Shadowwyn Moor māmila

he was not certain he had ever been asked. with gheli, the man who once was cen — any children born would have been welcomed in warmth and in love, two sensations most often devoid from his spirit these long days. they might have worn her eyes and his face, or perhaps some co-mixture. but they would have been part of gheli, and for that alone could cen have loved them.

with red leaf, he had expected that the tribulations he had undergone to take her as wife and then to keep her alive would have ensured strong children. he had forsaken the path of the caribou and taken her to the village beside the sea; he had sacrificed and sacrificed and she had given him a boy injured by her own weakness.

a single son, and one for whom he too had striven to bring back. 

he did not like lying in dens; he told himself that once he and morwenna returned unto the saatsine, he would not sleep inside one again. but her body was warm and curved against his; the femininity of her gestures stilled him, roused him. "tiy. many," the chieftain told his new wife with a soft-spreading grin that soon became sharp at the edges. "while you carry them, we walk. i hunt for you. when almost it is time, i build shelter of snow. saatsine make long-camp."

timed right, lanzadoii mothers were fed a steady diet of newborn caribou, for it was believed that this tenderest flesh provided the richest fare for milk. lanzadoii children would be weaned onto chewed organ meat, and in eight weeks, be prepared for their own first march.

many children were the only way to ensure that the majority of pups followed their clans when the shelters had come down and the caribou were moving once more.