Feli growled beneath the stranger as she fought to free herself. Her stomach trembled at the sound vibrating from her chest as the memory of her mother's throaty menace mixed with the strange churning of fear and determination that fueled her struggles. Her mother's growl had been one of chastisement when Feli snatched meat from her father's beard, and... And... By the fire, under a low, swollen moon, her mother and her father tied to each other, arms and legs, hair and teeth. She'd heard that growl then, too, from her mother, low, a trill of throat that intrigued Feli as flesh smacked sweaty flesh in rising rhythm, nails clawed, tumbling and wrestling until her father shouted a cry to the skies before their paired movement stilled. Her mother fed the earth now, but the offering of her life did not stop the merciless sun or the early snow, and only that rumbling from her throat was given to Feli. The sun stole the water, turned the grass hills to dust and then the snow fell, thick and white and cruel. The dry seasons took her people one by one. Babes cried and thin men fought until blood stained the rocks and turned the dust to black mud. She stilled, willing her heart to calm, binding her breath like she might a wayward lamb. The man on top of her pulled her hands together over her head and Feli did not resist. She looked beyond him to the sky, to the stars that decorated the night, looked to the crescent and received ivory strength in the fresh streams of light that reached her beneath the edge of the massive oak's limbs. Sharp enough to cut, hard enough to stand, soft enough to shape, smooth enough to comfort, warm enough to desire. Was that not her? His free hand gripped the doeskin and yanked it ov...