Big Salmon Lake kuak ⛣

the islewife did not understand her husband's perception of mourning. for she and her kith, the short seasons had been a matter of life. you were raised in the dark and sometimes found your death in it. that was the way of things, and the duck would not have changed it. "the mothers and aunts and sisters and grandmothers, we searched for the fish every day. many hours. the hunters went out to the ice and were gone for long weeks." she thought back upon it, suddenly transported by the mist that veiled her springjade stare.

"but between us all, there was much to be had. the ground did not warm sometimes, and so there we put the fish and the caribou sticks and the seal fat." an unseemly gasp of hunger in her gut; kukutux darted her muzzle toward a flash of pale underbelly, but missed her mark. "if the herds journeyed far, we traveled to follow their trail. and when the winter came, and the ice, we had many caches, all filled with meat."

kikuyaliksuk. the whisper of her mother, her inner spirit. "it was not all darkness, kignitak," the snowbird grinned, catching at the fur of her husband's nearest shoulder. "at night, many nights, there were lights in the sky above us. long lights. green as sedge and purple as evening. we called them kiiguyat and they lit our way."

a sigh that curved her narrow shoulders and closed her eyes for a breath. aiolos. and the son kukutux had not yet seen. "i met a man from yuelong, moons ago. he invited that we bring our children to meet his own."