Ouroboros Spine Behind every tree is a cutting machine

He would remain silent, even though at times he wished he hadn't asked her about her ceremony at all. Like a vigil, it seemed, for wolves who had disappeared with no trace to be found that might hint that they lived. There must be another ceremony, he thought, for those who had fallen or passed away whose bodies had been found- but he did not figure he ought to ask those questions until perhaps, some day, the need came for them to address that matter. He'd been curious to know about the mourning songs she and Sialuk had sung, which had haunted the waking nights he had come to stay on the mountain after having searched Moonspear, having thought that perhaps by performing that ritual, it had eased her pain. After all- she now led a new pack, and had taken a lover. The distant look in her eyes was something he'd become accustomed to, having never seen them shine with the light she'd had before the landslide. 

He'd thought perhaps that in performing the ceremony, she'd been able to come to terms with her loss- but as she spoke it became clear that even though she had said her goodbyes, the grief still lingered. It shook him to learn of what might happen on the third day- having never seen a spirit wearing the face of one of his deceased relatives. And he had seen the Northern Lights on many occasions before- but he knew a different set of tales about their significance and meaning. That she would sing to them at all was risky business indeed- as he had been told growing up that if a wolf sang to the dancing lights, then those lights would come down and steal their soul. In passing, others from other packs had ridiculed that notion, and had claimed that singing to the lights would make them dance brighter, and that they were benevolent in nature. The fact that he already knew two different views on the phenomenon helped him simply accept the beliefs that Kukutux had. In singing, she could guide the spirits of the lost to the realm of the dancing lights. 

With his breath caught in his throat, he moved to close the distance between them, and reached out to touch her cheek, where the trail of silver tears glossed over the gossamer fur of her cheek. She grieved still; and even in her grief she accomplished so much, and pushed herself so hard to keep the pack together. He reached out to gently caress the top of her head, leaning his jaw against hers if she did not pull away, so she might lean against him for comfort.