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She denied interest; her voice was offered airly, emptily, but she did not turn away. Kigipigak snorted. He could find only ocean smells around her and little else, though he was not really looking for anything. It told him she was a vagabond—and he was intimately jealous of her freedom.

Who did that to you? she asked. Those dark eyes followed the curve of his lip and beyond, to where the crooked scar tapered off of his cheekbone.

A stupid boy who started a fight. I ended it. He answered—being purposefully vague. The truth wasn't far off from that but it was something of an amusement to Kigipigak; he wanted to sound mysterious and impressive to the stranger, as if he had a life to be jealous of in turn.