Moonspear eye of the untold her

It didn’t go on forever, though by the time she slumped forward, breathless, her throat was raw. Kindle’s voice broke through the sound of her ragged breathing, though his reassurances did not make a difference. Pie was not female, she couldn’t bear offspring. The rest was semantics.

She knew he was right, that Alaric was too. Treepie recognized that her parts actually aligned with her preferences, now that she’d stopped trying to deny them. Assuming her male anatomy functioned, she could father children on a woman.

It didn’t alleviate her grief, nor her guilt. It still meant she didn’t belong with Kindle. And that, no matter what, nobody would ever call her anaa. Because she would never carry children, or birth them, or nurse them—all things she’d spent her life dreaming about.