Silver Moraine Aiokatti

Work was what kept the depth of his hurt at bay. Kilgitsuk could travel the width and breadth of the Wilds to escape feelings of inadequacy; if he were younger he would have thrown himself in to spar after spar and made up the difference there, but he was not, and he had since matured out of that behavior. There was an ache within him that would be remedied with time - or with his family - and yet he could not abide the festering he felt, and he could not fathom returning in this state to Sakhmet when his trust in himself had become so weakened.

He would prowl the pines for anything to keep his mind off of his troubles: scat, hare scent, the graze lines of a herd; but what he encountered next was none of those things. He did not see Njord, but he heard him call out — and with a raise of head and hackles, the man turned to greet the moment with a defensive posture; he could not be certain for that split-second if this was friend or foe, as it might've been one of the wayward gang members that recently plagued Swiftcurrent.

He saw the burly man, the flash of red, and calmed immediately.

Njord! Brother! The last Kigipigak had seen of this man, he had been eager to talk of his pregnant wife - or was it to boast about his sons? Either way, he had been in better spirits. The posturing melted away as he advanced to where Njord lingered among the trees, sharing breaths, greeting him in the rough way a man would, with a friendly shoulder-check and a chuff of laughter.

The feeling behind the laughter did not quite register for Kigipigak, but the sentiment was there.

You are far from your salt-water, my friend!