The Tangle Arpiqsiaputiq

Sulukinak did not feel it necessary to count the days or track her progress. This task would take as long as necessary.

She wove her way in among a tangle of tamarack and pine, finding it quite to her own tastes, and watched as the sky began to faintly darken with an evening blush.

It would be a good idea to make camp here, or that's what she had been taught. Eat, sleep, seek what Cen requested in the morning - but, Sulukinak was energized by her solitude as well as this new purpose granted to her.

Rather than stop, she worked her way soundlessly through the mess of woodland, intent on finding her way through.

His intelligence - or lack there of - was never something that Kekoa had been praised for. He had questioned why for a long time; he thought he was brighter than most wolves his age, but for the first time he was beginning to understand.

Stuck in a patch of thorns he must look quite silly; wriggling about like a worm and only furthering his distress as he did so. In his frustration he let out a bark, gritting his teeth a moment after.

His poor pelt would be torn if he had to crawl out on his own - the wounds wouldn't be deep, but damn would they sting.

It was hard not to compare this place to Morningsong; to not think of Dutch, and to spiral in to deeper hurts as she went along. Hard, but not impossible. It took some cunning to find a path for her lithe form, one which would allow her quiet passage.

Not all who wandered did so with as much forethought, she would come to realize. Sulukinak's inherent hypervigilance made the struggles of the other wolf, this yearling, an obvious fixation as she noticed the brambles quaking; and when there came a call - either of frustration or perhaps pain - Sulukinak gave them a wide berth.

Even so, she kept an eye upon them. The brambles appeared to have snared this person in a way that would require self-harm if they wished for freedom; how ironic then, that Sulukinak was in a similar (however metaphysical) state herself.

Slinking close, she looks upon the stranger.

Her voice is quiet but authoritative: You are stuck. Turn towards me, and duck. It would help, but not all the way. And, it would hurt. As she had come to learn... many things in life required a blood sacrifice.

He looked up at the stranger, blinking in pure confusion. He had been too focused on his situation to notice the other approaching - until they spoke that was. "Will that really work?" He asked, brow furrowed.

Despite his harsh tone, the instructions were followed. While it certainly helped the thorns still snagged, a cry erupting from his throat. What a sorry sight he must be.

Pulling himself out he was quick to begin licking at his scratches. "Dammit.. at least they'll scab over quickly. I don't feel like looking for no damn moss." He grumbled, verbally looking over his schedule which had been significantly pushed pack due to this little mess.

The boy - for that's all he was, coltish and as awkward as the apprentices of the hunt - obeyed her with some hesitation, and all the same Sulukinak was surprised to see his attempt unfold. She was not as old or as wise as her three teachers, yet commanded authority if she tried. Curious.

The sound of nettles tugging through the tangle of fur, along with the pulling of skin, accompanied the pained cries of the boy; but he was free enough, and could find his way further.

He said something about moss, which caught in her ears.

Sulukinak felt the pull to keep moving. She had to will herself to stay present, stay focused. Moss? Green and wet. Food for caribou. That's what she knew, anyway.

You're not caribou. The straightforward way she said that was a little odd, but nothing amiss for Sulukinak, who rarely joked.

"Obviously not - last time I checked I didn't have branches sprouting from my head." Even if it had been an attempt at a joke, Kekoa was never one to pick up on humour.

"You can use moss to clean wounds - I thought everyone knew that."

He didn't know much of medicine, however his mother had ensured that he and his siblings would know the necessities. Any good wolf should know how to treat a wound - an experienced healer won't always be around.

"I mean it isn't the best - but doing it the proper way is a lot more work. No point if I know I won't get an infection."

Sulukinak did not know the word infection.

This boy knew more than she did on a particular subject which she must know more about; but how to get the words from one brain to the other?

My uncle is sick. She blurts this without preamble, and moves to give the boy space, sitting cat-like and angular before him: tall, regardless. He is hot, and sleeps. Can moss fix him?

These questions flowed from her as if she merely discussed the sight of rain on the horizon, or the song of an odd bird in her ear.

It wasn't far from the truth; Cen was sick, he held a madness for his son. This fever she had seen in him once before and now tested the boy and his knowledge.

What a stupid question. "Is he wounded? Use your critical thinking." He held back his usual insults; after all this wolf had just helped him out of quite the prickly situation.

"I couldn't tell you the names, but my ma' used to bring home a bundle of herbs whenever someone got a fever - they're drilled into my head by now." He grunted, tail flicking to the side.

"Illnesses are a pain though, not everything can be treated the same way. You would need to know more - probably."

He need not use words to make her ears slant, or to stab at Sulukinak. His tone alone made her withdraw into herself all the more.

Somehow he couldn't tell her anything specifically useful; he could remember, he couldn't, it was confusing.

She lifts a lip and shakes the annoyance from her shoulders.

If a man is hot to touch, wet moss might undo it. The girl pointed this out as an answer which seemed obvious, yet had evaded the boy. Or maybe the ache of the needling he had received upon his escape had fouled him.

She sweeps to her feet as if to leave.

And your - ma, where is she? Perhaps near? Perhaps able to teach.

"No. She's long dead by now." A lie, but it felt necessary to avoid further questions. He preferred not to speak too much of his family.

He clicked his tongue. This stranger had helped him, and he wished to return the favor. "Wet moss alone likely won't cure him - it'll provide temporary relief." He said, "I still remember the scent and appearances of the herbs used - if you take me back with you I should be able to help him."

An attempt to clear his debt to the other - he only hoped that she would accept.

dead.

that was not useful.

sulukinak considered leaving the boy then and there, heading through the tanglewood again, or perhaps going as far as the coast (it would be nice to see the saltwater again) — if you take me back with you i should be able to help him.

take me back with you

her demeanor shifts in a measured way; she looks at him properly, ears forward, eyes bright. yes? i can show you the way.

already she was moving, eager to bring something of use back to the qeya, and back to cen.

He found himself surprised by her reaction - most were not so eager to bring a stranger like himself back to their home. However, he had offered so he would not complain.

After a moment of hesitation he began to follow the wolf despite her strange behaviour. This was something to do, a place to go. There was nowhere else he had to be.