Ouroboros Spine I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

The look upon his face did not change at the mention of a father. From what Raimo had gathered of their story, the father was no longer with them. There had been no sign of any man among their number and given the state of the mountain they had abandoned, it was unlikely the man would resurface.

It did not pain Raimo to think of things this way; it was another aspect of this woman's story he would keep for future tellings if he felt the desire. It was quite a tale — the crumbling of a mountain, a single mother with her young daughter trying to piece themselves together.

She does not trust you, the woman mentions. Raimo's smile fades immediately, but not for the reasons one might expect. It takes considerable effort not to laugh or grin at this comment; he cannot tell if they're still talking about Sialuk or the injured woman now speaks for herself. He does not want to offend her and forces stoicism, but it is ill-fitting. His eyes spark with something indescribable.

I don't expect to be trusted. He answers. But I do expect to be rewarded. Winter was hard on everyone, and this particular year was harder still. He need not mention this to her, knowing what has been lost. For now the arrangement suits him.