Phoenix Maplewood so, what are you gonna do?

There was a moment of quiet as Vex digested the statement. Kigipigak held no expectations; maybe the boy would find the tale riveting and delve in to questions, or maybe he would think it a joke and laugh in his face despite the grave tone he employed in the telling. What came was a sort-of acceptance that eased some of Kigipigak's concern. He had not realized how much worry he carried in speaking of this event — he had done it before, with Bijou at the beach. He had been proud of himself after-the-fact and praised by his mother. For some reason he could not fathom Kigipigak wanted approval from this boy — their similar situations being a likely catalyst.

The boy called him kinkiller and Kigipigak stifled a flinch. How could he be called such a thing when the killing of his father had earned him his name? Earned him, by his mother's law and the rights taught by his people, personhood, identity, in full? As soon as his father's throat was cut and he lay bleeding out upon the village grounds he lost his connection to Tartok — to Kigipigak, to all of it. That being the case, why did Kigipigak now think back on his actions and feel doubt creeping in?

Would you kill him? If given the order by your mother, for the goodness of your tribe? In all the stories of how the Tartok earned their names Kigipigak could not recall any involving the death of their parent; it was always a feat of strength or a great and terrible battle, yet he had gone the route of patricide and been rewarded for it. Could it have been wrong?