Cedar Sweep qapiŋaiq

They'd been running themselves ragged; Asivaq had become a shell of the woman she used to be. Without a village, she was left to tend to the children while her husband watched the wolves who had sequestered themselves into a corner with nowhere to go.

Kigipigak came to her at an unusual time—during peak hours of foot traffic!—and she felt her heart drop at the sight of him. She looked him over for injuries as he drew closer and, thankfully, found no indication of them; it was the last thing they needed. She breathed a sigh of relief as he began to speak.

"We must leave. 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 —" She sensed his anger; she felt it, too. Thoughts of relocation had been at the forefront of her mind, but she had assumed that their children were still too young to make the journey. "—The children have found their feet. It might take time to move them, but I believe we must."

She was quick to respond to his request. You are right, husband, she agreed, her voice faint with fatigue. We are running ourselves ragged for a place we know is not home—it is not worth ... this. She pushed herself onto all fours, her legs shaking as she steadied herself.

We will leave as soon as we're ready—which should not take long. There isn't much that I want to bring. They still had plenty of daylight to get going.

She exhaled, feeling relief-driven tears prick in the corner of her eyes. Thank you, husband. I was trying to wait a little longer until they were older ... but you are right. This is not our home, and it will never be. We must find our place. Together.