Moonspear And the chickens how they rattle chicken chains

bronco obediently attended her. kukutux, who had only just become mother to a son, was unaccustomed to the nature young men had toward motherly bearings. she remained unaware, therefore, and was only suprised to herself that he should mind so swiftly.

alongside the duck, the youthful warrior was man-height, if not yet in the fullness another year would grant. kukutux felt as if she padded alongside one of the gangly half-grown lynxes she had seen upon one of her forays. from where had he come, she wondered, and remembered the appearance of meerkat. but any question she might pose must wait, for bronco had taken a keen interest in the twist of soft skin. "yes," kukutux answered to his last, a smile tugging at her lips. "it is a piece of hide; you drop it in water or pluck out the hairs, as many as you are able. then chew and chew."

"women's work," she added softly, falling silent as their paths found the trail to her domed ulaq and its neat clearing. chunks of fish laid out on a rock to dry, and pine-needles gathered beneath the layers of fur in the den. it was their scent that hung in the air as she paused, looking to bronco a moment before slipping inside the shelter to search for the dried pinebark she would make into a tea at the streambank.