The Tangle Hands to your hymnals, hell's at the door

It would be wise to stick with the brother-sister pair. They move on after their meeting and Kigipigak enjoys some time dwelling on the time spent with them. He carries their scent north until he finds the earth sloping up and journeys through the forest there. A hawk calls over his head and he is tempted to sing back at it for a moment but does not.

There is char here. It is not the first patch of burn he has found in his travels and Kigipigak wonders what hell has befallen this wild place. How common was it for the sun to race across the grass? He stopped at the western edge of the rise to roll in a patch of black earth, then carried on.

Kigipigak had seen rolling hills of forest from the rise. Now that he was down among the trees he knew he had made a poor choice. The earth was more uneven the further he went, with twists and turns and steep drop-offs, shrubbery that prickled like a frightened ilukutak, and no clear path within its labyrinth.

The scent of the sea struck Kigipigak sharply—he thought he had imagined it, so strode on, until a second wave hit him along a corridor of toothy stone. Curiosity pulled him through the dark after it. He was not quiet in his ascension of the stones.