Ruinark has a minion!

Aiviq the Wally

Beginnings

“Aiviq! Quick! Get on the other side!” I yelled. Hunting for food was tricky business, especially during the bitter Arctic winters. The caribou looked around frantically -- she was trapped. Skillful dodging was the only way she could evade death, but only bought her a short while. A few hours later, we had managed to spear the caribou and drag the kill back to the village.

***

I was born and raised on the northern tundras of Alaska. When I was seventeen, I got into a violent fight with my father over whether or not I should find a suitor, specifically, a man from another village so we could improve our economic relations. Frustrated I packed my belongings, including my ivory walrus that my mother's father had carved for her so many years ago, before she died. I left behind my greatest possession, though, my best friend Aiviq. By myself, I wandered the plains, providing for myself and regularly making camp, scraping by month by month. However, once my spear broke trying to hunt a walrus on the coast for food, I began to starve. Near death, I stumbled across a small village in Nunavut with permanent buildings that had a small airport. I was airlifted to Quebec, where I was treated for my multiple wounds and fed. I soon returned back to health.

Present

“Hello, how may I help you today? Nayaafabaa, naukuntla uvafa anniqsuiruq ilvich ulvuvak?” Tapping my pen on my desk, awaiting the other end of the line to reply, I turned my chair to stare at a worn picture of a young man squinting in the snow. I softly touched my fingers to the cold wooden frame, then the sharp voice of an strange consumer sent me back into my small office.

***

After the incident, I made my way down to Toronto where I found a job as a linguist specialist. A missionary had visited the village years ago when I was young and taught all of the children English, so I put that old skill to use. At this time I am now twenty-one, and I have made contact with Aiviq again, if only once every few months. Every time I receive one of his letters, I read it several times over, studying each individual symbol and breathing in the faded scent of tanning of caribou skins. To be honest, it is rather enchanting, enveloping me in a sort of ancient, primeval atmosphere that takes me back before the times of the “white man”. In short, I look forward to each message, each new, refreshed smell. However, in the last letter he sent, I was shocked. I still haven't replied yet. I have no clue what to say, but I am determined to write a note to him tonight. I will.

Now

It's dusk out now, and an orange haze is filtering out the last few remain specks over the horizon, turning the clouds purple and the sky bluegreen. A beautiful winter's evening. I took a cab back down to my apartment and stopped in front of my building's doors to fumble around in my purse looking for my keys with one hand while holding back my hair with the other. A familiar voice, deeper now, asking me if I needed help. At first I ignored him, figuring there must have been quite a few other people in a city so large with similar sounding voices.

“No, it's alright. Thank-”. I look up as I pull my keys out of my purse and proceed to drop them on the floor in shock. My eyes widen and my jaw opens, but I quickly snap it back up and maintain my composure. “Aiviq?!” I nearly scream, waking up the first floor of my apartment building. I drop everything on the slush-covered ground, not caring anymore and jump up to cling to him as if he were the dead come back to life. I nearly topple him over onto the sidewalk and while hugging him, I kiss his ear and whisper one word into his ear, and it damages a very large part of me to say it, going against and yet at the same time with everything I'm for, but I mean it, with all of my heart:

“Yes.”

Extra

Stats as of 1/6/16:

Lvl:	770	|	Str:	1925	|	Def:	1923
Int:	1259	|	HP:	1924	|	Spd:	1922

Foods:

4682

|

Books:

1235

Rank: 716

***

This lovely is owned by Confetti. :heart: