Love in the Frozen Wastes

by MrAlbum321

1: The Start of the Hunt

Aniquyyaq iglignaq.

Such a loveable snow-house.

The first thing Aqaun saw when he woke up was his wife, Uummaq, changing the baby. The seal-oil fire had burned out, but his eldest son Kitaauraq began to strike the flint to heat the small space again. Aqaun yawned, and stretched, letting loose his black and unkempt mane. Uummaq scoffed, and threw a clean diaper at him.

“Lazybones!” she chided. “You should have been up an hour ago!”

Aqaun merely smiled. “I was having a good rest,” he said. “Now I can hunt for a longer time!”

“And be late at home,” Uummaq retorted. “And miss all the aktughruaq. And come home empty-handed. Again.”

“When have I ever failed you?” Aqaun said as he leaned over and rubbed his nose against hers. She pushed him away, her blush small but noticeable. He stood up and dressed in his heavy hide atigi, took a finely crafted harpoon from the nearby rack, slung it on his back and broke open the snow that was used to seal the front entrance for the night.

Although it was still late-to-midwinter, the snow and the clouds reflected and refracted the light back and forth to such an intensity that anyone else would have called it a bright morning, despite the tiny sliver of the sun that sputtered fitfully along the horizon’s edge.

Aqaun reached for a pocket on the outside of his atigi, and pulled out a small piece of hide with two wide slots cut out of them. He put the hide over his eyes, the slits filtering the light so he would not be blinded by the glare that he knew would increase as the day would wax and wane… what little day there still was in these northern climates.

“Aapa!” Kitaauraq called as Aqaun stepped out onto the snow. “When can I go hunting with you?”

Aqaun smiled. He turned back to the snow-house’s entrance where his son waited. “Aaraagha, you have asked that for the fifteenth day in a row!” he said. “And I have told you no, you are too young still. Now let me tell you the real reason why I need you here.”

Aqaun pointed to the snowy plain in front of them. “Out there are creatures that help us survive; the aligraq, the aiviq, the aghviq, and many more that we sing about in the songs of our ancestors. There is also the nanuq. What do you think would happen if the nanuq came to our door? Would he say ‘Hello Kitaauraq, how are you?’ He would not.”

Aqaun pointed to the rack inside the snow-house, where a smaller and sharper harpoon sat. “If the nanuq pokes his black nose into our den, I need you to protect your Aaka,” he said in a serious voice. “Because there is no one else who will do so.”

Kitaauraq looked down, feeling the weight of responsibility. He remembered the stories his father told of the white nanuq and the many times the hunter would underestimate him, and fall victim to his claws and his strength.

Aqaun smiled, and brought his son’s face back up to him. “Do not worry,” Aqaun said. “Keep the nanuq away, and some day you will be old enough to come with me.”

Kitaauraq’s face beamed with pleasure at that. “Aapa, can you sing us a song? Sing us an old song, one of our ancestors!”

“Aapa needs to get hunting!” Uummaq shouted from inside the snow-house.

Aqaun laughed. “Alright, I will sing one song, one that our ancestors themselves wrote!” he exclaimed.

He stood up, put his hoof over his heart, and stared at the sky as he began to croon in a soft baritone:

The flags, they flew on towers stretched high
Along the ground, the fighters did strike
Within the hills the ptarmigan cries
The fish wiggled from the death-grasp of pike

Along the ground, the fighters did strike
Scurried with worry, the lemmings did go
The fish wiggled from the death-grasp of pike
Under the ever-present threat of snow

Scurried with worry, the lemmings did go
The light disappeared at the summer’s eclipse
Under the ever-present threat of snow
Water doesn’t flow from the winter’s cold lips

The light disappeared at the summer’s eclipse
Insects would swarm at the equinox’s heat
Water doesn’t flow from the winter’s cold lips
The caribou did run with thundering feet

“Please,” says the lover, “Won’t you stay?”
Within the hills the ptarmigan cries
“I have no choice,” says the hunter at bay.
The flags, they flew on towers stretched high

Aqaun kissed his son on the nose and went to the side of the snow-house, where the mukluks were kept. He pulled one over each hoof, using his teeth to tie the ughruk-hide boots tight onto his legs. He stood back up and trotted out across the pure-white landscape, bringing out his harpoon to test the snow in front of him as he ran.

Comments

[Spell Craft]

I'm pretty sure that far north it'd be tuttu, not ponies, and tuttu don't eat meat, so there wouldn't be seal oil either, unless this is like, oil bought from seals. What would ponies or talking tuttu want with misigaaq anyway?

[KelGrym]

Intersted. Meat eating pony culture should be addressed and elaborated on though.