Ouroboros Spine ukijijuk ⏧

kukutux was not at first sure of the answer. beneath her paw, the spring spirit thrummed as if it were a paw upon a stretched and hollow hide. to her now a memory came, a thought of the branch-rack she had once possessed in her ulaq upon moonspear.

so many fine things, lost.

is it shameful to think of them?

the inner spirit shook its head.

you were wife. it is not taboo to mourn for a wife's place.

it was not one she would have again, for she would be moonwoman now until the end of her days. no mere companion to a husband, and kukutux considered this only with a swift exhaustion.

"i do not know." voice soft, caught by a spinning inward mist. "i believe all things have a name that is not known to any other. but we do not say them out loud." gaze clearing to rest upon the curious cloudberry sister, enveloped a moment in lótë's beauty, reminded too harshly of agana, a spearthrust lodged between her breastbones. "the name is a sound to hold a piece of the spirit. it is who the gods know us to be. if we make a gift of this name to another who lives, we will be lost forever in the passing between this place and the throat of sedna."