Moonspear tupigigaa ⊥

kukutux felt her features curve and warm as he spoke. "you are always so full of goodness to me, jarilo," the duck sighed in earnest. "i feel always that i can be — have openness, with you." she had said more than perhaps she would otherwise; kukutux realized then that the past year had only deepened her affections toward him.

the delight did not fall away so much as pale to something shimmering upon her alabastrine countenance. "you know i do not speak the names of those who walk in the dancing lights. i — it is because when a spirit hears the name it wore on earth, if they hear, they might come back. and it is selfish to bring them back with your tears. that was my mother's teaching," she added, knowing that her husband would listen even if he did not hold such thoughts himself.

"but now, i think it is good that i say them. say one." the seal hunter, her inner spirit whispered. "tulok." kukutux paused with a wince, for it was at once both truly good to speak her grandfather's name aloud, and terrifying that she had dared finally defy that taboo. "he was father of my mother. when the falling rocks came and fell upon our ulax, he was wounded. we found a safer place."

he died. she did not say it. "when i was a child, he brought to me berries and said that their location had come to them in a dream. he said he dreamed he was lynx. he was the one who said i must not think i am only a woman. he made me strong enough to leave the island and come to this place."