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Bureaucracy moves like a water wheel during summer: slowly, and with little current to push it, yet it still spins. That was something a priest told me years ago, an offhand comment that was filed away into a vast library of memories, the spine sticking out as though the book was too long for the shelf. I was only just beginning to realize how many of those memories I had filed away, and just how distant some of them had become. I thanked the gods--if they even desired thanks for such things--that some memories were more distant than others.

I could hear rain pattering on the vaulted ceiling and looked up at the skylights in the temple offices as rain swallowed the last short hours of sunlight. The temple administration was across the campus from nearly everything else, and I briefly contemplated my long walk back to the cella, where the letter told me to meet the high priestess.

The clerk shouted for the next person in line. I had become so accustomed to her short, barked refrain over the past hour that I didn't even look up until another student elbowed me.

I scrambled out of my seat and walked towards her, fishing a scroll of parchment out from under my robes. I bowed briefly and sat across from her, unrolling the parchment on her desk. The elderly lioness, her expression friendly but distant, placed a finger on the parchment and drew it towards her.

"It's a letter for early graduation and mentorship. There should already be a letter from the priestess on file."

The lioness looked at the form, then at me, then at the form again, this time with her snout mere inches from the paper. I had feared this reaction, and when she looked up, the most I could do was stare her down with a look of cool self-confidence. It was an emotional state that was well beyond my station in life, and I don't think it worked.

"One second." She mumbled politely and walked to the back of the administration room. The scene that unfolded was not unknown to me: she opened a few rickety wooden drawers, pulled out an academic file that was undoubtedly mine, scanned it with eyebrows raised, returned the archival parchment to its drawer, and then hobbled back with a faint look of surprise.

"How old--"

"I'm eighteen." I said.

She nodded and reached for a reed pen from across her desk, dipping it in ink and signing the parchment. The look of concern she wore just moments ago had seemed to evaporate, and she gently waved her hand across the paper, drying the ink before she rolled up the parchment, wrote a filing number on the bottom, and placed it in an ancient wood cabinet by her desk.

"En-Katmiti will have your new robes." She smiled at me, her expression more than a social nicety, although I couldn't place the intent behind it. "Congratulations" she added just as I pulled myself out of my chair and left. With that piece of parchment gone, a much greater weight felt as though it had been lifted from me. I was like a rock kicked down a hill, moving through powers greater than my own, in directions I could scarcely hope to control.

Out in the courtyard, fog spilled over the forests beyond the temple, blanketing the rolling black-green treetops that traversed the north. The misty rain started to stick to my fur and soak through to my skin. Even though it wasn't meditating hours, I fumbled with the folds of my student robes and pulled the veil over my head.

I heard Sikhari's footsteps before I saw her from under the wool hem of the veil.

"Šaru! I've been trying to find you all afternoon." She said, clutching her elk skin coat to her chest. The leopardess looked more anxious than usual. "I heard about the mentorship."

It was a statement spoken like a question, which I always hated. If people want to ask you something, they should just ask it.

"I've spent half my afternoon waiting in line at administration."

I didn't stop walking, partly because the rain was at that unpleasant stage where it threatened to freeze as it fell, and partly because I could tell Sikhari was upset. "I got a letter from one of En-Katmiti's understudies last night. I was going to tell you, but with the moving, and the graduation...it just sort of got pushed back."

"Wait, En-Katmiti, she's be--never mind. Are you sure you want to do this?"

The first syllable of that aborted word had almost left her mouth, and I believed the word was beautiful. But if Sikhari had allowed herself to say such a thing, it would imply either jealously or tacit approval, both of which she clearly didn't want to suggest.

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be doing it." I wanted to add and stop acting like you know what's best for me, but I didn't. As much as I cared for Sikhari, she saw our age difference as demanding a kind of pedagogical obligation on her part, and it was an obligation I didn't always appreciate, particularly outside of the bed we sometimes shared.

I could hear her sigh over the raindrops pattering on the cobblestone. "I know. I'm being...me again. I can't help it. You're different, and I worry about you."

I could see her ears pinned to her head through the rain, and I felt a pang of guilt. "I've been different my whole life here. Different when I came in as an orphan, different when I tested out of three years of schooling, and now I'm just young enough to be different from everyone else. Turning down a mentorship, because of my age or otherwise, would be another thing that set me apart. I'm sick of it, that's all. I just want to do something normal for once."

