Moonspear xii mikigak

Kigipigak could not tell immediately if Kukutux' assessment was a compliment or not, and chose to ignore it entirely. He did not like the idea of being soft as that meant he was weak, so what she said of him was pleasing, if a bit confusing to him. There was no level of softness allowed in Unnuakvik. 

He had killed his own father to prove just how worthy he was of his own mother's love and affection, sparing as she was with it, only to be banished in the next breath; he did not know it yet, but Kigipigak could never go home for the crime he had committed, blessed by the Issumatar or not. He was just as much an unwanted element as his spineless sisters at this point - and they had been soft.

I hope they continue to come to you, the old ones, the woman remarked with her thoughtful, motherly cadence. They will guide their children.

It felt good to commune with someone of the North, Kigipigak thought in that moment. Good to be reminded that he was not alone, that he held a space that made sense to someone. He felt closer to Kukutux than Stjornuati or Valmua then, but was reminded of them also, and knew he would have to leave the woman soon and return himself to the newfound ravenhome.

Thank you for the meal, and the conversation. You remind me of all the best parts of the winterlands. The man smiled in a lopsided manner, the cut to his lip lending an extension to the expression. He bows his head, takes a breath. I hope to return by the next moon with news, I will call for you.

Still, ready as he appeared to leave, Kigipigak did not; he was waiting for a dismissal from the woman, as he might from his own mother during their brief moments together - eager to dwell with the snowbird for as long as he could.