Porcupine Ridge nobody knows anything

so many that it felt like a river had taken root in her mouth.

so many questions might have been taken as a probe against him, against the ridge. yet they weighed so heavy in her mouth. the questions of herself were so personal she wondered if a young man might have been mortified to hear them.

she had made a deal with a seer once.

the deal held in suspension until her body willed it.

can anything be read to tell me if my body will ever carry its own blood?

she did not ask in the way a young mother or wife might. she asked with a dread, an uncertainty that it ever could. terrified of a yes as much as she was a no.