Ouroboros Spine ukijijuk ⏧

kukutux sat beneath the stone overhang. snow had come again but had not stayed; now clouds threatened more spring rain. the gentle wash of it would cleanse the world. she did not know why she could not release the feeling within her heart.

restless, despite the threat of being caught hobbled in a deluge, kukutux moved through the foliage, muzzle tilted and seeking the sight of the lake flickering in twilight glow through the trees. once along its bank, she followed the edge, unthinking.

raimo had gone away to yuelong. the duck did not know if he would return, or if when he did he would still be without; her mind pulled away the moment that wings fluttered beneath her idle paws and without thinking she closed jaws quickly. atsatâtâjuk, hanging in her teeth.

the taste of blood on her tongue, this gift anyone else might call blind luck but to the pious snowbird was a blessing: for the first time in many weeks, kukutux ate of something she herself had caught, and with the ironsalt taste, she felt a small measure of her self-faith return.

when she returned to the new ulaq, it was to wrap the cured lynx skin gently in evergreen boughs and place it within the shadows. in a short while any other scent including her own would be folded beneath the fragrance, and would be ready for sivullik when he came upon her. it was the young one who had joined them that came to mind now, and then, again, always, raimo.