There was some kind of celebration brewing in the air. Imaq had caught only snippets buzzing through the Caverns -- of some kind of gathering, a feast or festival of some sorts. She did not know all the details. What she did know was that she had been dependent upon the Glacier for too long as she healed and regained her strength. She knew too that feasts required food. Woman-who-hunts had gained the title of hunter within their tribe, it was only fitting that she should help prepare for the event to come.
After helping Rye to care for Siku, who was growing stronger and often accompanied them outside the den these days, and mixing some ointments for his healing wounds, she left her son with her mate to scour the conifer forests for game.
Already a chill had settled into the air, particularly sharp and biting here on the Glacier. It seemed nothing when she thought of the flesh-burning ice of Nunaat but even the reminiscing of harsher terrain did not prevent her spotted pawpads from numbing with cold. Nor did it keep the autumn from her lungs, which still winded easily from her plummets into the sea well over a year ago.
Even so, the wolfdog managed to pick up the trail of a badger deep in the woods. It had left furrows around the roots of a tree, the scraping of long, scoop-like paws scarring the wet earth. Shambling tracks led to the east and the tracker followed diligently.
After helping Rye to care for Siku, who was growing stronger and often accompanied them outside the den these days, and mixing some ointments for his healing wounds, she left her son with her mate to scour the conifer forests for game.
Already a chill had settled into the air, particularly sharp and biting here on the Glacier. It seemed nothing when she thought of the flesh-burning ice of Nunaat but even the reminiscing of harsher terrain did not prevent her spotted pawpads from numbing with cold. Nor did it keep the autumn from her lungs, which still winded easily from her plummets into the sea well over a year ago.
Even so, the wolfdog managed to pick up the trail of a badger deep in the woods. It had left furrows around the roots of a tree, the scraping of long, scoop-like paws scarring the wet earth. Shambling tracks led to the east and the tracker followed diligently.
"...and all around was the bitter arctic cold and the immense silence of the North..."
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