Moonspear xii mikigak

Night came while he found his way towards the mountainhome. From the foothills of the southern altar Kigipigak's call had sounded: ilaa-uvlaakun!
He paused to listen then, wondering if @Kukutux would hear and call back, but it was late at the time. In the quiet he heard the sharp notes of bats as they called upon their dinner.

In the morning Kigipigak moved on. He hiked his way to where the scent of the mountain wolves was strongest—noting with some surprise that it crossed with the scents of the glen tribe—and lingered there. To keep himself entertained Kigipigak shook a series of pine saplings and then rolled in the tines that piled below them, hoping to freshen up his coat.

It did little more than add a wintergreen note to it, as well as stain patches green.

she had heard him, distantly, muzzily. it marked her preparations for the morning: finding a wide strip of doeskin to wrap around her narrow shoulders, choosing sticks of dried elk meat and the summer's cured fish, laid to curl in the sun alongside raspberries.

all these things she brought with her in the skin, drifting down down the mountainpaths of moonspear until she took up the end of kigipigak's scent. kukutux followed with delight, passing through the verdant fragrance of the pines in a gait that knew the trails well. and when she came upon the kiggavik, the woman smiled brightly. 

for a moment the ache in her chest eased,

"ilitannamek," the duck murmured with a wave of her tail, noting the green smears upon his coat with amusement. tugging the hide from her shoulders, she nosed the jerky and cured fish toward her companion, waiting deferentially for him to taste what she had prepared.

Soon enough Kigipigak was accompanied by the woman. She came with a smile upon her face that made him smile back; so far removed from the serious nature of the women he grew up with, from the stern face of his mother to the shrewd and oftentimes vitriolic grandmother Kigipigak was used to. He often wondered if his sisters would grow up to have that harsh edge. Perhaps not now that they had been removed from the tribe—better for them.

As Kukutux spread the hide the dried foods were plain to see. Kigipigak was amazed at the bounty; he had not seen food prepared this way since leaving his home and even then, the Unnuakvik wolves were not as skilled with their patience. They practiced gorging on the freshest sweet meats more often. This meal prepared for him was a delicacy, and he was shy in accepting it.

Kigipigak tucked in; he took some fish first, then worked at a piece of jerky with his molars, settling on to his belly so that he could pinch it between his paws on one end and chew on the other.

Qa aasakung. He said as he licked his lips. A pause.

Ahmayaatal ilgal. Kigipigak was here for more than one reason, beyond the lovely breakfast and the company of the northern woman, he had a purpose. Kasul ayagaa.

kukutux filled with a good deal of pleasure to see her kinsman accept the offering. the duck felt as though some old bones had been uncrossed in a faraway land. he was kigipigak, but he was also someone who had seen the sea ice, who knew the taste of seal fat, and the way to be a hunter, she was sure.

with the air of a woman rounding out her skirts so she might kneel, kukutux positioned herself nearby, casting about for silence a moment longer. the man from ravenhome was treating her as uilik. and it was at her proverbial hearth that he sought knowledge. "annasiaq uvani asinga," she began carefully. "pigumak nuliak?"

When you write a post but then accidentally click a link ---

Kigipigak watched her; the question brought warmth to his cheeks and a tension to his belly, holding back the urge to laugh at the insinuation. He did not wish to be rude to the ilakatnituk. The thought of himself wed to anyone at his young age made him nervous—but had he been home upon Unnuakvik's ice Kigipigak would be tied there by marriage regardless. He chose to ignore that.

Anikatiga itchuktuk agnaga, A nervous smile spreads crookedly across his muzzle. Kigipigak feels the pinch of his healing scar. Siignaaktuk... Atugnaktuk, ah.. inukitchuk.

He thought a moment; if Chanel did come back with him, and if a deal could be struck with Simmik of the forest tribe—Malguk, ah... maybe. He slips softly in to common and takes a small breath.

been there <3

"malguk?" a teasing chuckle at the ambition of men. "aagauuim uyuu aduku." each wife would take the spirit of the powerful bird, and each must be given their own place inside a home. for a husband to fail would be to invite calamity, either in his household or without.

