Qeya River anilaaktuk

Gone.

Gone and they were alone.

Kigipigak had the paint of a warrior. Blood splattered upon him, fresh and old. Grass tangled in the thickest of his fur. The image of the wild man she had fallen in love with. Been so sheepish before when she had once tried to build her own!

She was held close and she grappled at him in return. The hurts of her heart smoothed by his presence alone. She did not cry, but her eyes teared with the waves of relief at having him back.

You must tell me everything, Sangilak. She whispered his title to him in the crook of his neck.