Deepwood Weald tropicalis

she regarded her friend fully then, as he put voice to his thoughts. her own feelings were hard to describe and so she did not try to understand them; but that put a strain on the conversation as dutch wanted to understand. sulukinak could not figure it out for herself, so what hope was there to share, and make sense of things for him? but he wanted her to stay—a fact that he reiterated, giving her the choice in the end.

he is family, she pointed out, of cen. i spoke my father's name, and he knew it. and she chased that now—this sense of connection to someone, somewhere. cen was no more conclave than dutch; but they shared blood, or she hoped that his claiming was couched in truth. she did not think to doubt it.

she breathes deeply, turning away from him as her belly ache distracts her.

i want to know him. i want to know my people. and without her mother or her brothers, what did that mean? dutch had been her person once, but he had chosen others. he had simbelmyne. sulukinak had nobody—only this claim made by this man.

i go when he goes.

seven weeks, he had said.