[indent][indent][h2][i]Nanook[/i][/h2][/indent][/indent]

Several nights had gone by since Nanook had last gone back to his pack.  He imagined his mother worrying about whether she should bring his absence to his father.  The young yeti imagined his father scolding his mother’s worries.  His ominous bark would say something about his son’s age. Yes, Nanook was old [i]enough[/i] now.  [i]Ila[/i] should know. Motherly intuition should speak for itself. Does she not know her own kin?  Why, she gave birth to him and reared him herself. Of course, she did.  

Oh, it was cubbish for him to think that his parents would even have such a conversation. He knew it, too. It was guilt tugging on his ears. He could feel it scratching his fur and patting the tops of his head. Trying to shake the temptation, Nanook quickly and impatiently blamed the trees for all their whispering. It was not fair.  He should not feel anything wrongly.  If anything, he deserved the feeling of rightness for truth and honor:

[indent]He had [i]his.[/i][/indent]
And, [i]his[/i] was living!  He pushed from his mind the thought of his father’s or mother’s having departed this life already.  A selfishness to not spoil [i]his[/i] moment surfaced like a great beast conquering the forested mountains of his thoughts.  He was too old to worry about such cares and feelings.  For this moment, it was for [i]his.[/i]  Nanook nustled his nose against the tan, smooth skin lying next to him. Every once in a while, [i]his[/i] would move.  The shifts were always exciting, even in the painful state that fluttered wearily in-and-out of the tenderness that dressed [i]his[/i] smaller instrumental frame.

[i]His[/i] was so delicate.  They all must be this delicate, even the evil ones.  It was a disturbing thought on two things, the yeti counted: one, the humans had been left without the yeti -- this thought could not escape him without such mysterious confusion that his head always felt heavy and dark with a stomach ache when it came to him; and two, the evil humans could be so scary that the yeti had coward away from their responsibilities.  There was a lie lining the silver tongued stories of these two thoughts, and it made the young creature sick to ponder.

Nonetheless, to ease his troubled mind, Nanook replayed memories of the past two or three days and nights.  Such of these memories were: the first time he saw [i]his’[/i] eyes open and how he had felt like an eidolon was whispering a tale as old as time through the dark color of his pupils.  It was a sensation Nanook could only remember from a distant memory that was too far away for him to recollect by himself.  It was a chilling memory that offered a strong comfort and exhilarating yearning.  He never wanted to lose it, no matter what.  It was the truth that he had been searching for, and there was a bond shared in both of them amongst that truth. Nanook knew if he believed in [i]his,[/i] they would both survive this.  He could already hear the beats of [i]his[/i] heart returning to the sounds of the wind, and Nanook trusted the wind.  As much as the wind gathered its way around the mountains, it was never such a gossiper as the trees.

The wind could be surprising, though.  The wind blew many in, and many had gone with the wind.  But, whatever the case, the wind was very constant, even in its idiosyncrasies. Nanook rustled his fur against [i]his[/i] with a hopeful wish for an awakening.  The pain of the frail human was shivering through the yeti, and yet, he was feeling an impatience for an awakening.  He wanted to know [i]his[/i] was okay sooner than later.  However, despite his movement, even in his juvenile curiosity, he knew within himself that he would not mind so much waiting for an eternity to hear the consciousness of [i]his[/i] return.  It was his duty, after all. His parents could wait for such an occurrence. They always did and always have.  He had the truth to keep himself still for this amount of time, and he fully intended to do so.

Nanook still let out a small wheeze.  It was similar to the one he would give his mother when she was sleeping, and he would awaken early and wish to feed or play.  Admittedly, he had done this recently.  Although, it was only because his mother was always treating him like a young cub.  He did not want to hurt her feelings by growing up too quickly.  In fact, it was probably his care for her that had caused him to wander so courageously into the midnight of his birthday.  All of his might had been cooped into lullabies and nursery rhymes.  He needed time away from the pack. 

Nanook rested his head, again.  His warm breaths smoked the frailty of [i]his.[/i]  Maybe his mother was worried about him.  [i]Like I haven’t wandered off before,[/i] he told himself.  [i]Besides, I’m not a cub anymore. Papa will tell her.[/i]  Not that he really wanted to think about his father, right now.  His father was good for something. He was not about to tell the trees that.  They were too far away to really make means of what was happening inside the cave.  He thanks the narthex for such an extended stay and shelter. Even the wind was having a hard time catching whiffs of what was happening.

It seemed the entire land was unable to see through the veil.  Of course, there was much talk.  Nanook had made his appearance quite recklessly.  He had not lost [i]all[/i] his teeth, and his limbs were not as strong and sturdy as his father's ferocious timbers.  There was honesty that could not be concealed or shaken from the lands on his whereabouts.  Nanook was known for his mischievous behavior, but despite the pettiness of the forests, Nanook was certain their spot was well hidden.  The trees had told him about the cave, after all.  He decided he would give them some sort of thanking gift later, when he knew their lips would not repeat what their eyes and ears yearning to spread.