This was always done after sickness. The small structure, the only home Kira had ever known, was gone.
She had seen the smoke in the distance as she sat with the body.
As she watched the spirit of her mother drift away, she had seen the cindered fragments of her childhood life whirl into the sky as well.
She felt a small shudder of fear. Fear was always a part of life for the people.
Because of fear, they made shelter and found food and grew things. For the same reason, weapons were stored, waiting.
There was fear of cold, of sickness and hunger. There was fear of beasts.
And fear propelled her now as she stood, leaning on her stick.
She looked down a last time at the lifeless body that had once contained her mother, and considered where to go.
Kira thought about rebuilding. If she could find help, though help was unlikely, it wouldn’t take long to build a cott,
especially not this time of year, summer-start, when tree limbs were supple and mud was thick and abundant beside the river.
She had often watched others building, and Kira realized that she could probably construct some sort of shelter for herself.
Its corners and chimney might not be straight. The roof would be difficult because her bad leg made it almost impossible for her to climb.
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