By Robert Adams
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Additional info for A Woman of the Horseclans: A Horseclans Novel
But how . ” Bettylou half-whispered to herself in consternation. Then, aloud, she asked, “Please, Elder Morai, did . . could I have struck my head when I fell? Though your lips never moved, I could have . . I . . ” Bettylou saw broad smiles appear both on the face of Elder Morai and on that freckled one of the auburn-haired younger man. Then, although his lips were unmoving still, the Elder was once more speaking . . no, not really speaking. But she could hear no, not really hear, but she knew exactly what he was saying .
Never fear, you saw him first, so you’ll get the pelt if the Elder doesn’t want it. You know I’ll look out for my oldest friend, don’t you? ” Chapter II In the close darkness of the horse barn, with straw under her bare feet and the short, wiry, odd-smelling man beside her, poor Bettylou Hanson felt no fear, only a numb, dumb acceptance that what would here befall her would surely befall her. The man still held her arm clasped firmly in one hand, but he did not grasp so lightly as to hurl her. Then she felt his other hand rove lingeringly over her swelling breasts, then move downward, stopping and resting upon the distension of her abdomen.
This accomplished, the raiders posted guards, gathered wood, built a fire and finished dressing the sheep carcass for cooking. Bettylou noted how carefully the inedible portions of the sheep were retained — The stomach bags and the large intestines emptied of contents, turned inside out and washed in the brook, thicker, longer sinews painstakingly separated from bones and muscles, scraped and washed, then hung up on branches to air-dry; the small, pointed, black hooves were put aside and the inner surface of the hide was scraped clean of clinging bits of fat and flesh.
A Woman of the Horseclans: A Horseclans Novel by Robert Adams