He knew the names of everyone who had worn those stones, each dead wrist from which he'd taken them at Cartenau. K'ile could remember the way the stone on his wrist had resonated with K'ada's, flickering in rhythm with her own as they danced. The stone had glowed on her wrist after she'd died. It had left a circular burn on her pallid skin when he'd pulled it over, and continued to burn until he'd joined it to the others and danced with them. It was as though the stones themselves had mourned. It was as though the souls that clung to them had wanted to dance.
K'ile did not resist the K'jhanhi, letting him take the stones. But he did speak, with a bite, "Who will dance with them? Who knows how? K'yohko can't even smile for his own children, let alone dance for the tribe. Who will dance for the feast?"
K'ile did not resist the K'jhanhi, letting him take the stones. But he did speak, with a bite, "Who will dance with them? Who knows how? K'yohko can't even smile for his own children, let alone dance for the tribe. Who will dance for the feast?"
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