There is always much to do; to be idle is a grievous sin. Addison engages herself in a variety of tasks, from keeping the herb caches clean and stocked to teaching Lilah and other interested parties the ins and outs of womanhood. The days go by quickly, and even the long nights do not last long. And still, she remains unattached.
Grayson has not yet made his matches. She stalks along the bank of the creek, unsettled. She knows her brother must still be deliberating, yet part of her thinks that this is some subtle torture on his part. That he is fully aware already of his choices and only means to antagonize Harrison. To antagonize her.
Ah, paranoia. The product of bleak midwinter.
Must she take matters into her own paws? To do so would be a sin more grievous than sloth, and yet the waiting is more than she can bear. Talk of children only spurs her wanting further on; the thought of suckling pups sends a queer sense of arousal through her belly. She desperately craves what she cannot yet have, and she is sleepless because of it.
Addison dips her head to drink from the stream, trying to cool her passions. She must be patient—but patience is not her strong suit.
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