the rise and fall of aiolos' pleasant, cadenced voice carved an image for kukutux that was at once both wondrous and horrible. women using men for the production of children. could they capture the essence of a man if they made him a slave? her mother had murmured that a woman swallowed the spirit of the man who was closest and unrelated. that was why it was the sickness that alerted one to growing new life: the spirits battled in the belly, and if she was to be mother, grew there into her young. "a wife cannot refuse," she said vaguely. "but we had the protection of our own home. that was not so for you."

that was the taboo. she could not lie with her husband while she carried children. but he would take no wife for his own pleasure, and kukutux often worried that he might come to wish it. one day. "have you discovered joy here, then? you are free to do as you wish. and you have the sea so close." perhaps that was what he found delightful, this gentle man who had once been so bound. but did he wish to be unchained?

a woman with an overwhelmed totem. jarilo had been the closest man. it must have been he who gave a shard of his soul to sprout within. as if summoned, the children kicked in their small ripples, and kukutux looked down herself. eyes watched the small play of movement, and then she returned her spring-grass gaze to aiolos.

he had changed upon the mention of kalika, and the girl paled somewhat, ears splaying as the man recounted his connection with the sea-woman. "i am sorry, aiolos," she murmured. "i did not mean to press upon a wound in the heart."