Free The Feverbird's Claw by Jane Kurtz

left, but one hovered near the door to watch her eat. Moralin said Jaysha, the Arkera greeting. The child gave her the briefest smile, fish-quick and gone. The next time she came she told Moralin her name was Ooden.
    They started by pointing. At first everything made Ooden smile shyly. But Moralin was determined, and she learned rapidly. “Eye.” “Head.” “Nose.” Ooden’s hands fluttered, acting out something deep inside that could rise out through the head. “Spirit?” Ooden took a stick and drew a family. Amma —that was “mother.” Abbat. “Father.” “Brother.” “Sister.” Moralin slowly became used to studying the little girl’s face and not looking away.
    â€œCan I leave here?” Moralin walked her fingers along the ground.
    No. Ooden leaped up to block the doorway, showing that the warriors would come with their sticks.
    â€œPot.” “Stream.” “River”—a little to the east. Using gestures, Moralin managed to describe reeds that she had seen by the stream. When Ooden brought the reeds to her, she wove them into a small cage.
    The next time the tiny animal sat nearby, nibbling at a bit of fruit, Moralin scooped it up into the cage. From then on she had something to talk to during the long, boring stretches when she was alone. She stroked its smoke-gray softness. She spoke to the animal only in Arkera. At night she drifted to sleep saying Arkera words. One night she dreamed in Arkera and woke smiling.

C HAPTER
TEN
    W HEN THEY RAN OUT OF THINGS TO POINT to in the hut, Ooden brought something new with her each time. Or with her finger she made pictures in the dirt. Something to do with amma and abbat ? Moralin felt a surge of satisfaction the day she figured out a word that Ooden often said. “Ancestors.”
    Words of movement and being were harder. Ooden acted things out. Words built on words. Once Moralin had learned “beast” and “warrior,” Ooden taught her “fear” and “courage,” giggling as she acted out the menacing beast and brave warrior.
    Other words were exasperating. “Bad” was easy. But what was this other one? Worse than bad? “Evil?” Many phrases Moralin couldn’t translate precisely but gradually thought she understood. “I like it.” “I don’t like it.” One phrase seemed to be used the way the Delagua said, “Mark it well.”
    Moralin began to put words into sentences. Experimenting. “Girl grows into woman,” she said. Ooden clapped her hands with excitement, then offered a small correction. Moralin tried again.
    Ooden kissed her on both cheeks. “This girl now has it exactly right.”
    One day Moralin pointed at the designs painted on the girl’s stomach. “What are these?” At first, Ooden just giggled. When Moralin coaxed, Ooden gave some brief explanation. The only words Moralin recognized were “plant” and “work.” She sighed and gestured for Ooden to try again.
    â€œVery soon …” Ooden rattled on. “Moon.” “Fire.” Ooden pulled out her bottom lip between two fingers, tugging at it. “Courage.” Was she talking about some kind of ceremony?
    Moralin pointed at herself. “Can I”—she gestured to show that she meant “go through,” in Delagua, she finished—“this initiation or whatever it is?”
    Ooden frowned. “The ancestors don’t like that.”
    â€œBut …” Moralin groaned with frustration. Sometimes she thought she was doing so well, and then she remembered everything she didn’t know. Finally she simply said, “Give it to me?” The girl’s eyes flicked to her face and then away. She stood up and ran out.
    Ooden did not come back. Moralin missed her quick smile and hopping ways. Now that she had decided to live, she ached to see sun, to bathe in a