Cotton-shifted and shifting from foot to foot; I have never seen such creatures, their new, bright i heretofore a sight unseen, holding the cotton skirt of the likewise new mother-creature to their trembling chins. They are, i think, as feared of me as i of them. The girls, at least; the mother glowers, simpers, frowns. “His name?”
“Rafe.” Father flicks my shoulder blade. i sullen up—not me. This was what We called the other onehalf of We. Was my secret, then, shoved down so deep? The whispered curl inside me whispers still, does not yet uncoil, spring or shout. Father, bearded, makes stern back-thumpings, stout. i set my jaw. yes, boy, yes raifish child, i and me.
