Bitterroot Valley this too shall pass

When he had left Moonglow, he had stood at the edge of a cliff and stared into the distance. His mouth held the mushroom, given to him by his mother, but his heart was empty. There was nothing there, the spirits whispered, nothing to work with. He was nothing because he could not find his sister.

His limbs had shook and his eyes had wept more, not understanding why his sisters were taken. Why he could not find them. Why anyone had to die before their time.

But it was their time. whispered the owl, high in a tree.

You know that’s true, north-son. Gently spoke the starling, pecking for seeds among the tree roots. He looked to them, despite the open weeping, and swallowed.

Where do I go? He whispered to them, and the owl silently took flight. Kassuq took the cue for what it was.

He followed

—

For many days he followed the owl, and it spoke truths to him.

You are of a strong bloodline.

This too shall pass, north-son. Like the seasons, like the leaves from the trees. This great hurt, it will always be there, but it will hurt less as the moons pass. You won’t forget, but as days pass, you’ll slowly remember less and less how the hurt hurts. You will heal, learn, and grow with time.

How you heal is for you to learn.

It alit upon a branch, cocking its head to look down at him. It hooted, once, then flew back the way they had come. Kassuq looked to the north, and continued to follow the path.

——

A wide meadow greeted his eyes, dappled soft with grasses. Caribou lingered in the distance, but he knew not their names. Not yet, at least. They did not even look at him as he stood at the edge of the field.

Here.

He unwrapped the elk skin, his paws shaking, unsteadiness wracking his paws just as much as the hunger that turned his stomach. He salivated looking at the mushroom, but he knew it was not to be food. He was to see spirits, to learn. This was how to be a man. This was how to grow.

He snapped the fungus between his teeth, chewing without motivation as he sipped water from a nearby river. It tasted like ash on his tongue, in as much as he could taste, but he swallowed it none the less. He splashed his own blood on the ground. Then, he sat, waited, and watched the sky.

—— —

In the places where spirits walked, he found the owl again. It looked at him from a branch, twisting its head down at him.

You have been hurt. It is a deep hurt, a hurt you do not know how to convey. You can speak of it, speak around it, but never speak to it.

This hurt cannot be held. And yet you cannot let it go. It sits behind your breastbone in such a way that it feels it constantly chokes you. Loss is a hefty burden, northson. It will break your legs if you continue to hold it. You will do undue harm to yourself to hold it still. They are gone, northson. It was not by your hand, you could not have predicted it just as you cannot predict where the lightning will strike. Death is much the same, and to spend your life hunting for its victims is to spend your life chasing storms.

You need to release it, northson. Not now, not today, not tomorrow. It will lap at your shores, rain upon your mountains, and it will take you by surprise. But instead of looking for what you cannot find, look to what is around you. Care for what you have, little wolf.

The owl’s head spun upside down.

You have much. Do not forget such. You are loved, even with your burdens, Kassuq Nuiruk. And your hurts will soon leave you.

This too shall pass, boy of the northern seas. This too shall pass

————

In a meadow, head pillowed by grass, Kassuq slept the sleep of the deeply inhibited. One paw slung carelessly above his muzzle, the other tucked to his chest. His slim sides rose and fell, rose and fell, and life carried on around him. The caribou herd moved to the other side of the meadow. A fox whispered by on little feet. A bird sang a bright song.

And, nearby, the watchful eyes of the owl, ensuring it’s job was done well.