Cyanos, Northern Polar Region — The Valleys

Near Cyanos’s northern polar region lie the Valleys — a crinkled series of mountain ridges and deep-cut basins. The weather here is far more extreme than in the main populated areas near the equator. The nor’ lazy wind that blows from the north is so called because it doesn’t bother to blow around a person — it prefers to blow straight through you.

Road access from Aoraki, the capital, is possible for most of the year. However, during the winter months, the only way in or out is often by air.

The nekomi snow leopards live in a small, remote enclave nestled within these Valleys. Generally, they prefer to keep to themselves — and even within their own community, they maintain a certain social distance, with a mile or two of road separating neighbouring cabins.

The Valley inhabitants work primarily in traditional occupations: farming, logging, milling, mining, and fishing from the numerous streams, rivers, and ponds the Valleys provide. A handful of merchants support the local rural industries.

From time to time, however, the valley snow leopards gather together — usually under the full moon. In keeping with their preference for straightforward, no-nonsense names, their main meeting place is known simply as the Fire Circle. Here, community matters are discussed and decided, stories are told and passed on, and freshly caught fish are roasted over open flames.

The evening of the gathering was bright and clear. A full moon illuminated the surrounding peaks, its light reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. The fire had been prepared earlier in the day and was already burning cheerfully as the valley inhabitants — young and old — began to arrive.

Jaak, a small-framed thirteen-year-old, was unusual in this community, comprised almost entirely of nekomi snow leopards. He was not a full nekomi, but a neko-human who had only recently come to live in the Valleys.

He was far more accustomed to the modern conveniences of Aoraki — where he had lived until a few weeks ago — things like mobile coverage, the internet, and flush toilets.

He had come to live with his father, Altai, a full nekomi, following the death of his human mother in a car accident. His parents had divorced when he was young, and he had rarely visited the Valleys growing up.

Altai, though kind and well-meaning, was traditional — especially when it came to preserving valley customs and culture. Some of his attitudes were… inflexible.

When Jaak had suggested installing a satellite dish on their cabin roof so he could access the almost-but-not-quite Cyanos-wide Tet-Net, Altai had simply chuffed loudly.

Unfortunately for Jaak, the combination of harsh northern weather and deep volcanic Valleys meant there was no reliable signal without expensive satellite equipment.

Jaak’s father did not do modern.

Suffice it to say, the transition from city to rural life had not been without its challenges.

Jaak trudged through the soft, wet snow toward the burly lumberjack. Dampness seeped through his basketball boots, soaking his cotton socks. The hems of his jeans were already wet, and he shivered.

Jaak hesitated. He liked those boots — they were expensive, bought with saved birthday and holiday money. Footwear of any kind was rare in the Valleys.

Finally, he shrugged, sat on a nearby rock, and pulled them off.

His neko-human genetics had granted him large, paw-like feet rather than humanoid ones. In the city, he’d been self-conscious about them. Bare-paw was something he avoided whenever possible.

The only obvious hint of his human heritage was the thick mop of grey hair atop his head. His tail, at least, was impressively floofy — more than capable in any competitive game of catch-and-chew your tail.

Jaak placed his paws cautiously on the snow.

To his surprise, it didn’t feel nearly as cold as expected. Almost instinctively, his paws spread upon contact — just like snowshoes.

Tenzing grinned and gestured toward the truck.

The fish had been caught earlier that day. They sat in a halved wooden barrel with rope handles on either side. Together, they lifted it from the pickup and lowered it onto a wooden sled without incident.

Tenzing took the front straps; Jaak pushed from behind. They made their way toward the Fire Circle, where Miss Asha stood supervising preparations — and guarding, with notable vigilance, her famous valley herb-and-spice mix.

Tenzing shot Jaak a sideways glance and rolled his eyes in exaggerated agreement before they retreated toward the gathering crowd.

As was custom, the evening began with council matters — fishing permits, trail maintenance, replacing logs along forest paths.

The ironclad rule that kept meetings short was simple: dinner was never served until council business concluded.

The smell of fish roasting over hot coals — mingled with Miss Asha’s spices and her pointed stare — was motivation enough to hasten proceedings and silence the overly talkative.

Dinner was served. It was, by all accounts, delicious.

Soon a large kettle of sweet, milky tea steamed beside the fire, mugs filled and passed around as talk turned to storytelling.

Jaak sighed and stared into the fire.

The culture.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words since arriving — and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

He knew better than to argue further.

After all, the hundel he’d known back in Aoraki had been perfectly ordinary.

Well…

Except for the occasional habit of drinking from toilets.

And the fact that they didn’t really like fish.

Episode 2: No Service