Silverlight Terrace snow thunder

akmaaksi would never go to the forest.

she had lost her fear of the lake because she had lost her desire to see her mother's bones beneath the cold surface.

ariadne had died there; it was not ground which might be tread by her feet ever. in honor of sacred earth, akmaaksi forbade herself from touching a single grain.

she wondered why scheming grandmother had allowed aunt callyope or cousin panuk to be there at all.

firegirl walked beside @Tautukpik, traveling through uneven ground into a terracing of moonweave.

over them, the shadow of moonspear loomed.

it was not the first time they had moved from one home to another. the first without a destination, though. the first without the eyes of mother, father, or grandmother; and without any blessing, and without any warning.

so long as sister was with him, tautukpik knew things would be alright.

the anger he felt upon seeing winter-man again had by now flared, abated, and flared anew; and he burned with it, brighter than even akmaaksi with her autumn coat. breath pealed from him like the smoke of a forgotten candle—while inside he churned, and raged.

owl brother kept his rage inside.

akmaaksi pretended as though she could breathe out her own, plumes of breath in the cold air.

each one represented a hateful thought; she exhaled until there were many clouds there above she and tautukpik.

slowing, akmaaksi swallowed, hesitating. she did not know what to feel or what to think, only that the aura of anger from her brother had begun to make her feel a bit dizzy with its intense nature and her great internalization.

soft whine in the icy air.

where would they go? one village loomed beside another.

they could not go back if he remained there. they could keep running for a while; and tautukpik was glad for the distance, and glad for akmaaksi, even though she began to doubt—and she made a noise, which pulled tautukpik from his anger, briefly.

the anchor stalked beside her. he placated in whatever ways he knew how—touch, mostly. connection. words would have come but he could not trust his tongue, and all he wanted to do was scream and shout, which would not help anything.

what if he were to let it out, and they be found? no. silence was the way of akmaaksi and so tautukpik would adopt it too, for a time.

he tugged at the fur of her nape, and draped his chin over her shoulders, and pulled away after to stand very close. deep breaths, that was all he could manage now.

firegirl did not know.

cold filled her mouth, her senses; the touch of impending snow upon the air always reminded her of the first memory.

the succor of cedar, though akmaaksi could not know its name; it existed only in her mind.

opening her eyes, she clutched tautukpik with one arm and glanced out across the wilderness, beyond the forest to the glacier, beyond the shine of that ice to the sea.

blood called for snow.

she had not the words to say it.

shining eyes turned to her brother with an expression akmaaksi had never before borne upon her countenance.

he saw her wildness, then. her fear in her eyes. this feeling that he had tried so hard to help her with throughout their life; from when they had left napatukvik to when anaa had gone, and when aapa had said his goodbye as he sought nutuyikruk. over and over, he had been the anchor to try and keep her from slipping. he saw her now, slipping. he loathed the look on her face—and the twist in his gut that resulted.

so the boy tried to warm her with kisses to her face, bathing her with his tongue until she'd pull away. the cold was descending on the valley (not that he understood winter; only, when the winter-man had come, so seemingly had arrived this chill in the air).

lets go. he urged.

if she did not choose where, he would. but to stop was to die, and tautukpik wouldn't let that happen.

yes.

yes.

she was his echo and he hers in this, but firegirl did not allow owlbrother to urge her along.

not loyalty, no sense of it stopped her now.

only pragmatism. if they did not break cleanly from moonglow, hunters would follow as they had for lynx sister.

her brow narrowed; she stepped away from tautukpik and lifted her chin.

she needed him to go back with her, to go back once more. the winterstorm would not follow where scheming grandmother sanctioned their move.

and they did not need to say where they went, only that tautukpik explain clearly that they together would leave the village.

she pulled away and at first he felt jilted, but he saw the way she looked again to the mountain. the resolve there was different from the previous weakness, and different again from the emotive flash of her eyes when winter-man had come. something new, then.

tautukpik was conflicted. they had only just fled the place, and she wanted to return? what if winter-man remained there? he would fight for them; and a part of tautukpik wished he would fight and claw and take them away, and it was something he wished to banish from himself. it was a child's wish to be reunited with his father, with their family.

like akmaaksi had discarded of their game before, he discarded this notion that they could face togetherness again. he would toss that feeling aside; they would be together, just brother and sister. if the village was where she wanted to be, they would go.

okay, he murmurs, lacking conviction; but tautukpik moved with her now and always.