Qeya River Happy as a lark

kivaluk's pride is enough to lessen the grip of sorrow and confusion that has plagued him since his father's temporary departure; a soft relishing in any victory he could get. no matter how small. and it was small, this squirrel. plump but not as big as some of the other's he's seen.

still. it is his. his kill. his victory. another step in the direction of becoming sivullik; a goal he throws himself into with over-eagerness that borderlines reckless abandon.

he sits it down at his paws, knowing that it was rude to keep speaking to her with it clutched betwixt his jaws. he beams with pride at her praise; soaking it up like a sponge.

but he is quiet for a moment, frostbound gaze studying her for a moment longer before he gently picks it up, ghosts closer to her and places it near her; giving it a soft nudge in her direction. here, for you. the gesture clearly says.

i want to be sivullik one day, he announces to her in explanation, unaware that she might not know what the word means; and despite having just learned it very recently himself it falls naturally from his tongue as if he's known it his whole life. a good sivullik would share his spoils. as his father has shared with him, mama and akkuma many and more times.