I didn't realize I was outside the cella until the rain stopped, and I found myself in the shadow of the front awning. I unwrapped my veil and tried to comb the water from my hair with my fingers.

"I know, I just...well, you know." She said, her voice cracking a bit. I didn't know, to be honest. Without warning, she pulled me into a wet and awkward embrace, so tight I felt my paws start to lift off the cobblestone walkway.

"It's not like I'm going anywhere." I said as the breath was forced from my lungs. "At the very least, I'll be at the temple for another two years, with the mentorship and all. You just won't have anyone to cheat off of during scribal lessons."

She sighed and let go. "I know, I know. Just humor me and tell me you'll watch out for yourself. Traditionally, these mentorships aren't entirely scholarly."

I threw her a wry smile as I put my hand on the wrought iron door handle and pulled open the nearly eight-foot-tall oak door leading inside. "Oh, I know."

As it was outside of votive and ritual hours, the temple cella was deathly quiet, and almost empty. The limestone ceiling extended well past the height of any other building in the seminary; as I stepped forward, my footfalls on the polished stone floors echoed across vast expanses of space.

The gold and stone image of Amanchut, goddess of wisdom and the scribes, extended almost halfway to the ceiling, her arms frozen as they reached out towards the heavens, beckoning the muses down to earth. Carnelian jewelry hung from her fingers, and her gold-painted fur danced in the candlelight. A figure in black silk robes stood huddled by the goddess's feet, head lowered in supplication. I summoned the courage to break the silence.

"En?"

The high priestess stood up and brushed her long black hair away from her face. When she looked at me, her gaze was warm, yet penetrating. As if by command, I found myself walking forward to close the distance between us. I had seen the tigress countless times over the years, usually haunting the halls of the seminary, where she would breeze past you like a shadow, the black of her robes only broken apart by few strands of silver in her hair, and the faint glimmer of jewelry around her neck. Before now I had never spoken to her, never even done more than offer a cursory bow whenever she walked by.

"Šaru." Her voice reminded me of the sound made when one throws firewood onto a long-burning pile of embers. Warm, but deep and fiery. "I'm guessing Tasmati at the administration building held you up?"

It took until her last word echoed off the cella walls for me to break from whatever trance I found myself in. "What--I, yes, actually." I said, recalling wrinkly lioness who had signed off on my papers.

"Bless her, end-of-year is always a busy time around here."

She sighed heavily and walked over the censer that stood behind Amanchut. She said nothing, but beckoned for me to follow.

Her face shrouded in shadow, she reached into her robes and pulled out a leather satchel, untied the cord, and dumped the contents into the limestone bowl. I caught a glimmer of copal reflected in the moonlight pouring in from the windows.

"How do you feel about this arrangement, Šaru?" She said as she reached under the censer to grab two flint stones and a clump of dried fern.

I searched for words as she struck the flint, sparks dancing from her fingers. "I'm not sure what there is to think, really. Mentoring under under a high-priest is a rare privilege, and a responsibility as well."

A flame swelled in the tangle of fern. She carefully picked up the bundle in her hand and dropped it into the censer, letting the flame transfer to the coals. "I asked what you felt, not what you think."

I could tell she meant no offense, but the words struck me off-balance regardless. After what felt like a minute, the scent of burning amber pulled me from the grip of silence. "Apprehensive."

She returned the flint to the shelf under the censer, her motions slow and reverent. The incense was a kind of prayer, an act of respect for the gods who had made their will known. "About as normal a thing to feel as any."

I could just see her grin through the shadows as she put her weight on the word normal. "I know that should make me feel better, but it doesn't."

"I'm actually surprised you agreed to this--and I'm a little surprised in myself for doing it. I've only taken on a student like you three times in the past. I always fear that the prestige of such a relationship tips the scales in my favor." She crossed her arms and watched the smoke from the censer waft up towards the ceiling, fingers of cloudy gray incense caressing the chilled night air.

"You think my decisions might not be own?" An edge crept into my voice before I could stifle it. The flicker of her eyebrows suggested she picked up on my tone, and my stomach turned cold.

She broke into a warm smile, her massive canines glinting. "I like you, Šaru. I imagine that sharpness has served you very well in the past, and I would hate to dull it. Although I will say--there will come a time when people no longer talk down to you because of your age, or because of your history as a war-orphan. A caribou knows the difference between a stablehand and a wolf, although no one blames a hunted caribou for its skittishness."

I opened my mouth, realized I had nothing to say, then closed it again. I wasn't surprised that she knew so much about me, but I felt disarmed regardless.

