The Tangle Arpiqsiaputiq

Sulukinak did not know the word infection.

This boy knew more than she did on a particular subject which she must know more about; but how to get the words from one brain to the other?

My uncle is sick. She blurts this without preamble, and moves to give the boy space, sitting cat-like and angular before him: tall, regardless. He is hot, and sleeps. Can moss fix him?

These questions flowed from her as if she merely discussed the sight of rain on the horizon, or the song of an odd bird in her ear.

It wasn't far from the truth; Cen was sick, he held a madness for his son. This fever she had seen in him once before and now tested the boy and his knowledge.