While the giant ghosts of our Thule ancestors prowl the frozen polar landscape, I search for the demon who took my brother.  The sun, now pale and small, wanders far to the South, as Nunavut plunges into the Long Night

High above me, the emerald spirits dance and whisper their strange haunting song and I know that Qualupalik is near, seeking out the lost; just as I in turn, seek him.

A figure sits alone, fishing at the water’s edge. As I approach, a blessing of Narwhal break surface, their horns arcing and dipping, before sliding gracefully beneath. I cry out to my brother, waving joyfully.

Then Qualupalik rises from the icy waters, green faced and malevolent, eyes as cold as the polar night. My brother stands reluctantly, and is embraced by the demon. We share a long, anguished moment, and they are gone; diving together, into the inky depths.

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