"Rain, the reeds go under and over each other like this. They don't just go around and around in circles; it won't stay that way and you'll waste your time. Unless you want to have baskets that break when you touch them?"
"No, Mama."
Kestrel rocked back on her heels, rubbing at the scars on the torn side of her face, wishing that just once, she could see out of her left eye again. Things would be ever so much easier if her depth perception was like everyone else's. And why couldn't Rain master the simple task of basket-weaving? It wasn't as though it was a terribly difficult task... Sometimes Kestrel just wanted to go out and kill something. It would feel so good.
The hide that served as the door was pushed aside, and Wolf stalked in, followed closely by Knife. Neither said anything. Wolf's expression was one of worried tiredness, and Knife's--well, perhaps it could be described as one of tired but excited anticipation. Having lived with these men for most of her life (or so it seemed), Kestrel knew not to bother them, so she ended the basket-weaving lesson and shooed Rain and Flint into their corner pile of furs.
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