Further north still, where snow capped the
mountains even in summer, the Kinna were about daily tasks. Mordan didn’t have
much to do. He was too old for energy-consuming chores and left those now to
the younger ones.
This day the clan was out picking nuts, barring
the old couple up on the hillside working the vegetable patch behind their
cottage, so he sat slumbering under the big fig tree and allowed his thoughts
to roam. A strange look crossed his face, but there was no one to see it. After
a time, he rose carefully and gathered survival essentials, including his oak
staff with its gnarled head and scored grooves. He ambled unhurriedly to the
river’s edge where the rafts and rough dugouts were pulled up onto the bank.
The sun threw polite shadows onto gritty sand.
He chose a raft, for it seemed easier to
handle. The South River would take him to the Forest in quick time; heart somewhat
erratic, he set out. It had been a while since he handled a craft alone on the
water.
Gathering of Rain
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