Ocean's Breath Plateau all these talking heads are blurred in violet hues

There is a memory Tullik carries off when she was young, high in the peaks with the others. When her father stuck his head in their snow shelter and told them come.

They had followed him to a thrashing man being held down by some of the warriors, and not too far from him a quivering child tucked into the belly of one of the women. None of the eyes were friendly upon him. Her father had lowered his mouth to her ear. ”He has done wrong. He killed his wife, here, and was to leave his child. This is what we do to these people.”

The sound of his legs getting broken was one she will never forget.

Two, for each of the lives he had and would have taken, then a shredding of something else precious. He was allowed to live, even to leave, and if he survived he was lucky to have, but he would never have children or a wife again.

Tullik held that memory, and snarled with the mountain’s ferocity.

I will not ask nicely again, caribou hunter. Leave.