Silver Creek come, ye sisters, come

everyone is quiet and obedient, much to her satisfaction--all except cyclone. the harlot, of course. the stockinged woman is barely settled beside her when addison rises to her feet again, beginning to take slow steps 'round the group of ladies. her eyes blaze white fire for an instant at cyclone, which abruptly dies when she stares at the congregation as a whole. bone-colored, ghostly. stark against the chocolate of her pelt.

the odolfs are grateful for your loyalty, addison begins, continuing to walk and talk, in case cyclone should decide to upstage again. most of you have been with us for some time, but there are some new faces--so let me explain how things are done. her face is serious but not scowling, dutifully blank. know your place. that is most important.

you were born a woman; you will die a woman. you were designed to serve men, to provide them children and to care for others. hunting, fighting, scouting--that is not your duty. leave that to the wolves designed for that purpose.

gravely, she finally stops and turns to the group, lingering on each face for a split-second before moving on to the next. i will have words with anyone who defies this expectation, addison says, her body stiff, tail lifted slightly. do you understand me? she waits for the chorus of nods and murmurs before continuing, anticipating--and almost relishing the prospect--a rebuttal from someone, either new or experienced.