The Sunspire whale rib

Pelts weighed down her back. Lagging behind, she could see just barely ahead the children, smell their stench of caked blood and flesh rot. 

It was once distrust that came from the eyes of Nutuyikruk, angry, unraveled by events that she'd lost control of. No longer. Now her eyes had been hollowed, limping through warmed days with saatsine luggage carried on her back or lodged between her teeth. 

In a sea of strangers, she had learned to keep her eyes down and tongue tied. What remained of life became long stops for water, taking to isolated corners, and moving when they said move.