Bramblepoint eighty-fifth

There was a gathering of scents on the wind the likes of which Kigipigak had never before encountered; it was somehow wolf, somehow coyote, warm like autumn, and heavy all at the same time. A musk, which brought to mind fox scent, or the aroma of freshly tilled soil beneath a baking sun.

He had been roaming the area already, and was compelled to investigate. In part to be alert for the sake of his son Kivaluk, and also in part to do his best to remain alert and apprised of changes in the area. As Kigipigak drew nearer to the scents he saw a camp being built, a man giving orders.