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For Nutuyikruk

Yaalk'ali laid in the sun, fat and happy. Hunts from last night had not gone wasted by the fox, who ate all his fill now after the carcass had been otherwise dismissed. Certainly later to be skinned and cured but for now, laid out to bake in the sun. Ribs curled up toward the sun which beat down onto the open tundra now. Where ice still clung, it glistened in the light, shining like crystals. Yaal's red coat soaked up that red sun too, happy in the rise of the caribou hunter's success. The band had chosen their place well - nay! The caribou had chosen well. Far from filth of plague. Far from any with an ounce of strength to oppose them. Ice Raven smiled upon them.

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Hi yaalkali you’re my dad in another life did you know that

Nutuyikruk had gathered little for the day, finding nothing between many branches and the long stretch of snow. There was only a corpse, frozen into time itself.

She came upon a man with the build of a fox, and like the sight of blood over snow, the girl lingered closer and took time to follow in the cold trenches of a walled trail. There, she got to know his scent before his mind. Polite, and seeking for eyes with a muted voice that carried through snow, Hello. Had she disturbed his rest? I don’t believe I have met your face before.

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Yaal is daddy and Journey is sister. It is done.

Her voice is soft as her approach. The hunter rolls around on his back so that he then flops onto his side and draws his head up to look her up and down.

Not met, but I've seen you plenty. Hungry eyes (as usual he just can't help that shit) look her up from top to bottom and back again to meet her emerald gaze. She was the slave, often her sent trail being mingled thickly with that of his half-brother. Yaalk'ali had been wise to stay clear.

What is your name? Slave wouldnt be quite nice, would it?