Moonspear uvaagniq

The trader had nothing to offer in that moment. He had not brought a gift, and had left his last catch (three fat salmon) on the edge of Brecheliant with the child who did not like fish. All he had to offer was himself. To a certain degree Kilgitsuk was confident in that; he was an avid hunter and well known to the moon villages, even if he had not been this way in many months.

He lingered, lost in many thoughts.

There was a figure further up the mountain, at first perched in a spot he could glimpse through the ferns and the layered leaf-litter; then they moved, and he saw a pale, buttery flash of soft gold that fit better with a winter sun than this autumn atmosphere.

Kilgitsuk called out a low sound, probing the dark with his voice—checking to see if what he saw was real or merely his imagination. Either way it was a face he did not know.