Qeya River time for dying

there was simplicity in these acts of blood-duel. his eyes had dilated to a bleak void, the seeking of satisfaction in things that should not sate.

crimson flowers in the snow; churned mud in melting drifts. the man coughed and shouted and coughed again;

sun eater shook him there in the drifts. father, brother, kinship; it mattered not to him in this moment, only the fatality demanded by caribou spirits and his own pride.

even his wife's voice faded to the man's ears beneath his onslaught of violence.