Deepwood Weald [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns

Weird voyeuristic little sister cameo.

she watched them, tracking them through the weald as she learned it's cross streets and avenues; she saw how warm and happy they were as they met, and how silly as they danced and played—!

dutch had never done this with her, she thought possessively; his voice sang praises with its tone even though sulukinak did not know the words, and she wished she did.

his thimble-wife dashed through the ferns, and sulukinak tensed where she lurked, ducking, staring; and then dutch ran after her and the shadow waited there until there was only the silence of the forest—and distant sounds of glee bursting from places she could not see or follow.

after some time she lifts free of her hiding place and coasts through the green, watching for them, curious of their game and also somehow dimly aware this was something private she was not meant to see.