Ouroboros Spine In from the snow

it was tradition and expectation, divination and hypocrisy; her own. mother's blood lay buried in a death ulaq upon a moontide shore. mother's heart cannot mend, stitched together by holding to what she knew.

ariadne's choice then felt as if it were a knife among those aching seams, another daughter lost not to breath but to what she knew. and so she grasped; she had lost; ariadne stood with tight body and tears pearled upon her cheeks, stricken and at the hands of her own mother in a way kukutux was horrified to see.

but she had said all the words inside her and knew now no more could be taken for a time. kigipigak would pay the price to their hearth. this meeting would not be mended but tradition was upheld.

"walk with sedna, daughter." her tones were hoarsened, the taut pride unfurling slowly from her small figure. there was hurt of a harsh sort, and she had been the one to inflict it. the duck would keep then from moonsong for a time.

she saw how even now ariadne retained herself in the face of kivaluk's anger.

quietly she stood.

there was no need to linger any longer.

when ariadne and the trader had turned away, she did not watch them depart; kukutux turned and in silent shame and worry of her own did she walk back along the long-worn path to the ulax and her own thoughts.