The terms were clear, however coded. With a blanket of leaves wet beneath us, our mother sang our waiting still––with the marten nearby, and the woodrat.
And in the blanket of leaves wet beneath us when they moved the call was clear––hers and the owl’s. With the martens nearby, the woodrat knew, as we did, to resist the ways some others moved.
The call was clear and liquid in the moonlight, and the others moving would blame the daughters for waiting in the leaves, as we did––to resist speaking, until it was time.