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Hillmen
The little hut was dark. A window would have been far too difficult to keep sealed in winter, welcome as its air and light might have been in summer. The only openings were a small smokehole in the middle of the ceiling and the doorway, covered with a large hide. Although, the wind always seemed to find cracks and crevices in the walls. Here, ensconced in the least drafty corner of the hut sat a small boy, his leg bound in the softest skins his mother had been able to lay hands on. Here also was a little girl, two years older, halfway finished weaving a lopsided basket with already calloused fingers. She looked at her brother, who was staring at some point in the middle of the room, and asked, "Does it hurt?"
A nod.
"A lot?"
Another nod.
"You're not crying anymore," she pointed out.
Yet another nod, followed by, " 'Cause I'm a man." The words 'you idiot' were left unspoken.
"You're not a man yet," Rain contradicted. "You're still a little boy."
"But I'm gonna be a man."
His sister considered this for a moment, then shrugged. He did have a point.
"And," Flint added, "I'm gonna be just like Unca Wolf."
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