"There's a tradition--it's entirely optional--for priests and students before a mentorship begins." She continued.

"The bathhouse, I know." I said. Even if I didn't know, I probably could have guessed. Every kind of ritual in a temple, from coming-of-age parties to ascension into the priesthood, seemed to involve a long soak beforehand.

She chuckled. "Of course you do."

"I'd like to do it." I said, trying not to sound too eager.

"Well then, that settles that. Come." She turned towards the door leading out to temple courtyard.

Without another word, she wafted across the cella and opened the door for me. We walked into the light fall rain, our path illuminated by the faint glow of the moon through a woolen blanket of clouds.

The special bathhouse reserved for the upper priesthood was attached to, of all things, the temple library. After En-Katmiti lead me through a series of winding passages and stairways, the cobblestone walls gave way to fine wood paneling, and we found ourselves in the dressing room. We were close enough to the underground boilers to feel the heat radiating up through the floor. The priestess bent over and started to pull off her robes.

The bathhouses in the temple were divided by rank, not gender, and after nearly seven years I had no compunction about undressing in front of others--but in front of a high priestess was a different matter. If my discomfort registered with her, she said nothing. My arms refused to move until she was almost completely naked, at which point I scrambled to disrobe myself, and reached for a towel to drape around my chest just as she was turning the corner into the bathhouse.

The room smelled strongly of juniper and chokeberries, the scent carried by steam that filled the room up to the stone walls, where various erotic reliefs decorated the careful limestone masonry.

The other bathhouses didn't have those.

The bath itself was an enormous semi-circle, encompassing the entire room and large enough for fifty people to sit shoulder to shoulder, and deep enough for an adult to stand with the water just reaching their stomach. The water glistened with a soapy sheen, steam swirling on the surface. A half-dozen other priests sat huddled in the corner, talking amongst themselves. A few looked up, nodding at En-Katmiti and glancing at me. If they knew who I was, or if they thought I was a girl of the taverns hired for the night, I wasn't sure. I knew the priests who were forbidden marriage frequently turned to paid companionship. I silently wondered to myself if En-Katmiti ever did such a thing.

I tried to avert my gaze from the priestess, partly out of fear, and partly out of respect, but it became impossible once she pulled the towel off her chest and folded it by the water, her naked figure lit by dancing lamplight. I gazed at her from the corner of my eye, feeling the slightest bit of shame as I traced the stark black stripes that ran down her back. She turned and beckoned for me to join her as she stepped into the bath, her striped tail flicking playfully against the water. The decades had undoubtedly aged her well, and I felt a warm fire spark in my stomach as I allowed myself the briefest of drinks from her nude figure. I followed her lead, shakily casting aside the towel and stepping in.

The water was wonderfully warm, and as I sat down on the stone it sent a shiver up my spine. After a minute of soaking, I allowed my hand to fall away from my bare chest.

"You can call me Kat, by the way. I learned during my first mentorship that being called en all the time becomes awfully draining." She said.

"Kat." I said, too nervous to make a complete sentence. Her warmth and friendliness didn't change the lifetime of reverence that my culture had carved into me: she wasn't just a woman--she was an En. High priestess. Concubine to the gods.

"How old are you now? Twenty?" She said as she took a leather strap from her wrist and used it to tie up her hair.

"I turned eighteen two months ago."

She made a sound which she promptly covered up with a polite cough. "Širükt." She cursed. "You really did pull ahead." She turned to face me. "Turn around."

I spun around where I sat. A second later, I felt water splash over my neck and run down my back, her hands pressing into my shoulder blades as she rubbed the soapy water into my fur.

"You're a bit of a liminal creature, really." She said, "too smart to remain among your peers, too young to be thrown into adulthood."

Another shiver ran down my spine. Her touch was firm but gentle, and with each motion that flame in my stomach started to clamor for attention, telling me that those hands should explore other, softer places.

"I've been told that a lot--about the intelligence anyway. That I'm mature for my age or too wise to be a child and things like that," I said, "I always figured it was true, since I never really got along with people my age."

"Do you know what that means, when people say things like that?" She said.

I paused. "No."

"It means you were thrust into adulthood before your time. Your circumstances forbade you innocence, so you were left with no choice but maturity."

For the second time that afternoon, her words struck me off-balance. "Not that I mind, but I was expecting theology, not insight into my psyche."

