A Flicker of Perpetual Stars

Unnukkut (Good Evening)

The stars were back, and life was filled with some of the hope that it once was.

Yuka still grieved for his grandmother, but Atiqtalik's words had given him the consolation he needed to no longer be consumed with the pain of her death. And Atiqtalik gave him something even more precious to him than her words: her friendship. They continued to sit together by the fjord, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. The reassurance of each other's words was just as powerful as the solace of silence.

Atiqtalik approached the fjord, as she did every day now. He was there, sitting by the water's edge. Waiting for her.

Her heart thumped in her chest when she saw his dark figure. Her step quickened. Yuka! she called, and he swiveled toward the rich color of her voice, toward her. He beamed when he caught a glimpse of her. With a nimble hop, he sprang to his feet, his eyes bright with happiness. Every day his excitement was the same, despite the sorrow he still felt.

The sadness would never truly go away, she knew. But she was glad that he had moved past it, for his own sake. Now, he carried his grandmother in his heart. He remembered her through the waves.

She slowed to a walk, picking her way carefully among the rocks and ice. She stopped next to him. Atelihai, she said. She held the white owl feather feather clasped behind her back, hidden from sight.

He tipped his head. Atelihai, Atiqtalik. He smiled softly, his dark eyes alight with a sprinkle of stars. She bit her lip.

I brought you something, she said. They were his words, stolen from his lips the day he brought her the pearl.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

She brought the feather from behind her back, and held it out to him. Snowy owl, she said. For you. For the pearl. I meant to give it to you before, but I didn't remember it after your grandmother's passing.

His eyes were set alight, and he looked up to her, stunned. For me? he asked. You brought it for me? 

She laughed, though not unkindly.

He looked down to the feather, then back to her face. Are you sure? he asked, worriedly. She nodded, unable to keep from smiling. Yes! she exclaimed. It's for you! She grasped his hand and pulled it toward her. She looked into his face as she carefully settled it in his fingers. It's for you, she said again. He clasped it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it. Then, slowly, he ran a finger up the smooth lines of the feather, admiring the pristine white and the bold black lines.

Nakurmiik, he said quietly. He didn't look at her. She found herself surprised to see the feeling welling in his eyes as he spoke. Sudden tears pricked her own, and she quickly blinked them away. Then she shook her head, confused at herself. She looked down to her feet.

Yuka reached for her hands and she looked back up, her eyes as wide as two dark coins. His smile reached all the way up his face.

Nakurmiik, ikinngut, he whispered. You are truly a friend, Atiqtalik.

Her lips curled up into their own smile.

The strength of their friendship grew. As it did so, however, the temperatures did the same. The warmth began to escalate, increasing with each passing year. Though the two of them found their small joys in one another's company, they were both scared by the changes the warmth brought. Every day, it seemed, there were more stories in their village of the disaster the rising temperatures had inflicted. The ice was melting, and the snow disappearing. To Atiqtalik's horror, the polar bears had begun to die of starvation.