Felltree Marsh A coat of red

a novel premise sat there glittering in sobeille’s mind, like a sea washed stone might sparkle in sunlight. sivaak painted a barbaric scene, illustrating to sobeille that there were bloodier sects than even her own culture.

what would maman think of that? and tante?

their steps slowed. the small girl gathering her thoughts as crows might gather wing — one eye turned towards sivaak in great esteem.

de sea does like women better. sobeille affirmed, unspooling her own memories as she spoke. me an’ chani — a pang, for she missed chani terribly — watch de whales sometimes. dey be matriarchal, an’ sometimes twenty strong. dey ‘unt like us, and sing too. though the thought seemed tangential to sobeille it made perfect sense: even the sea knew only women were fit to lead the lives of others. now she had the knowledge needed to ensure that no men would usurp her bloodline. and it started with something soft and squishy housed between their legs.