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Katara came back after another night’s work. She set her coat upon a chair and, through the maze of crates and stashes, walked into the rear of the hut. She massaged her hands; they ached, nimble yet sore, they craved a night of rest. But as long as she was that tribe’s bender it was her responsibility to do the job.

She took a lantern that dangled by a chain and set it atop a table by the mattress.

Yes, if there was another girl, then the workload would not be so rough. But what could be done? Retire? Quit? Impossible! It had to be done. For tradition. For the stability of the tribe. Boys, of such need and of such virility, it would be a disaster to the social order and harmony if she failed.

And, anyway, she liked it. No. She more than liked it.

The boys were so different and she enjoyed getting to know all of the details. The peculiarities. It was a very intimate thing despite its utilitarian and, even, its mechanistic nature. Any other ordinary girl would have grown tired of it but not Katara.

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