Larksong Grotto where gods want

cameo!

siamiituuq did not make a sound.
flat to the earth, she watched from a tangle of root and snow-bitten scrub, her belly pressed tight to the cold. her legs, long and awkward, coiled beneath her like a trapped insect, ready to skitter if the wind turned. gangly frame hidden by silence and stillness, only her breath misted faintly in the pale air.
she had followed the scent trail long before the angakkuq arrived. not to speak. not to be seen. just to watch. to listen.
rabbit heads. strange songs. a woman who moved like the sky had whispered her name first.
siamiituuq’s nostrils flared.
she did not blink. did not shift. her tail, stiff as bone, lay flat behind her. only the flick of one ear betrayed her presence—one small, trembling signal.
she would wait. not brave enough to step forward. not curious enough to turn back.