Luneshale Pass chá

bypassing the places he knew — first the freezing dusk-river, then the kin-village of kukutux, then the lowlands where he had once seen his son and daughter-in-law make their home — kigipigak went south, and south, and as far as he could go, before he recognized nothing.

it was not a land he was accustomed to, and certainly not one he was built for. as mild as the climate felt he was a beast of the north, and his winter coat now felt too heavy; he was already weighed down in spirit, so why not in physicality? before long kigipigak was marching with his tongue out, garish and pink against the ever-dense white of his body, and he was annoyed to have made this choice.

the pass was a dry place, the earth cracked and the stones untouched by any weather or, he mused, probably any living thing. it looked like a dead place in his opinion — perhaps it was where he was meant to be? the rest of his life had died, thought kigipigak... why not let himself rest, too?

such were the defeatest thoughts that ran through the man's mind, as he bedgrudgingly kept up his pace. head low, shoulders bunched, and barely paying attention to his path — or the fact someone else was nearby, whispering lower than the wind.