The bottle of Jack Daniels that Layla Smith brought with her was almost empty. Almost of that strong liquor was drunk by her. Her accompanier-- Anderson Jr. Seely-- drank very little. After finishing his first full cup, Andeson only took very small sips of alcohol. He drank a little but he was already drunk. He's not a good drinker nor alcoholic.
Layla Smith opened the case and took out of her three-stringed tautirus. She always carried it with her. She liked to play tautirus ás an anchor to something deeper than time, something that tethered her to the ancestors who once wandered the endless, snow-draped horizons. When the world grew too distant and when her iPhone 15 Plus became just another useless object, the tautirus remained. It had accompanied her family on their endless search for gold and hunting, its strings humming with echoes of a past she did not always understand but always felt deep inside.
She adjusted the strings and then began to play. The melody was the "Reindeer Herder's Song," an Inupiat Eskimo melody steeped in ancient memory, woven with the voices of those who had come before:
Uvani-qaa-aatani
Naimiq-pa-Chukiga
Unana-qaa agyagugaa
Nigiksaguva manna
Iniqtu-aviruaq
At the moment of the first lyrics aloud, she saw Anderson Jr. Seely stand up. At first, she thought he was heading toward the Toyota Hilux to sleep, but no—he was moving his chair, placing it directly in front of her. His back faced the fire, his shadow stretching long against the flickering light. And then, something she didn't expected happened.
His voice was aloud. No, in fact his throat rumbled with the deep, resonant echoes aloud. Layla Smith recognized the katajjaq— a kind of Inuit Eskimo throat singing. The sound, raw and elemental from the throat of Anderson, following itself her melody from the tautirus. These music brought them into something ancient and unspoken.
Katajjaq was traditionally sung by two women, a playful contest of breath and rhythm. But in that moment, the katajjaq sung by a young guy - Anderson, it became something else. A harmony of ancient love. A call and response that had existed long before either of them had drawn breath.
The campfire crackled. The twilight hung in the sky heavy around them. In that moment, Layla felt something strange within her. This young man—this Anderson Jr. Seely—had something hidden beneath his quiet demeanor. Something she had not noticed before. He was not simply singing; he was speaking in a language older than words. A voice from his throat that reached something deep inside her. His face wasn't be clearly seen because of back light but his charm filled up in the air, and it reached so deep inside her heart. She couldn't deny it. Anderson did not try to be anything special, and that was precisely what made him so.
The song told a story of a young and brave hunter who was going to hunt the polar bear with nothing but his skill and instinct. His wife was at home and sang the song by her thoat as a lullaby for their children. A whispering lullaby. Sleep well my baby. Your father would bring food home after the long night.
Layla Smith felt as if they seemed to sing this song together before—long ago, in another time, in another life but the same starry sky of Always. These feelings was very real and these feelings seemd to comfort her and made her mind so peaceful. There was something inside her recognized him before she could understand why.
She played her tautirus, watching him through the firelight, her heart caught between past and present. His face, illuminated in flickering gold, held a quiet strength that did not demand attention yet refused to be ignored. He was different from the others. Not because he was stronger, or smarter, or more handsome, but because he was familiar. As if, somehow, she had always known him.
The song ended, and a soft silence as fur came back between them. Layla Smith felt something inside her tremble—not from the alcohol, although she drunk a lot. Something deeper, nameless. She brought the bottle of Jack Daniels, let Anderson drink to reveal his secret. But now, something elso suddenly came to her heart. Something warmer and more peaceful. She wanted to hold onto this moment, stretch it longer, keep him closer a little more.
Without thinking, Layla reached for Anderson, pulled him closer, and pressed her lips against his. It was not calculated, not something she had planned. It was instinct, as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the turning of the seasons.
But his lips were stiff, unresponsive as a rock. His body, warm from the fire, reeked of whiskey. And then she realized—he had fallen asleep.
"You drunk!" she muttered, a sharp pang of frustration mixed with something dangerously close to laughter.
She kicked him angrily. Then, without another word, she turned and walked back to her tent.
When T.B. woke to the alarm from his cell phone, the fire had nearly died. Anderson Jr. Seely lay curled next to it, still sleeping soundly, as if the night had not changed anything at all.