Moonspear lie to me

sialuk, singing the sun down to touch the earth.

it was good to be home. kukutux had woken in the night with his name pressing itself against the walls of her spirit; she had rolled to burrow against jarilo, to let the scent of him, the sound of his breathing, drive back the trader that wished to linger near. in the morning the snow-wife washed sleep from her muzzy eyes and began to work over the skins draped upon the pauttuvik.

it had once been a thick pine bough dragged here; she had stripped its needles and now it was a tier of branches upon which she had placed a rabbitfur and a strip of beavertail leather, to dry in whatever sun could still be found. removing the latter from its place, kukutux settled with it between her forepaws, calling to sialuk to attend her and learn a new thing.