K'takka stepped back from K'mih, and the shadows of the tent seemed to reach towards her. Dark as though light had never fallen on that part of the tent, they slid like oil down the crags of her face and over her shoulders. One shivering claw stabbed through the viscid air to point at the gem K'mih had just accepted."That stone is no mere treasure. It is the most precious thing to ever touch your hand. It is ancient, and irreplaceable. The dance is neither just a dance, nor just a ritual, do you understand?"
The shape of the elder drooped low among her pillows, spreading out as though she were made of sand. Except for the silver glow of her eyes and the golden fringe of the pillow she clutched to her chest, she was the color of ink. "You hold the very spirit of the tribe, and you must learn to let it inside of you. To portray it, so that it can be plainly observed. When I watch you dance, it should be the same as if I were seeing my mother dance again. As though the very first huntress of the Hipparion were guiding your hands."
The shape of the elder drooped low among her pillows, spreading out as though she were made of sand. Except for the silver glow of her eyes and the golden fringe of the pillow she clutched to her chest, she was the color of ink. "You hold the very spirit of the tribe, and you must learn to let it inside of you. To portray it, so that it can be plainly observed. When I watch you dance, it should be the same as if I were seeing my mother dance again. As though the very first huntress of the Hipparion were guiding your hands."
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