Ouroboros Spine baby you're a haunted house

When he felt eyes upon him, he looked back—expecting Kukutux or Aiolos, or maybe even in that hopeful pointless way that grief demanded, Ariadne. He saw all of them at once in the face of his daughter; and he saw himself too, in his son. The momentary look between them—the shock he felt, and she displayed—rippled out. Akmaaksi did not linger. Tautukpik did, at least long enough to Kigipigak to take a step and begin to speak, but they were both gone up and along the path before his tongue could co-operate.

They looked like wild things. They had grown in to leaner bodies, broader bodies, Tartok bodies. There was recognition there, and maybe fear? He could not tell, it had been too fast. The thundering of his own heart filled his ears. The urge to go after them persisted, and yet Kigipigak felt as if he were made of ice.