Moonsong Glacier kinunguur'uk ›‹

kukutux stared down at the cracked and bleeding nails sacrificed to the earth in the making of the ulaq. how many hours it had been, she did not know, only that he lay beneath a dome of soil. it was open to the air. the warmth had gone out of him; his limbs had stiffened.

the duck did not think of his name.

she wore his blood.

she sat outside the ulaq, watching seabirds wheel toward the massive expanse of salt; kukutux shut her eyes and began her song anew, unraveling it to the first word, and weaving together what he had lived. sorrow. pain. anger. in her cheek a cluster of seeds from the red flowers keres had found. they pushed kukutux from herself, until she became the glass in which a ghost might see its reflection.

her voice, her breath, thrumming in the cold air.

The cry, she had heard it—

@Dirge, the children, came her fretful voice, gaze turning to him. Not them, they were all accounted for—but what if, what if? He seemed to understand her without speaking further; he turned from her, likely to find and gather them and ensure they were living, breathing. What could have caused such a tormented sound? Sialuk, Saviguk—and their children, all their children, each one—

Running. How had she gotten here? Her nose, sweeping against the Glens grasses.

AntaresAtlasOsirisVega, theretheretherethere. Track left by them as she ran; living. No blood. No harm. 

Who? Who then? 

Too long it took her to arrive. But she had not stopped, not for a minute, and not soon enough did she see Kukutux. Kukutux in blood—a catch of silver, as she ascended, her heart in her throat as she croaked Jarilo! For the scent of it had not yet come to her, and panic, panic—why had she never considered him? 

The one that stayed! The one that had never left, the one that would always remain. The one that spoke with her in their mothers tongue and shared her proverbs—how had this happened, how had he gotten here, who had done this to him—

Pushing herself over a boulder, Hydra saw then not Jarilo prone and lifeless. Revui. 

She froze where she stood, hackles lifted all along her nape. Her own voice within her head then—Our enemies are far more predictable than an object thrown about by our mountain, she had told him once. So too were her brothers, it would seem. She had seen this end for him, but had not ever wished or desired it. No, she had dreaded it. 

How? she asked, voice dark and heavy, thick with feeling. Her eyes turned to Kukutux, not fully hearing her song. The truth of it was she could hear nothing else but for the pounding of her heart, and the roaring of her blood. Even her own voice she could not hear, and she took a step forward and demanded, an octave louder than before: why? 

Why had this happened? Why could she not have stopped it? Why had he left Moonspear again, and again, and again? Why, when she knew this was to be his inevitable end, why must she endure the bitter ache of it all? Why must she die with him? Why could he not have taken the feeling of it from her if not when he turned his back on her for the final time, then when his soul his body?

another cameo to shove this into her threadlog. pls lmk if anything should be corrected!!!!

On the fringes, she lingered. When Kukutux needed something, the silver woman would attend to her. When she hungered, Keres brought food. When she cried, Keres provided her the warm fur of her shoulder to soak up the tears. Whatever it was, whatever it might have been, Keres was there. She would not abandon her packmate in this time.

Even Hydra's presence did not deter her, laying unnoticed nearby as Kukutux performed her ritual. She did not mind this, preferring in this moment, to be the silent guardian and friend. And there she would remain, until their time here came to an end.

when the blackbear arrived, it was with the voidswept nature of thunder. kukutux faltered in her song, allowed the last word before her eyes fell to keres, then to the cold dirt, and lastly the stricken features of her sister. lips parted, reformed, slimmed into a line that twisted and twisted until her gaze was forced back to the land where she had clawed furrows.

"i could not save him this time." the weight of a thousand tears pulling at her throat. "i —" wraen and arcturus and wraen and her own voice cracking as if it were spring-fractured ice, wrought with anger and hatred for a woman she had never known "i found him here, and i — he —"

fighting the sickening maw of grief. "his death was swift, hydra. i would not have allowed him to suffer." and then kukutux turned her face away for already her eyes hurt from the tight rein upon her anguish; away, away, away, for she did not think she could bear to see hydra's expression change.