Ouroboros Spine Behind every tree is a cutting machine

as before, adrastus lent himself to the full embrace of her standards, and it relieved her to know that she would not put ambition before kinship ties. "i have not used direct words," kukutux answered to what he had asked. it would not have been a mention that adrastus would have noticed; a gentle play of implication between women was how their circle was built. there were many plans she could lay for the fate of the cloudberry woman, but all mattered not when it came to what it was lótë wanted. she could not give the painter to any; a wife had last and final choice, as always. as before, adrastus lent himself to the full embrace of her standards, and it relieved her to know that she would not put ambition before kinship ties.

she hoped that her vague-sister would become stronger in this knowledge as the moonwoman moved to teach. while the duck did not believe that speaking of lótë to adrastus was kindly, or seemly — and so she did not — there was raimo with which to contend. he would be restless until he was given something that sated his soul, and mended the place their parting had torn inside him. for surely he was in pain; the feathermoon must take this belief to her heart. the alternate was that he was indifferent to her, a though that scorched her horrified.

"she knows the way of two circles," the duck said softly in reference to the paintwolf's sharing in tradition. perhaps even moreso than herself, the delicate spring-made creature. more here; if adrastus would hear it: confirmation that the aforementioned tradition lent itself to submission beneath the word of a man.

kukutux offered a freedom in final say. but lótë had already two choices before her if she wished. in raimo, in adrastus. both fine hunters who had carved their own status within moonglow. the duck held a selfish pair of thoughts close, unformed, but fell silent beneath the ice-man's eyes.