Kat chuffed. "I can do theology too, you know." She cleared her throat with mock officiousness. "Before one conducts an extispicy, one must make sure that the god whose will one desires to know is in the proper place in their dwelling. If the moon goddess is waining, one must wait until..."

"I'm serious!" I said, loosening up just enough to let something playful enter my voice; her hands had shifted down to the middle of my back, the joints of her fingers grinding pleasantly into my fur.

"As am I!" She put her hands on my shoulders. "Lean back."

I hesitated, resisting as she pulled me towards her. "Not underwater. On my lap." Her grip was gentle, and as soothing as the water. I felt my muscles relax, and she pulled me down until the back of my head rested on her calf. My legs were still crossed together, and I let my left leg lazily come away from the other until it fell down to the second level of the bath's stone floor. If she hadn't gotten a proper look at me before, she certainly was now. She drew her hand across my shoulder, just below my clavicle, to brush my hair off my chest; the motion was too slow and tender, too close to the flesh of my breasts, to be anything but erotic.

The flame kindling inside my stomach billowed up to my chest.

I kept my gaze locked on the wooden trusses on the ceiling, not sure where else was appropriate to look, although a small part of me said that if she got to see me on full display, I should have the same privilege. Voices echoed across the bathhouse, and I heard water splash against tile as the others left. It was just the two of us.

I felt her shift as she reached for a clay jar by the bath, removing the lid and scooping out a handful of ground crab shell mixed with soap and sugar. She dropped the rough powder on my stomach and started to rub the soapy mix into my fur. The flame burned between my legs with a renewed intensity, a part of me wondering if I should grab her wrist and move it down to where I felt it should be.

"You've shared a bed with another, haven't you?" She said casually while both her hands worked at the soft fur under my breasts. The sensation was so overwhelming that the question had to pierce a fog to reach me.

"Yes. Sikhari and I. A few times." The earliest memory was still wonderfully vivid: our bodies writhing together, her pressing me to her chest as I did nothing more than grind into her thigh while her hands touched places that had never known the affection of another. After I finished, one of the first things she taught me was how to return the favor. "Lucky guess?" I asked, returning to the mortal realm.

"The way you hold yourself right now." She said. "Intimacy changes a person."

One of her hands ran between my sternum, pressing what was left of the soap into the space between my breasts. She then ran her hands down, past my stomach until I felt the tips of her fingers glide into the soft fur of my pubic mound. I spread my legs ever so slightly, begging her to keep going, but she stopped, then moved her hands to my sides and then back up. I failed to suppress a gasp as her fingers ran between the stripes that patterned my ribcage.

"You want some actual advice?" She asked, although she didn't wait for an answer. "Try to undo what you've learned. Try to be a kid, while you still have a chance."

"That has to be the oddest thing anyone has ever said about the priesthood."

"I wasn't aware that eighteen-year-old girls are experts on the temple." She said, a playful edge in her voice. Her hands ran up and down my shoulders, her thumbs grazing the sides of my breasts.

"You said you've only done this a few times in the past. Why?"

She didn't answer for a few seconds, and the deep breath she took was the only sign she had even heard me. She lightly drew a finger up my neck, playing with my hair.

"Any priest can pick an under-priest at the top of their class every few years and end up with a bedmate and a student. It's how the temples have done things for a very long time. It's an easy responsibility for a priest to misuse, even if the age gaps have narrowed in the last few decades. You're one of the few students I've known who I trust to handle it, and benefit from it."

I almost asked her what exactly made her think I was so special, but the list was long enough, and the topic was aggravating enough, that I decided against it. Besides, I thought, it would kill the mood.

She put her fingers under my shoulders, gently motioning for me to sit up. When I did, she put her arms under mine and hoisted me up to the rim of the bath. I let out a yelp of surprise, forgetting that she was at least a head taller than me, with decades of hard temple life to shape her. She just laughed in response, letting her hands run down my sides. My tail rippled in response, slapping wetly against the floor.

I turned around just in time to see her pull herself out as well, before she reached for my towel and draped it over my shoulders. My shame cast aside, I let my eyes freely wonder over her figure. She gripped the towel in her hands, using it to pull us together, until her muzzle was inches from mine. My breath caught in my throat just as she planted a soft kiss on the side of my muzzle. My heart was beating so loud I wondered if she could hear it.

"You can go back to your room for the night, if you wish." She said, her voice uninflected with the flirtatious air she had taken up over the last few minutes.

"I don't think that's tradition, is it?"

