As you bore your eyes into hers you feel the glyph of Return tugging you back to a cliff overlooking the camp grounds, you let the glyph run its cours... and teleport to the rocky overhead. At your return the Feeders rocket off towards the campgrounds, fifty pale figures fly overhead the gusts of air tossing your hair. Black streaks paint the sky, shrieks echoing into the night, the Feeding has begun. The Feedlings fly low, and lethal, bombarding the ground below with glyphs of Hate, crackling. For some years she had hidden her figure under tunics of rough cloth as she matured and her slow development had been of benefit to her much as it was a source of mirth to the boys of the village. Since reaching her sixteenth birthday the ripe swelling of her breasts had become obvious even under the loosest of clothing and she knew also that the boys of the village would hide in the bushes that surrounded the women’s bathing place down by the river to watch and to see the thick bush of her own. More

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