Moonsong Glacier through the fog of an early morn

gentle was not a word she had ever used before, nor were the implications of such a thing ever used upon her. sulukinak was finished swiftly enough that it might have seemed she heeded dutch, which was good enough. she began to clean her front with her tongue, then her own shoulders, partly to get some of the unruly furs to stay down and partly to clean the taste of her friend from her mouth.

then, she settled carefully back in to place.

another thing that hadn't occurred to her — being happy, anywhere. if she thought about it, sulukinak might've said she was happy in the moment. she wasn't dead, and she was in a warm place with someone she trusted. that was happy. if i wasn't, i'd have gone.

there wouldn't have been a word — much like the vanished leadership of this place.

thinking of them as these vague forces rather than people, sulukinak asks, —is this your conclave now?