Ouroboros Spine ice

she knew the songs.

aya, aya.

the songs spoke of love and joy. they were meant to be sung with others, beside the lake which made their voices greater, more sonorous. several times akmaaksi had been there, bent over the pelts as her cousins sang out.

summer trilling. birds called to one another in the high red branches of firemother. akmaaksi leaned more comfortably against the bark, eyes half-shut. 

here there was no singing. there was no laughter. there was silence, almost complete save for wind sister in firemother's canopy. the air was soft to taste. once more the girl attempted to draw her mother's face inside her mind, to sketch out the details of what she was missing.