"nuliak sivullik kilanâgivâ pinngilak nuliak malguk," kukutux told her companion softly, her gaze growing more pointed. she expected he would understand; it flushed her to think that he would also need such explained. "nipittâk piusuk."

His face grew warm at her words. Perhaps she misunderstood him—he had not meant two women for himself. The way in which Kukutux spoke made him feel self-conscious in the way a boy often became around a knowledgable woman.

Kigipigak knew how things worked insofar as the warrior men of his tribe liked to boast; he was not yet equipped with the experience himself, and so he fell quiet and contemplative while Kukutux' words rang in his ears.

He took another bite of dried meats, mulling over many thoughts as he chewed. As he swallowed the fragrant morsel he cleared his throat. Perhaps... You can let your issumatar know of us. Of the Watch, and the brothers. I can return again... Perhaps by next moon. 

Kigipigak was not sure if he would find what he sought immediately, and he did not have much time to linger and to wait to see who might be presented to him; he needed to meet with Chanel, to convey information to Valmua, and see how everything panned out from there.

"i will tell them," kukutux said softly. "moonspear village can be a powerful ally to ravenhome." a smile as she pushed another piece of dried elk toward him. "i have a daughter. she is still a child, or else i would send her as wife if she found you acceptable."

"perhaps in the future, when your clan is strong and another cycle of moons have passed, if she has no proper ugi, i will send her." kukutux enjoyed the idea, for it did not seem that it would be so great a change in sialuk's eyes. but she was a discerning mother. her child would have an ugi. ravenhome would be a strong ally in other ways, if she convinced hydra of it.

"i will be here when you have new words for me, kiggavik."

She was agreeable to his timeline, and Kigipigak could not help but smile, knowing he had found the right person to help him in this. When the woman went on to mention a child—her daughter—and that they might make a good wife given enough time to mature, Kigipigak felt warm again. It was not a conversation he felt adequately prepared to have, himself still just a boy.

In knowing Stjornuati was within his prime, Kigipigak trusted that any wife would be welcome; he likely had his own tastes and that was where Valmua would help, she knew her brother and what might appeal to him. A child now, a girl then—perhaps it would be a suitable fit. He would talk with Valmua and find out.

It was good, at any rate, Kigipigak had made this journey and met this woman. She would speak on behalf of the Watch to those that mattered. Many thanks to you. For the kinship, for the meal, and... The kindness.

Kigipigak picks at a small piece of meat but is too trapped in his thinking to enjoy it. He lets loose a sigh. Do you miss it? The months of dark, the ribbons in the night sky, the cold? I think of it often. Sometimes, I dream.

"i am happy to take care of a kinsman." kukutux knew she did not deserve such happiness, not when the trader had died. somehow she felt in violation of her mourning, that her heart should be light. did not he send this man to you? the inner spirit whispered. you have become too boastful and brash. he leads a man of your land to you, so that you may remember your place in this world.

humbled, the duck's downy ears cupped the sigh of kigipigak, and she nodded. "already the long dark would have begun. and the dancing lights would be so beautiful, and would grow deeper and deeper as the winter went on." a place with cold beauty, the earth where they had been born. "what do you dream?"

The ice of the north was in their blood, they were built to be there in the sheer cold and the long nights; yet somehow both had come to the south where things were easier, yes, but different. Kigipigak mourned those differences.

What do you dream? Kukutux asked of him, and Kigipigak's expression became a little sad, a little guarded, as he had not shared this with anyone before. He was not sure he was ready to share everything.

Mostly... of my mother. Of conversations we have had, others we have not. Sometimes of my sisters too, but lately their faces have gone blank to me. He did not include that above all, his father came to him. 

He was made of the green lights, his eyes black and melting like heated fat over his chin; sometimes he would try to speak and when the man's mouth opened, Kigipigak would wake with a scream or a kick.

