Moonspear your subaru is ugly

The courting dances had always been more noticable by their absence than their presence. Couples snuck off, or pining youth lured their sweethearts out beyond the festivities. Kindle thought of this with a quiet pang — he'd never gotten the chance.

"Our courtin' dances ain't exactly for watchin'," he said dryly, though he'd witnessed a few anyway.

He blew out a little breath, not sure how to answer the question.

"Dancing's mainly what we do," he replied, wondering what her perspective on their gatherings would be, if she were able to watch. "We gathered to dance, and danced to gather. It's part of everything we do. Before hunts and after. For weddings. In droughts, in the rain, for the longest night and the shortest night, for deaths and for births. For the full moon and the new moon and especially for a blood moon."

He missed it.

"I was in a troupe with my cousins," he told her. "There were nine or ten of us. We practiced for all the ceremonies and festivals. Painted our faces before every performance. Everyone dances, but the troupe leads them — and keeps the knowledge alive for the rest of the pack. We might not need a particular dance for generations. That means the kids might not learn it. But I know them all."

He was proud of this fact.