Ouroboros Spine the life we live is by choice, not by force

the man was polite, but his eyes missed no detail. kukutux felt that she was being carried into the water of his gaze. in a small way he brought to her mind the face of kigipigak. but where her kinsman was warm, this man was beige and umber, tones of earth to reflect that he was also one of their own kind.

like shikoba, kipaluak bore scars. he had seen much, the duck decided. she felt herself there between them, all of them scarred but both the man and the huntress wore their power proudly.

kukutux straightened the pale-grey rabbitskin she wore around her shoulders, more often than not as the breath of the changing leaves grew more filled with cold.

"morte. you say you are not a hunter. but in moonglow we each hunt." she looked for a moment at shikoba. "perhaps this year moonglow will go to run down the tuktu, when they have moved to their winter eating place."

"but you are tracker. you know how to follow animals." her eyes searched him. "and you will be warrior." it was not a question, for this was what the man had said. 

"i say come to be one of us. i will teach you our ways and our words." a pause now, to look upon shikoba and seek agreement, and then back toward morte, wondering what he might say.