Silver Moraine And the cracks in my hips

snowwoman took note of how nightwoman made an attempt of hiding her snaggle tooth, of which she said: do not hide it, in a soft tone, a tilt of her head given in a form of reassurance. life was difficult, and, as she had heard and said before, survival was a cruel teacher - it was clear that calfuray had seen such a thing. she resumed, then.

we den while young, huntress explained. upon siqinniqtillugu, eh, the sunset plains, named in accordance with their colour, akin to the time of day. sunset-orange grasses spreading in every which way, thin rivers, and large boulders that had their bases dug out to form tunnels or hollows for densites.

quite the talker, nanuralaaq was. but she would not stop there, no. then, after summer on the snowy plains, we spend the rest of our days following caribou. large hunts, feasts for the growing children, pelts being prepared to line our dens. caribou are big, strong, and we face much death in the cold, harsh winters. so ox-hunter people try to bring happiness with food, song, and dance.

it is our culture that warms us, she said, a sense of finality washing over her. she could not return to her culture, to the peoples that had bestowed the years of it upon her, but she could revive it, turn it into something new within these lands, rest it upon the shoulders of her children. now, with a careful amusement upon her face, she said: once, you say i talk alot. still think so? a sarcastic chuckle left dark lips.

although, even when trying to be sarcastic, warmth shone within her gaze.