Hoshor Plains tinnun ⊹

Last post.

The Blackthorn girl listened. Quiet. Attentive. Absorbing.

A place only for women. Of knowledge and secrets shared between, held close. Words not meant for the ears of a man.

Women transformed. Went through changes. Those of age, once a year. Bronte was not even an adult yet, but her time too, would one day come. Her throat squeezed a little at this. Butterfly wings tickling her stomach in uncertainty. Men would be drawn to women in these times.

She had already had the talk with her mother about the birds and the bees. It was very basic. That a man and woman together, made children. But the deeper details had been left out, such as this fire time Kukutux mentioned. 

Children were not always wanted. Moonwoman presented a herb to keep life from taking in the womb. Bronte tilted her head curiously, committing the name to memory. 

She was too young to consider taking a partner. She knew of no boys who were interested in her. Had not developed any relationships significant enough with one to consider them a prospect. 

But in choosing was no light matter. A man must be worthy for a woman's heart. Her children, home and family.

Her head spun. It was all so much. 

She would retain this new wealth of knowledge. Even as a woman in their midst with tears in her eyes, broke away from the circle. Bronte's ears slipped back, head dipping momentarily. She stayed, absorbing the voices. Remembering them. Their faces. For when her time came, when she may need them most.