Lately I dream of the tuktu running like an endless sea. I am chasing them but never tire; or they are running after me, but my strides are so great that they cannot keep up. Those are my good dreams, I think.

All of it was meaningless to Kigipigak, who merely wished he could sleep and be left alone.

she listened. some part of the duck's heart wished that her mother and sister would come into her own dreams. but they would not, for she had observed the proper mourning and never spoken their names again. it had been so long that kukutux did not believe they would come even if she whispered.

but she would not, and so fought the pinch of anguish deep in her chest at his words. she enjoyed kigipigak's next dream, of coursing elk that he could outrun. "it is your totem, perhaps. tuktu is very fierce. he comes to strong hunters. he runs long with his brothers. perhaps you see the similarity," the duck grinned, enjoying the way that he had detailed his dreams for her.

Kigipigak was quiet then. He smiled upon hearing Kukutux' commentary but was lost to thoughts of his own, wondering if there was a deeper meaning to what he dreamed or if it was merely his hunger sparking life in his imagination. His mother would have spoken to him in the same way, coaxed him through understanding, but an opposing end result—dreams were nothing, the figments were meaningless, there was nothing guiding his mind through the dreamscape, things like that.

Do you... Dream? Or, have you a totem? What exactly is a totem...? Kigipigak asked as he pondered, his voice sounding distant, taking on a boyish quality. He felt like he was back home again talking of curious things with his sisters; that was a fond memory he kept stowed deep and away from the present.

"a totem is a spirit that has chosen to show itself to you, and offer guidance to your days. you may call upon them once you have seen them, and they will listen." feeling somehow as though she were back at the hearth of the storyteller, listening to the weaving of a tale, the duck at last reclined. she lay back upon one elbow and thought quietly of her dreams, sifting through them. "kukutux is 'shy snow ducks flying,'" she considered. "but my totem was never so without bravery. lynx."

she was not sure why she spoke such to kigipigak. but the image of the large-pawed cat had never left her, for his trail had been in many of her dreams. a thoughtful purse of her lips to consider that whatever totem that jarilo possessed had overcome lynx. an odd thought, and one she did not voice. "i do not often dream, but when i do, i am in a field of red berries. bears walk nearby, eating them, but i am not afraid. they call me little sister. then i wake."

omg idk where this came from

For a creature that tied themselves so strongly to the traditions of their ancestors, there were certain limitations and hesitations that Kigipigak did not recognize until this moment; he did not know how different his tribe was from that of Kukutux until he heard her speak of decyphering dreams and this concept of totems, which to Kigipigak held no basis in the solid world he had been raised within. These were ethereal aspects that his mother would have abhored to hear about; she certainly held no interest in the esoteric, having fought often enough with the elders as they shared their own stories. What history had translated down the generational line had been cut up and stitched together according to Sedna's whims and that was what Kigipigak knew, now.

He had never been taught of totems. The truth of his people's origins, of Siku the First and of her denial of the Shearwater faith, had not carried down the line to him. Kukutux did not carry those specific traditions either—but it was something closer to the natural way of the north rather than Sedna's bastardization of it—and gave Kigipigak much to think about. Chief among his thoughts in that moment, as Kukutux outlined her own dream, was whether or not Sedna dreamed; if she did, would she think of him as she slept? Did she worry over her son, or the daughters she had cast out? Knowing his mother, it was unlikely.

Red berries... Kigipigak murmured as he tried to pick apart what she had said, but he found no knowledge came to him, no understanding. He knew of bears though—the massive white walkers who preyed on seal as readily as wolf flesh. They call you little sister, but they are not your totem. They... Are they the North, the ice and snow, given a face, maybe...? Even as he said it Kigipigak felt foolish, and laughed. 

