Blackwater Islands breathe it in

The words she spoke were poetic and soft, almost as if they made up the verse of some long poem. Whip found himself pulled in by the elegance of her language. Settling down to his rump, Whip sat in the shallows and listened intently. He found it interesting that the Mothers had already granted her purpose and knowledge upon birth, whereas he himself still struggled to find his own place. Though it was far from the actual case, it appeared to Whip that she was born already knowing exactly who she was.

She spoke of her own recovery and Whip nodded. "When you've healed, can you help me learn?" he asked, hoping that his studious intent hadn't crossed any boundary. "My sister is a healer -- and I wanted to ask her. But after Mom died..." The boy trailed off. Of course, he couldn't ask her now. Not after running away.