But she would find a way. Somehow she would build a cott. Then she would find a way to make a life.
Her mother’s brother had been near her in the Field for two days, not guarding Katrina, his sister,
but sitting silently beside the body of his own woman, the short-tempered Solora, and that of their new infant who had been too young to have a name.
They had nodded to each other, Kira and her mother’s brother, in acknowledgment.
But he had departed, his time in the Field of Leaving finished.
He had tykes to tend; he and Solora had two others in addition to the one that had brought about her death.
The others were still small, their names yet of one syllable: Dan and Mar.
Perhaps I could care for them, Kira thought briefly, trying to find her own future within the village.
But even as the thought flickered within her, she knew that it would not be permitted.
Solora’s tykes would be given away, distributed to those who had none.
Healthy, strong tykes were valuable; properly trained, they could contribute to family needs and would be greatly desired.
No one would desire Kira. No one ever had, except her mother.
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