Blackbeak Bluff iqsuk

the sea hit the cliffs in thunder. kanuux stood above it, broad-shouldered and still, breath thick with salt and blood. the seal lay torn beside him— his kill, his right. he bent, tearing into the blubber until the taste of oil and iron filled his throat.

he did not pray. his thanks lived in the violence, in the strength it took to take a life from the water. gulls wheeled, crying over what he’d left.

wind drove through his furs; the scars along his temple burned cold.
the deep keeps its own, he said at last, voice low as the tide, and turned from the edge, smelling of brine and death and the hunt.