Ouroboros Spine soft cloud from the mountainside

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His night had been filled with colors again. His dreams not of this place. Not of any place he had truly been. Full of softness. Absent of the pain that awaited him whenever he woke.

Yet the furs beneath him cradled his body after his long rests here. Comforted him in his long nights and even longer days. The scent of them him and the meals he ate upon them. Along with those who visited him.

Those faces visited him in his dreams now. The songs of Kukutux and her warm features most prominent. It seemed he had her reassurance in both sleep and wake. Something to be said for all of that.

Iḷitqusiq the wind whispered in his ear, a coo to his very being. His spirit.

Iḷitqusiq. Come.

—

Suddenly his eyes opened. Met with the sun only just breaching the horizon as it painted the sky in colors as lively as his dream had felt. He did not know who the voice had been or what it had meant with its single word command.

Come. Where to?

He stared absently out of the mouth of the ulaq and into the open world that he was not yet a part of in full. Almost beady eyed as his heart pounded in his chest.