“Yes, my nukatpialugruak?” The elder drew out the word with a fondness. Though his son was eighteen, he was already a man, soon to be married, but he was still his youngest boy and was doted upon as such.
The youth’s eyes darted nervously, not wanting to get ensnared in his father’s watchful gaze. “It’s.. the foreigners. The tanik. They’ve come.”
His father’s face grew stormy and his hands gripped the arms of his creaky wooden chair. A log shuddered in the fiery hearth, as if it was overwhelmed by the sudden anger that filled the room. “Take me.”
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