Moonspear rich folks laugh while the furnace burns

“Oh,” he had quietly said when Kukutux explained that it was a different story altogether.

And then, he had listened again—there was no need to ask or implore her to tell said story, and this one once again set his mind to thinking. As she spoke, his eyes stole away to the highest points of Moonspear’s jagged, unforgiving face and settled where the sun gleaned off of its snowpack there curiously.

Kukutux wasn’t even halfway through the story and he already felt a question burning the tip of his tongue as he wondered about it; it may have taken a small miracle to stop such things from coming to him. They were liable to be in for a long session if his thirst for knowledge could not be fulfilled.

His gaze rounded back to her as she dotted the ground with precise marks, only to come to life as she dropped familiar names. His cousins, though Saviguk was not present. Sialuk hadn’t darted off somewhere though, and he looked at her curiously as though something made sense then. With her wintry coat, perhaps it were no wonder that she would be named that way; he knew his name came from the stars, just as his siblings.

As the story came to its inevitable conclusion, he was silent for a beat.

“So,” he drew out with a breath, “is that why Milik lives on the top of the mountain?”

There was always snow there, at least as far as he could remember.

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