Bramblepoint suli ∏

it was strange, to think of the long-gone spirit that had once been in the body of her sister. the duck allowed herself the pleasure of evoking the beloved face. "she wore eyes the shade of pine-bark tea. we had the same parka," kukutux added, motioning to her own pale coat. "she told me all the stories of her ugi and knew all of anaa's songs." 

"when i had the moons to ask what was the meaning of 'kukutux,' i did not understand and had frustration. angajuk told me, 'najâtsuk, natigvik makes the wary duck become a spirit on the flat earth. she sees but cannot be seen. she listens but cannot be heard. she is safe when she keeps close to those she trusts. it is good to be kukutux.'"

a breath in the retelling, all spilling from her breast as if it were a river beginning to thaw. the moonbow tucked her composure back into its practiced rein, smiled at sialuk. "she had more moons than i knew, but she was not unkind to me. a good teacher. i learned from her and from our mother. when taataa's second wife danced our brothers into the word, angajuk was with me and we saw them take first breath together."

a roll of her shoulders. something pinched inside of her chest.

"she came to me in the last days i knew the island. 'wary duck in the snowdrift, i have good news. you no longer must be called kukutux, for your name will be ajaukuluk soon.'" the snow-wife did not realize she had stopped, nor that her green eyes had grown vacant with thoughts of those three days. before the falling stones.

blinking, returning. "she would have happiness to know you, pukak."