Ouroboros Spine cottonmouth

The man straightened before them. Holding himself with dignity and a dip of his head given to each in show of respect. Arrluk allowed his own white chin to lower, listening as he spoke proper, if not lordly. 

Yes, many have found respite among our villages. They had always been an accepting people. His mother far more often then not allowing a chance of those from all place and culture among them. If the land did not take to him or even if he found himself close to someone of another village, there was little stipulation when it came to settling from one to another and their borders between had always been open to each. 

We are a humble people of hunters and fishers. Tradesmen come to our village for our pelts and dried meats. Others too receive training of healing, or to be matched... His voice trails here and although he did not speak of their cultures so much as their veneration of the spirits, the sharing of their working songs, creation of alters... He felt like he had shared enough. To learn of their ways would mean to walk among them. To learn with lessons and actions, not just spoken words. 

Many things left unsaid still. He thought how many came to these lands simply to learn from Moonwoman herself, who was no more. Their great healer, who also traveled lands during birthing season to share her knowledge. The spirit names shared only with mother to child. The woman circles Arrluk could not know of to speak of it. 

Though he did not show it, his heart felt as though it were being squeezed in his chest. Just four days after his parent's deaths, the feeling of loss felt far heavier now.