Hillmen
Stunned and hurt by Wolf's unusual harshness, Kestrel whimpered a little as he disappeared from her sight. She tried to watch him go, but he knew her weakness too well and her eye couldn't find him. She simply couldn't understand this change in the calm leader she thought she knew. He never raised his voice, never babbled like that--had Calem's d.eath (she was sure it was Calem; Wolf's expression told her that she was right in that much.) so worried him? The spirits would be angry, yes, but wouldn't their wrath be turned on the cripple's killer?
It was all too much for the practical Kestrel. Let Cleft worry about the spirits, she had her family to think of. They would need to be fed, and clothed just as usual, and she didn't understand the world of the spirits anyway. Such knowledge was reserved for priests, not crippled women. Still, she would leave an offering to appease Calem's spirit and keep him from her home.
A dry hand tapped her left shoulder. She turned and Cleft, still without a word to her, handed Flint into her arms, then ducked back into his little hut. A sigh, half of exasperation and half of relief, escaped her. She looked down at her son, who was sleeping, probably from some sort of herb the priest had given him, then, with one more look in the direction Wolf had disappeared, limped home.
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