"Lots of things aren't tradition. I don't want you to feel pressured or--"

"No. I'd like to. There's a lecture tomorrow morning, about translating obscure logograms in old temple hymns. I'd like to make it, but I doubt the two of us will be up that late." Just calling it a night was out of the question, even if I didn't want to miss the lecture. Considering our desires, it would be little more than postponing the inevitable.

Kat draped her towel across her shoulders. "Planning to go to a lecture the day she graduates." That playful tone returned. "You are a rare breed."

We spent what seemed like ages in the changing room, the two of us naked save for the towels we halfheartedly draped over ourselves as we waited for our fur to dry enough to render clothing comfortable. As was customary, the boilers for the baths rested directly under the changing rooms, expediting the process somewhat. We managed to keep our hands to ourselves--largely because damp fur is never as fun to run one's fingers through. Instead, Kat wove tales about her early years in the temple, and her own time working under a high priest, when she was younger than me. She combed her fingers through the fur of her legs, eyes unfocused as she told me about the skirmishes after the civil war, back when I was an infant. She recounted the first moonlight rituals after the temple of Aman?ut was rebuilt, the scent of caribou blood thick in the air as they read the approval of the gods from the divine parchment of the animals' innards.

After we dried ourselves and dressed, Kat showed me to the living quarters of the high priests, yet another rare privilege.

The high priest's lodgings were scarcely larger than a dormitory; books and carefully stacked pyramids of scrolls took up two of the walls, with the rest of the space taken up by a shrine, and a bed cordoned off by silk sheet hanging from the wall. The entire room smelled faintly of juniper incense and old books.

"Please, take a seat." She said, motioning vaguely to the corner of the room. There was a bed, and a pile of cushions where, I assume, she did her reading. I took the bed.

She collapsed on the bed beside me, making a very unpriestly grunt as she pulled her feet up beside her.

I began to realize that this was the first time I would have sex with anyone other than Sikhari. We had never seen ourselves as anything other than friends that who occasionally extended our friendship into bed whenever our needs called for it--the nights we shared were blunt, unglamorous episodes of teenage lust. Kat, or at least the image I had of her in my head, seemed like the kind of person who held herself to a higher standard. Hers was an image given to me by the dozens of erotic works that lined the darkest corners of the temple library. Like so many girls, those tomes seemed to seek me out once I reached the age where one day you will understand those poems became there are things about adulthood you must understand.

Erotic poetry was an art as old as the written word itself, dating back to when language was still written with logograms on wood. The oldest works spoke--in the most transparent of metaphor--to the relationship between a high priestess and the young women she took under her wing. Even in the dawning moments of puberty, the poetic imagery of untouched forests, and fern leaves wet with morning dew, was not lost on a younger me.

"You still want to do this?" She said, her voice as patient and as warm as ever.

I realized that I had been staring into space for a noticeable amount of time.

Maybe because I was too awkward to say anything, or maybe because the desires roiled up in the bathhouse had finally seized control, I decided to skip whatever pleasantries still lay between us and turned around to put my hands on Kat's shoulders, lifting myself up until my muzzle was less than a thumb's length from hers. I hesitated, but she took the lead, putting her hands on my hips and gently urging me forward until our lips met.

For a few seconds she just held her bottom lip between the two of mine, and a fizzle of excitement gathered in my chest. She opened her mouth, and I felt her tongue press forward; I returned the gesture, cautiously letting my tongue slip across hers.

Her hands ran down to pull up my robes, and I pawed hurriedly at the fabric to pull it over my head; when the hem was up to my stomach she broke the kiss and I sat on her lap while I pulled the robes over my head head and tossed them to the floor. She smiled at me, her hands resting gently on my stomach.

I took the collar of her robe in my hands. "Can I?"

She nodded; her eyes locked with mine. She lifted her hands for me as I pulled the silky black fabric up and off.

She was even more beautiful close up, and it took every mote of self-restraint I had not to let my hands reach for every part of her body all at once. She leaned back, resting her arms behind her.

"Where would you like to start?" The corners of her mouth flicked upwards. "Only proper to let the youngest guide matters like this."

Desire burned like wildfire between my legs as I let my head come to rest by her neck, my ragged breaths making the delicate fur of her clavicle shake. She traced a finger down my back, coming to rest at the base of my tail.

