Qeya River kuugaamiut

No husband. No need. 

A rare smile broke Anselm’s scarred face. Then you vould make perfect vife. If only because in Anselm’s estimation, a desperate wife was worse than anything. 

He noticed the subtle bristle, the passive way her eyes lingered — and he wondered if she was not so different than him. He had never wanted a wife. And yet, he’d nearly had one — if only by his own stupid fumblings. 

Her question brought a sharp lift of his gaze. It was pointed, that inquiry — and yet so deliciously direct he could not fault her for it. For the boy. Vhy do you?

Shortly thereafter, Anselm retired into his routine silence. They headed for the border's edge to stamp out their claim, dwelling in a mutual silence that seemed to benefit them both