Barrow Fields vii Come home to roost.

Valmua turned when she saw Kigipigak and he was not sure if she was about to shout for her blood-brother, strike him, or pretend he was a fragment of dust not worth her eye. 

Her bestial noises were not unusual among their shared people no matter how different their tribes may be. Kigipigak's tail waved as a friendly pendulum a few times before resting at his hocks while Valmua investigated his mantle of white.

And the Watcher! He says, smirking crookedly. The slice of flesh crossing his lips is warm and easily agitated, as Kigipigak has not looked after it appropriately. The boom of his voice dwindles a moment later and becomes something cautious, the way a boy's might when crossing the pulpit of a church.

Why do you dig? He hoped it was not for something such as a burial. His voice is evenly sombre just in case. Kigipigak eyes the mounds—and the divot she's carved between a set—as if something may rise out of them.