qanik

The people inside the camp stop to listen.

...There's a different sound upon the wind.

I heard it.

The wind from the icefield always has its crests and troughs. The snow has a mind of its own; all we can do is follow it.

An outlander?

...Impossible. The wind and snow would not carry an outlander's voice.

The snowflake does not melt beneath their gaze. Instead, it flies freely, falling quietly to the ground.

The wind's voice has changed again.

For the Columbians who entered the icefield a few days ago?

...That's never happened before.

...Has the icefield accepted them?

...You also heard the voice of the wind and snow, right?

...The crystal I gave to my son 'opened his eyes'!

We are all members of the rescue team. If they're not back after all this time, they must be in danger. We have to go after them, quickly!

*cough*...

*cough*, *cough*...!

...Huh?!

(I've been buried by snow?)

(I need to dig my way out!)

*cough* *cough* *cough* My crystal... is glowing?

(I need to climb out, now...)

(I can't move my arms or legs...)

Nngh...

*cough* *cough*... Can't... muster any strength...

Grandmother...

Crack.

Qanipalaat hears the sound of snow breaking apart above his head.

Ah, is it going to end here...? Buried by the snow, just like my father? No wonder... I just dreamt of him and my grandmother...

Crack. Crack.

Based on experience, the snow will soon press down solidly around his head, robbing him of sensation in his limbs. His nose will be plugged, and he will become one with the icefield. One with the wind, one with the snow.

Qanipalaat's thoughts disperse, and he seems to once again see tufts of soft feathers. He sees his grandmother's warm outstretched hand.

You didn't answer... the question about the candy yet...

Crack!

The layer of snow breaks apart. Qanipalaat does not see or hear it.

Your hand! Give me your hand!

Qanik? Qanik!

Do you hear me? Don't fall asleep, hurry! Wake up and give me your hand!

Grandmother?

Wake up!

I've got you–!

Wha...!

*cough*...! Mother? ...Why are you here?

I could feel it... I could feel your eyes!

Qanipalaat's mother pulls him out of the snow, along with his staff. Atop the staff, a crystal the same color as his eyes is shining brightly.

*cough* *cough* *cough* Just now... I saw a dream... of Father and Grandmother...

Mother, your body...

Your voice came to me upon the wind. No matter what... I will come to save my child. As well as the children of others.

...Where are the others?

They're... over there...

*cough*... Thank you both...

...I'm not dreaming, am I?

Did the wind also carry their voices back to our camp?

Yes, we heard them. The wind spoke on your behalf, bringing your words to us.

...The icefield chose to save you.

A small fowlbeast flies in circles overhead, chirps, then sheds a feather.

The tribespeople pick up the feather, close their eyes, and meditate silently.

(In Sami) ...Thank you.

(In Sami) Return to the embrace of fertility and nature... Thank you.

*cough*...

Qanipalaat, thank you. Thank you all... for saving us.

Is this... the good outcome you saw in your divination?

I can't believe... I survived...

Um, will your prime tree.... uhh... accept our gratitude?

(In Sami) Can they... offer their gratitude to the prime tree?

(In Sami) ...Mm. The icefield chose to save you all, and thus it will accept your thanks.

...The tree accepts everyone's gratitude.

(In Sami) Return to the embrace of fertility and nature...

(In Sami) ...Thank you.

(Chirps)

Qanipalaat lifts his head. The sunlight shines dazzling white upon the icefield. There is no more snowfall, only a single feather.

It drifts slowly down, landing gently in Qanipalaat's open palm.

(In Sami) ...Thank you.

The fowlbeast flaps its wings and flies into the sky.