Ouroboros Spine Behind every tree is a cutting machine

"it gave itself to you," kukutux whispered, though in the moment she could find no translation for the ears of adrastus. the snowhunter handled lynx with care, and the duck felt breath hitch in her throat. she bent reverently over the thick-woven fur of the one who had always called to her, bent her forehead with a prayer of thanks that the sacred one had surrendered its spirit to sivullik.

for she saw now that this was the way firsthunter must become so in moonglow. the communion of land with heart. her mind turned toward him; her flesh ached; she begged lynx silently to lend strength as she straightened, clumsily staggering on three paws. the alabaster ears splayed slowly in a delicate arc, and she at last looked toward the returned man. "i will — i have medicine for your wounds," mind forcing first but the roof of her mouth resisting it.

it was a struggle that was not rooted in aversion; kukutux saw what adrastus had done and felt a zeal clutch in her belly. something threaded with a pious gold, for in her honour of him, the spirits would be pleased. lynx, the fragrance of pine and of stone and of the masculine cut of him, threaded through it all; upon her own pelt the resplendent conifer scent and raimo, clinging to throat and flanks. kukutux looked back upon the gently laid body of the hunting thing, swallowed gently. "lynx is the one who has always walked within my dreams. she guides my step. and she has given you her gift."