Qeya River The Return

The children were growing more rapidly than Kigipigak could handle. He'd begun to bring little fish for them to study, or to eat, and sometimes pieces of bark for them to chew on. Nothing felt like enough. He wanted to give Sakhmet a break from their constant needs but could not find a way, being a man and unable to feed them the way a woman might, and having no skills with children to begin with.

So when he wasn't bringing gifts, or food, he kept his distance. He'd watch the ulaq where the children slept and sometimes commune with his wife during the rare moments she could escape their proximity. He'd most recently brought a discarded antler from a young buck, broken where the tines were sharp so that they could not harm themselves with it.

He needed to find more food. For once, Kigipigak wished he had more company to help with his work. He missed Njord's presence, and that crafty son of his. Having them around to hunt had been a blessing. He trailed his way alongside the river when a foreign scent hit his nose—a young man was here, one he did not know.

Kigipigak was concerned and alert, but he was not afraid. He drew closer, and that was when he spotted the stranger with the mud-brown cloak, speaking over a pile of objects. This further concerned him. Kigipigak began to tread closer but he was not subtle about it—better to confront the oddity he'd found outright.