Alaska's Frozen Heart
Copyright© 2026 by WittyUserName
Chapter 6: The One Who Walks the Land
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 6: The One Who Walks the Land - A legend waiting beneath the snow.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Cream Pie Facial Oral Sex
Friday February 13, 2026
I was leaning over the back of the couch, frozen in place as I struggled to control my breathing. My eyes were fixed on the stretch of snow where the Tornit had stood before stepping back into the trees. The wind was picking up again, blowing fresh powder over the tracks as if it were trying to erase the proof of what I had just seen.
The tracks weren’t needed to confirm what I had witnessed: that the past had returned. I knew the moment I saw the way it moved, the way it waited. The way it was one with the land. Grandma’s voice echoed through my memories, strict and firm, the way it sounded when her stories went from entertainment to warnings.
Some things walked like people, but were not people.
I swallowed and gripped the couch cushion tightly, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt. The walls, the fence, the lights; the monitoring station would not protect me from the Tornit. If it decided to get to me, it would. It hadn’t even tried to force its way in. It didn’t need to.
It wanted me to see it. To understand.
Those stories. So many stories about Alaskan folklore. I had loved them, but I interpreted them as simple fables meant to teach a lesson. They were our traditions; tales passed down from parents to children. I even imagined telling my own children one day. While they were important to our culture, they were just stories. They weren’t supposed to be real.
There was no denying that it was real; my own eyes had shown me the truth. It was tall with claws and long limbs. Its ragged fur was a pale gray-white with flecks of silver that would blend into the snow perfectly. I had a brief thought that it should be wearing something, and the realization that it didn’t need to was worse. Clothes were for people, and that being belonged to the land. The Tornit was real, and I knew it was my own choices that brought it out into the open.
I shouldn’t have burned it. Guilt consumed me as I remembered burning the kayak. It had seemed necessary and practical. The kayak was too damaged to be used and the rivers it was made for had long ago dried up. Burning it seemed respectful; returning it to the land instead of letting it rot. I had been so foolish. Some things weren’t meant to be returned that way. Had it really been THE kayak? The one that started everything?
Siku started whining as Ethan shifted beside me, his movements subtle but tense. I could feel his confusion, his logical mind reaching for a rational explanation and coming back empty-handed. He was good at patterns, at data, at the kind of math that made my head hurt. I hadn’t known him long, but I was sure he wasn’t good at things that didn’t neatly fit into his view of the world, things without a rational explanation.
“Alasie,” Ethan said quietly, ending the heavy silence. “You said its name.”
I tore my gaze from the window and turned to face him. Ethan was about six feet tall, so I had to look up to meet his green eyes. His face was pale, questions he couldn’t yet speak written all over his face. He ran a hand through his blond hair as he gathered his strength to ask, to bring up something he knew he shouldn’t believe in.
“What’s a Tornit?” he asked plainly.
“It’s a story,” I answered slowly. “Well, I thought it was a story.”
“And now you don’t?” Ethan followed up.
“I ... I know what I saw,” I let out a breath. “And if it’s here, then it isn’t here by accident. It’s here for me.”
Siku whined again as Ethan searched my face for answers. “Maybe you should start at the beginning?”
“Okay,” I nodded slowly as I turned and sat on the couch. Siku curled up at my feet and I reached down to scratch behind his ear.
Ethan sat down beside me and watched me closely. “I’m listening.”
“Grandma told me a lot of stories growing up,” I began carefully. “Stories of our ancestors, of the land, of our history. I remember being a little girl and curling up in her lap while she brushed my hair and told me about wild people who used to live in harmony with the Inuit.
“The stories are old. Very old,” I said. “They date back to when people first crossed the Bering Land Bridge.”
“That one I know about,” Ethan spoke up. “It’s the land that connected what’s now Russia and Alaska?”
“Right,” I nodded. “We’re currently on the Seward Peninsula. The tip leads to what’s now the Bering Strait. It’s only about fifty miles from Russia.”
