Ok, I have some fluff for the three people who remember Blood Ties. Behold: an excerpt from the chapter that hates to be written:
In winter Shartan brushed snow from the bench beside her. “Ah, it is cold.”
“It is so cold.” Her face was tipped up and as he put his arm around her he looked up as well, to the smooth-faced statue of their mother and the little tree planted over their father’s ashes, weak sapling that it was with exposed twigs scratching at the clouds. Surana turned to him and buried her face against his scarf and just like that, she was crying, her body heaving awkwardly with it. He jerked his head at her guards and they hardly hesitated before moving off.
“It’s a great big shem twisting around inside of my body and I feel it and my clan, my clan, I don’t have a clan, I cannot, my…”
Shartan pulled her closer, watching the courtyard, but his hand dropped to rest on the hard circle of her belly. “This little one, my niece or my nephew?” Her face was hidden beneath her fine furred hood but and her sobs were muffled by it. He gentled his voice further. “Think on this perhaps: I am your clan. You are my clan. The baby, it is our clan, yes?”
“What,” her voice broke. “What shall I say then when I go to the Dales? I have won this for them and I am to go there as a traitor with a round-eared babe that my own body made?”
Shartan slipped her hand down her belly and the child kicked for him. “The humans do not treat us so badly anymore and this is your work. Even you know that you are carrying this little one for our as much as you are for them, yes?”
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In winter Shartan brushed snow from the bench beside her. “Ah, it is cold.”
“It is so cold.” Her face was tipped up and as he put his arm around her he looked up as well, to the smooth-faced statue of their mother and the little tree planted over their father’s ashes, weak sapling that it was with exposed twigs scratching at the clouds. Surana turned to him and buried her face against his scarf and just like that, she was crying, her body heaving awkwardly with it. He jerked his head at her guards and they hardly hesitated before moving off.
“It’s a great big shem twisting around inside of my body and I feel it and my clan, my clan, I don’t have a clan, I cannot, my…”
Shartan pulled her closer, watching the courtyard, but his hand dropped to rest on the hard circle of her belly. “This little one, my niece or my nephew?” Her face was hidden beneath her fine furred hood but and her sobs were muffled by it. He gentled his voice further. “Think on this perhaps: I am your clan. You are my clan. The baby, it is our clan, yes?”
“What,” her voice broke. “What shall I say then when I go to the Dales? I have won this for them and I am to go there as a traitor with a round-eared babe that my own body made?”
Shartan slipped her hand down her belly and the child kicked for him. “The humans do not treat us so badly anymore and this is your work. Even you know that you are carrying this little one for our as much as you are for them, yes?”