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

Tribes were scattered across the ice where he came from, so to have two in such close proximity was a novelty to Kigipigak. From the woman's account of things there was an uneasy truce between them, however the wolves she sought were the aggressors, and wanting them to leave. The wilderness was vast—even between the two territories, with one a cliff and the other a mountain—so to Kigipigak there was no issue; he was young and stupid though, so his understanding was limited.

Are they a tribe of warriors? He asked next. There was no need to ask after Rosalyn's people; she had enough scars upon her body to answer any question for him. You are the leader of your tribe—but you would risk yourself? This was rhetorical—Kigipigak's voice fluctuated between something incredulous and something awe-inspired. Why would the matriarch of a tribe put herself at risk in such a way? That was foolish! Especially if the rival tribe truly wished harm to her people.

The ways of these southerners was confusing to Kigipigak. I am glad to have found you first, then. We can watch one-another's backs in case they come. Perhaps they watch us now—afraid to face the both of us! He huffs and lifts his chin slightly, peering at the mess of trees as if daring someone to appear. It is all a joke to Kigipigak.