Ouroboros Spine nuvakliak

he was a hunter. it was in his blood, coursing through his veins and burning in his heart. but sometimes, when shikoba looked her son over, she saw other things. she would see the face of the boy she whelped, the show of excitement he wore when he saw rain, and even the reassuring smile when she had considered inutsuk to be lost to the wind.

in many ways, she saw a gentleness in her son that she lacked to see in herself when she was his age. but perhaps this was something to keep to herself. she did not want mojag to feel as if he was inferior because he was different from her. 

"you will always be useful," she says to him warmly with another press lips against his brow, "and there's no wrong choice. no matter what it is, it will be useful to somebody." she knew he felt the large pawprints she left behind for him. she felt the same way when her father was beginning to grey in his age as chief. shikoba knew that the searing pain of not being enough was an unpleasant experience and preferred to keep mojag from knowing such things. "whatever you pick should make you happy."