Too impatient to climb around our tangle of limbs, I leaned down and took her right breast in my hand and dragged my tongue across the hard flesh of her nipple. She inhaled sharply, and I felt the claws on her hand unsheathe themselves ever so slightly on my rump. Her breasts had a softness that I found completely delightful, and I squeezed ever so gently as Kat's thigh came to rest between my legs. Without thinking, I started to grind into her, my legs squeezing hers as I contorted myself until I felt the plush fur of her body glide against me. My hands left her breasts to wrap around her chest, and I squeezed her so tight I expected her to protest. She just kissed the top of my forehead, cooing softly.

"Here." She said, putting her hands on my shoulders and lifting me away from her. I obeyed, letting her guide my motions until she had lifted me up to place my breasts against her muzzle. One of her hands ran down my stomach and came to rest between my legs, her middle finger gently pressing into the cleft between my labia. My hips started to press down to meet her touch.

"This okay?" She said, lifting her muzzle to whisper into my ear.

In response I pushed my hips down just a little harder. "Keep going."

Her fingers expertly danced across my flesh, dipping in and out of me, rubbing in the right places but never for too long; she pulled me to the brink and back, then again, and again, until my legs couldn't hold my own weight. She finally let me fall, my claws piercing the sheets and my teeth buried in her shoulder.

I shakily tried to pull myself up onto my hands, eager to return what had been given.

"Take your time." She said, her normally unflappable tone inflected with just the littlest bit of lust.

I crawled down her figure, drinking in the softness and the curves until I was far enough to press my nose into the wiry forest of fur above her pubic mound, the black curls interrupted by a few loose strands of gray. I took in her scent, my head hazy. She said nothing, but ran a hand through my hair. I continued on, moving lower, and lower.

Everything about her was different from Sikhari--her scent, her taste, the contours of her flesh that I devoured with my tongue and let slip across my lips. I could tell she was holding back, perhaps out of experience, or perhaps out of the decorum demanded by her station.

Finally she put her hands on the back of my head and pressed down; it was the first forceful thing she had done all afternoon, but it was enough to egg me on, to lash my tongue across the spots where I knew it needed to go. At last her body stiffened, her thighs shaking beside my head.

Afterwards she pulled me up until I came to rest my head on her chest, her hand gently petting the curve of my hip as our bodies recovered from everything we had expended: a share of our energy, our life-forces, libated onto our tongues, sheets and hands, as an offering to the goddess of lust.

She reached for a sheepskin blanket and pulled it over the two of us, and the rest of the night slipped away into oblivion.

I awoke to the scent of salmonberry tea, and something fried in caribou fat, presumably acorn cakes. I wiped the haze of sleep from my eyes and sat up, pulling the blankets over my chest.

Kat pulled aside the silk drape separating the bed from the rest of her room and handed me a plate, the cup of tea balanced delicately between acorn cakes and a knife-sized helping of goat cheese sprinkled with dried herbs.

"You sleep like a bear in winter." She said as she crawled into bed next to me, sitting cross legged with her own plate of food.

"I think I have last night to thank for that." I said sheepishly. I took a few sips of tea, my body still acclimating to wakefulness.

"I feel as though I should take that as a compliment." She said.

"You should." I said, shooting her a flirtatious grin. She smiled and scooted a bit closer to me, touching her shoulder to mine.

I glanced out the window. The sun was up, meaning it was relatively late in the day. "What time is it?"

"Noon. A fringe benefit of my position here is that I can ask the longhouse to make me breakfast at any time of day."

"Ah. The lecture. It's probably starting now." I said, half-heartedly.

"Good. You're learning already." She said.

I looked at her, sensing a certain smugness I couldn't decipher.

"I told you. Nothing good comes from acting like an adult before you need to."

"So you're telling me I should spend the next year in bed lying about?"

"That's up to you, although based on last night I certainly wouldn't say no. What I am saying is this: if a merchant places too much on the back of a pack-caribou for too long, he will injure it, and an injured caribou, no matter how hearty, is worse than no caribou. Life has placed a great deal on your back, and it is perhaps of greater import to shake that weight off, rather than to continue on."

I merely nodded. I small part of me wanted to disregard what she had said, for it sounded like the fawning, well-meaning concern I had heard from so many others, but to hear it from her was different. I took another glance out the window; the days this time of year were short, to waste one such day, or a dozen, was perhaps just as reverent as to spend it carefully, but perhaps that reverence was in service of a different kind of god. Kat pulled up the sheets to rest a hand on my leg. I reached down and pulled her hand inwards until I felt her fingers against the soft fur on my inner thigh.