“I wanna make a bad joke, but it’s probably not appropriate,” he smirked.
“Anyway,” I giggled, “the story. The Tornit, or Tuniit were people who lived in villages near the Inuit. Some say they lived near the Cumberland Sound, which is actually in Eastern Canada, but I think we can say that’s not the only place.”
“Yeah, that’s very far from here,” Ethan nodded.
“It is,” I agreed. “The Tornit were big and strong, some called them the Alaskan Bushmen. They had longer limbs and could move big rocks the Inuit couldn’t.”
“Alaskan Bigfoot, got it,” he laughed.
“I suppose that’s accurate,” I smiled slightly, a small blush on my cheeks when I realized our knees were touching. “The Tornit and Inuit used to hunt together, but the Tornit’s eyes weren’t very good. They also didn’t know how to build kayaks, but understood how useful they were. Grandma always told me there used to be more rivers in this area.
“The Tornit used to borrow Inuit kayaks without asking, which upset the Inuit. Our people couldn’t make a big deal out of it because the Tornit were so strong. Grandma used to point out large boulders to me and tell me those were rocks the Tornit would throw.”
“Well, whatever chased you did knock down a tree,” Ethan winced.
“That’s true,” I sighed. “So, one day a young Tornit took an Inuit’s kayak without asking. The Tornit had never used a kayak before and ended up ruining the bottom on some rocks. The Inuit kept his anger in check until the thief was asleep in his stone house. Then the Inuit slipped in and stabbed the Tornit.
“That’s the story I got when I was older. When I was a little girl, Grandma told me the Inuit bullied the poor Tornit and made him cry every day.”
“I can see why she wanted to tone down a murder story,” Ethan smiled at me.
“Right,” I bit my lower lip. “So, the story ends with the Tornit tribe knowing how angry the Inuit were with them. The Tornit feared more death would follow, so they chose to leave forever.”
“The moral of the story is not to take things that don’t belong to you?” he suggested. “Or maybe to talk about something that bothers you so it doesn’t get to the point of murder?”
“Either works, I guess,” I shrugged. “And that’s why it’s my fault this is happening.”
“What do you mean?” Ethan frowned.
“I found the remains of an old kayak when I stopped for the night on the way here,” I looked away from him shamefully. “I burned it to keep warm.”
“You can’t be the only person to ever burn some old wood,” he reasoned.
“Okay, but what if it was THE kayak?” I mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.
“Even if there was some truth to the story, that kayak would have to be thousands of years old,” Ethan pointed out. “It would have rotted away to nothing.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked. “It was buried in permafrost. Or what used to be permafrost.”
“I...” he trailed off. “Okay, sure, if it froze really quickly and never thawed, it is possible for something like that to last a very long time.”
“And we both know we’ve been having warmer years,” I said quietly. “Some things don’t disappear when they’re buried. They wait.”
“Yes, that’s all true,” Ethan admitted, reaching out to lift my chin until I was looking at him. “But, Alasie, c’mon. There has to be a more reasonable explanation.”
“It all fits, Ethan!” I insisted as he lowered his hand. “I burned the kayak, then all your machines went crazy and a giant thing started chasing me!”
“You think the Tornit set off all the nodes?” he frowned.
“You said they were nearly overloaded before I called for help,” I responded. “And it kept happening! What if that first reading was the Tornit waking up?”
“How could it do that?” Ethan questioned. “I mean, they read seismic shifts in the land.”
“The Tornit is the land,” I stated firmly.
Ethan fell silent as he contemplated my statement. With one hand on the back of the couch, I turned and looked out the window, almost expecting the Tornit to reappear. Nothing. I could feel Siku rubbing up against my legs as I struggled to process everything. Would anyone believe me if I told them? Grandma would, but my parents would insist they were just stories. I couldn’t blame them; I had thought the same.
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