Silver Moraine [m] I a[m] the edge of the blade,

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An end.

A beginning. A week, he had said. A week—and ever after. Once it was done, it could not be undone. Seven sunsets until she would return to the glacier, at his side—no longer a lone wolf. 

Eight sunrises to choose this, to choose him, again. 

Now they both would be nameless. 

Tikigâk turned to step nearer to him to rake her teeth hungrily against his shoulder—not to hurt, nor bleed, but to now insist. Her circle drew around him tighter, and no words were left for her to give then—he understood. The body would tell him what voice and all else could not then convey, as her plume shifted in invitation. 

He had won the first hunt, after all—it was time he claimed his violent prize.