It sounds like a pleasant dream. I wish mine were as peaceful.

i love it <3

it was of importance that kukutux felt the feelings of loneliness subside within her at the nearness of another tribesman. their ways were different; while she held no judgement, the duck was surprised by what he did not know. but the ways of the isle had not been that of the world. she was only grateful to share such words with him, to know that her time upon the sea-ice had not been a cruel mirage unmirrored in this world.

and so she was happy to take up the mantleweaving and the storytelling. for only in their ways and their stories did their world continue. it was imperative that kukutux always remember. now she had had saviguk and sialuk to memorize the truths she had always known. it was her role, then, to give the same precious stones to kigipigak, in the belief that he too would pass them down.

the young hunter's suggested reminded kukutux of another difference, not only in the separate-similar ways they had been raised. in the interaction of men with men, brash, and the more muted responses women had toward one another. the duck was reminded of bronco's forwardness, osiris even. and they had been reared in this place. it was the ways of the youthful man, she thought with quiet amusement, feeling quite advanced in age compared to him for a long moment.

"it is hard to be a woman with a strong spirit. you are good hunter, but you are not like the others. not soft," kukutux told him. "i had not thought bear could be my totem." she paused a moment, considering. "so the island walks in my dreams," the palewife murmured thoughtfully, enjoying the image it created within her mind. "so they tell me i am not alone. and i hope they continue to come to you, the old ones," the duck answered with a brief somberness. "they will guide their children."

Kigipigak could not tell immediately if Kukutux' assessment was a compliment or not, and chose to ignore it entirely. He did not like the idea of being soft as that meant he was weak, so what she said of him was pleasing, if a bit confusing to him. There was no level of softness allowed in Unnuakvik. 

He had killed his own father to prove just how worthy he was of his own mother's love and affection, sparing as she was with it, only to be banished in the next breath; he did not know it yet, but Kigipigak could never go home for the crime he had committed, blessed by the Issumatar or not. He was just as much an unwanted element as his spineless sisters at this point - and they had been soft.

I hope they continue to come to you, the old ones, the woman remarked with her thoughtful, motherly cadence. They will guide their children.

It felt good to commune with someone of the North, Kigipigak thought in that moment. Good to be reminded that he was not alone, that he held a space that made sense to someone. He felt closer to Kukutux than Stjornuati or Valmua then, but was reminded of them also, and knew he would have to leave the woman soon and return himself to the newfound ravenhome.

Thank you for the meal, and the conversation. You remind me of all the best parts of the winterlands. The man smiled in a lopsided manner, the cut to his lip lending an extension to the expression. He bows his head, takes a breath. I hope to return by the next moon with news, I will call for you.

Still, ready as he appeared to leave, Kigipigak did not; he was waiting for a dismissal from the woman, as he might from his own mother during their brief moments together - eager to dwell with the snowbird for as long as he could.

'you remind me of all the best parts of the winterlands.'

the sentiment warmed kukutux as if it were first sap, broken amber filling the mouth with sweetness. politely she looked aside, seeking to veil the pinkpale beneath the short fur of her cheeks. a lovely thing to be given such a comment by a man from a place wherein they both shared memories.

their time drawing to an end. the woman too prepared herself, but kigipigak did not depart her with swiftness. his words were careful, kind; he would think of her and return. satisified by this, the snow-wife gave a little nod. "you have given me a good sunlight to my day. i welcome your presence here again." tasks and time beckoning the both of them. kukutux smiled gently upon her companion. "may sedna guide you back to your ravenhome." reluctant to leave him, yet pleased to know her kinsman would return.

Nothing more need be said. Yet when Kukutux spoke her blessing, using the name of his mother as if she might know of her, it caught him by surprise; he knew it to be an old name, something adopted by the wolves of Tartok from the First People, and had to coax his mind away from that brief flurry of confusion.

Kigipigak's expression was cold for a split second and softened as he calmed himself. He turned from her company—the texture of dried meats still upon his tongue, the taste of the north having warmed him—and began tracing his way back to where the hills met the glen. Perhaps he would encounter Antares again and be escorted further? But his mind was busy now, and so Kigipigak sought a route that would wind away from the glen tribe as well.

He hoped to return soon if fortunes favored him. Kigipigak did not know of the upheaval his venture would cause, nor what it would cost of his freedom.