Ouroboros Spine nagliktuun

Set for the 18th

Kigipigak's agitation only grew and grew as he knit himself back together again. The cause was obvious enough to those that had witnessed his abrupt shift in behavior; and now that he knew Sakhmet was out there hunting for him, he was eager to be on his feet again.

It had not been enough time though. Barely a week had passed, a little more, before that moment spiraled his recovery out of control.

In the daylight Kigipigak looked haggard and tired, having fought to stay awake through the night in case she called again. When visited by others, each time he would look expectantly for the ruby-brown fur and those bright, sad eyes of the girl he had abandoned; each time something was stripped from his spirit when a different face or voice met his attention.

Kigipigak did not know he could feel this kind of ache; it was worse than having ribbons of flesh carved from his sides, his ribs battered and broken.

Something had shifted in the man. Something had come on the wind and stirred him wholly. It painted concern on Iḷitqusiq.

Especially with how he seemed to deflate at the usual visitor, as if he expected something else entirely to be in the mouth of the ulaq.

Today he would speak on it. Unable to withhold his words for it any longer. Unwilling to hide the soft frown on his features as he limped way to just outside of the man's ulaq.

What has you so, Kiggavik?

Kigipigak saw the approaching figure and turned his gaze away, knowing it was only the storyteller. It was not that he disliked the man, nor that he did not appreciate the time that was taken for these routine visits, but the fact was, Kigipigak's focus was on another.

The man's question was met with an uncertain silence, at first. Kigipigak did not know why he pined so much for Sakhmet. They had not known one-another for long. The pledge he had made to help her was simple enough, easily made and easily broken — but it had not been his choice to break it, and perhaps that was why he ached so deeply.

She is out there. He tries to express, watching the sky with a forlorn expression.

Kigipigak's voice is filled with tension. He sucks in small breaths between hastily composed words, hoping to avoid the pain of his wounds; his voice has an impatient quality, rushed and low.

I'm... meant to be home with her. He concludes, as if this explains something.

The words held meaning to them that he couldn't decode.

Who was she?

Where was home?

It was easy enough to ask them, but he had to figure out where to start. Not to mention perhaps brace himself to be tactful. The northern seemed stirred deeply. A fever-like quality to him. The last thing he wished was to upset the man into further injury.

Who is she?

Kigipigak sat there drinking air a moment, feeling at once too sore, tired, weak, to answer. When he did his eyes were empty; he continued to watch the trees as the wind played between their branches, swaying their tops.

Sakhmet. Saying her name made him feel hot in the face, but maybe that was the bite of the wind against his cheeks and nothing more.

In the valley, Kigipigak went on to try and explain, Met her. I said I would help her. So much for that, though. Was he ever going to get the fresh start that he wanted, or was Kigipigak destined to disappoint everyone, time and again?

He knew it was pitiful to wallow in his hurt, and so he kept his thoughts inside. He swallowed them down, focused on what he knew his mother would say if she were to see him in this state. Not worthy of the name you were given, she would likely tell him.

Supposed to be there. He claims.

It was perhaps the most he had heard the man speak. The details clear.

Sakhmet. In the valley.

He had not been that far. He did not know who that woman was or what was in the valley that required Kiggavik's help. Only that it seemed pressing enough to work him into such a tizzy.

I have no doubt you can return, when you are healed. A thin line made of his lips. He didn't know what sort of prognosis Kukutux had given the man. How many moons it might take for shredded sides to mend enough for the man to travel.

He had half a mind to say that perhaps she might even find him! She had sounded close, after all. Only he could not bring himself to give the man hope that might be false.

Kigipigak knew better than to pine for anyone. He should have been resting. Doctors orders, and all of that. If Kukutux' efforts to fix him were in vain, if he were to re-open his wounds or allow them to heal improperly because of his own stupidity and impatience, that wouldn't be right.

At the same time Kigipigak wanted to find Sakhmet. He couldn't explain it; thankfully, the man keeping watch did not ask for any details. He seemed to understand what the problem was, and assured Kigipigak that this was not a life sentence.

The plateau. He murmurs, eyes still bright and aligned with the horizon. Someone... should find it, her, tell her. I didn't vanish, I didn't mean to leave for so long.

It almost sounded like the rattles of a deathbed.

Granted he knew better than to utter such a thought or even think on it longer than that fleeting moment. Kukutux had taken great care of Kiggavik, no such fate would come to him here.

Tell her what?

Tell her what?

Where I am. What happened.

What else? She might wonder where he had gone. Kigipigak had pledged himself to her aid and his word was a strong bond, but beyond that, he worried that she thought poorly of him for vanishing.

This was not what he wanted. Kigipigak wanted to make Sakhmet smile, yet he was failing in that, causing her undue stress instead. If someone were to find her and explain, perhaps her worry could be mended.

It was not Iḷitqusiq's job, though; he was healing of his own injuries, and Kigipigak did not have the words to express how Sakhmet made him feel, deeper down.

He sighs, the breath paining him. She's... my friend.