run cold, and he refused to sound like a child; he didn't want to be weak, especially here before this man, although Tuvak had no idea why he felt this way. So he stopped his complaining and set his jaw, taking on a hard edge to the glimmer in his eyes. Who are you?