Ouroboros Spine tiniruk ⌓

you will have children this year.

i will have children this year.

kukutux had attempted to think of such practically. sialuk was too young to consult, as was meerkat. and lótë had no husband. how could she know the burden of a widow? it was not one she wished for the summermoon to undergo. many choices had been given to the taqqiq. 

firsthunter was chief among them. it was the role given to head-mother in a land of homesteads. he was strong and had built this place alongside sialuk. he had made himself a hunter worthy in the eyes of the moon, though the star reserved her judgement. it was right to place him first. and kukutux had grown silently warmer toward him, on more than one occasion admiring the way that his long legs carried him proudly through the winter, and now to the moon of winterhawks. 

but her mind had stuttered upon names. and she was not ready to think of such. wind, catching at her nape, and suddenly red fur appearing over the curve of one drift. greenstone eyes widened; kukutux lifted her head and turned toward him. now he would see her infirmity, the ankle weakened and held up, but now she set all her legs into the snow and forced herself small mincing steps as her plume lifted against the skywash.

come closer.

and when he did, when anugi shifted aiolos close and close and the bouquet of the sea rolled from his tall frame — only then did her breath catch. "my husband did not come down from the mountain. my son did not either."

after nine days, the words tasted of charcoal banked after the death of a fire, grief still ember-bright upon her tonguetip.