Cedar Sweep qapiŋaiq

Kigipigak saw how the children grew.

He watched as @Asivaq slimmed with the less frequent meals, as he was busy patrolling their village limits and escorting strangers through to the other side.

He saw @Stratos from time to time picking up the slack, and felt within himself a seething sense of self-loathing for not being man enough for his wife and children. For needing the help of this brother. For the face of Aiolos he saw when he glimpsed the boy, or the familiarity of Kukutux he saw in his own wife when his duties ended in the late evenings.

He approached his wife this night as she contended with their children, each which could stand on their own now, and had their eyes open, and their ears slowly curling up and open. It would soon be time to make a decision — and while it was not right for the Sangilak to decide this for them, he had already reached a conclusion.

We must leave. This village that his Issumatar had chosen; this place where their dead son was laid to rest; so near his aokatti, so perfect in every way except where things had faltered. This place may hold the spirit of our son, but it is not a place for the others. I spend too much time acting the ferryman for Reyna's people — there is anger in his voice but it is not for Asivaq, and so while Kigipigak is steeped in it, he does not match her eye.

The children have found their feet. It might take time to move them, but I believe we must. His head bows so that he can keep his anger away from her, and to show her respect — knowing it was ultimately up to his wife.