Qeya River arjuni-akt-i

The water ran red, as did Kigipigak's coat. He did not like the feeling of intense warmth against him when the rest of him was sopping and cold, so he drew himself from the water and on to the land where Lane waited.

He was breathless. The red of spilled blood tarnished the rest of him pink and had worked to darken his scarred body, giving him the look of something mightily damaged, as if he had just escaped death all over again.

He tried not to think about it.

The pig hunt, he murmured between breaths, was much more fun than this. Which was the truth; they had worked up a good sweat during their fight with that boar, while here it was more of a mercy killing, which Kigipigak did not find fulfilling. His pulse still raced, he still hungered for something.

His eyes lit upon Lane while she worried over the downed caribou's pale coat. For a moment he had forgotten about it, but then sighed, and moved back in to the water to grab at the body and begin hoisting it free.

They would need to do some swift butchery of this thing if he was to bring the hide to Kukutux.