Ouroboros Spine malitjuagak ▱

Amil had explained it somewhat -- she did not go into the woods blindly. Anaa was going to take her up into the mountains but not for fun or to hunt. They were going to speak with the spirits so Wilwarin must be respectful, listen to what her pale mother instructed her to do. It would heal the parts of her that had been made sick with fear. 

Her mother had taken her to wash in the hot springs, to purify herself the way people did in the Land of the Many Elms. It was not supposed to be fun but there had been a small thrill that zinged through her chest to rise and bathe while the stars still winked in a night sky the color of Ló's coat. 

When her father's first wife came to collect her, Wilwarin touched her nose to Lótë's and moved to Kukutux's side. The wintry nymph trailed along with Anaa in quiet alertness, filled with anticipation. The girl touched her muzzle to moonwoman's ribcage as they set off, almost like the way a child would take a guardian's hand. 

The altar was a curious thing to see, though not altogether disturbing. Her mother sometimes used blood for her paints. The youngest Nuiruk let her honeyed eyes drift shut as Kukutux dabbed the ruby liquid on her face and chest, opening them to take in the words with an owlish blink of understanding. 

She sat close by the pale healer as she sang, trying very hard to not wag her tail as she watched the wind dance in the trees as if in time with the melody.