Ouroboros Spine atanik ⫏

each day passed in exquisite pain.

the loss lurked in mother's mind. sleep fled. she forced herself to work once more, but there were no working-songs.

her mind reeled; it cried out for something more to see, more to see than the endless replayment of her child's body limp and bloodied in her arms.

at last, she dragged herself to the lake; at last she plunged herself beneath its sweetwater depths and resurfaced to scrub debris and grease from a pelt long neglected.

moonwoman combed tangles from her gleaming pelt and whispered the name-word for the number of days that had passed.  iñuiññaq. twenty. it had been twenty-and-three sunrises, but the hour of death had passed the twentieth day.

kukutux knew her mourning now must turn inside. her sons and daughters grieved. for them she must be strong.

and yet her eyes remained sober, vacant, as she trailed from the water's edge along the worn path which led back to the ulax.