Silver Creek for the man is not of the woman

addison is charmed by the creek already, though she does not let it show, nor does she get her hopes too high, in case the men decide to move on. it will not do to get attached. yet as she wanders along the edge of the water, collecting clumps of moss and watercress for the herb stores, she is, for once, at peace. she is not a natural traveler; she likes to remain in one spot, to become close to the earth on which she slumbers. and some ground calls to her more strongly; this is it.

she sets aside the greenery for now and looks down into the water, yearning to fish. there is, occasionally, the brief fit of progressivism that overtakes her, the feeling that she ought not to be tied down to the odolfs, to their ways. to limit herself seems a folly, for she is just as smart and capable as her brothers, and could just as easily lead a family to glory. their destinies had been shaped only by their genitalia, and for a moment, she feels anger and shame at the bald fact.

but then she scoffs, shaking her head. it does no good to ruminate on such things. to do so renders her useless, and to be useless means her life is worth nothing.

thus, addison continues along down the shore, moss clutched tight to her chest, clear, cool droplets from the stream cutting sidewinding paths through her chocolate coat. she gathers, and gathers, and daydreams of spring, when her belly will be full with pups, her teats ripe with milk. then she will have no time for these intrusive thoughts, and will be content with her role once more.

@Harrison