Stone Circle It's only a lifetime, that's only a while

She likes being a mother. She’s allowed to toss around in the dirt and sing silly songs and tell absurd stories. She can be domestic but not domesticated. She wants to show her children where the mushrooms grow, and the parts of the river you can cross by jumping between old logs and wet stones, and the excitement of it is that you just might fall in and be swept a ways downstream. She wanted to bring them to the valley’s tallest peak, up the steep footpath, so they could feel how cold the wind is and what the clouds look like when godrays part them.

Swift shows how he can be an immovable force, a little wolfling made of stone and bent on ignoring his mother’s persuasions. But at least one cracks, her little Katla taking a plop and swinging her limbs up to rake her spine about the ground.

“That’s right, Katty!” she laughs and shimmies beside her, “get the good scratch in." Another mischievous peek is given to the silver boy playing dead.

“A real shame about your brother. His life was so short. We’d better give him a proper burial.” She flips and blades of grass are kicked into the air with strokes of her hind legs, flecking over the boy.