Whitewater Gorge tulaktuk ‡

the sound of his step closer hitched the breath tightly in the duck's throat. she had watched him from the corner of her eyes, how he seemed to become larger, somehow; the joviality in his voice and the roll of his words reminded her, somehow, of the smiling traders who had come to the island. he had come from a village too, and in her soul she felt the little spirit grow delighted.

"inua atchigaa kukutux, siqiniq-miu," the duck answered in turn a bit breathlessly, at last daring to let her eyes drift as high as his cheekbone. this was a man of her own world. he would not ask that she say the names of those gone to the dancing lights.

kigipigak was wild, the scent of stone and forest and wind filling her throat. a traveler. a trader. "ukiu-tkik," kukutux rejoined with a nod; had it been so long since she had left the isle with its falling rocks and the death ulax she had built for those lost? but it was good to speak again, good to feel the old words thriving upon her tongue. "akkupaurak, hnukuq moonspear."