Nocturne Summit ikuallaaktuk ⩛

her mother's voice had led kukutux through the misted snows. she awoke beneath a black tree, the land pulsing darkblood beneath her. my daughter, and the duck's eyes opened. accept what it is to come. the spirits bar you from the dancing lights. they send you

back

a hoarse, ragged inhale. ash scoring the back of her throat, singeing her eyelids; she ducked a paw to protect her face and found red there; droplets of it, leading in a wandering trail to where she had fallen halfway up the slope that bordered moonspear.

what had happened? where had she —

the sound of a child's tears; had she imagined it? agony, clutching suddenly at her legs until kukutux tumbled down again into a sodden heap of grey and found she could not stand again. streaming greenjade eyes turned toward moonspear; a horrible gasp emitting from her torn throat; the air choked with grey. 

the duck dragged herself upward, a shattering pulse of broken bone in her right fore-ankle. blood matted to the side of her head; she swam, searching for the memory of where she had been before — and suddenly kukutux began to scream.