The woman stalked through the forest.
She had not worn a name in many years, and could not, precisely, remember what she had been called when she had landed here.
She spent her time, her attention, worrying about more real concerns: She had to eat, and to eat, she had to hunt. She needed shelter, sometimes, and for that she needed to build. She needed, more rarely, companionship, and for that she needed to speak to the fur-hunters who also worked her forests.
“Wild girl,” they called her, and chasseuse sauvage, and fourreuse de forêt, and more pleasant names. They paid her in trinkets and good food for the furs she brought them, and gave her company without asking questions.
And none of them asked about her ears, which perked above her twisted hair like a deer’s.
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