Here it was. The basket entered her new house and the mechanism at the top swung it the half foot and brought it to rest on the platform. She peeked down over the side one last time. It wasn't the hundred foot drop to the forest floor below that gave her pause, she'd spent her entire life in the houses, open walkways, and bridges her people built into the trees, but the sight of the ground below. If her new family didn't fall victim to great misfortune tradition dictated she would never touch ground again, spending the rest of her life within these trees.<br/><br/>She forced herself to look away, to the Mother Wife and her gaggle of children who reminded Sheira so much of her own mother it gave her the courage to climb out of her basket and start her new life.<br/><br/>Once free of the basket it was obvious why Sheira had been chosen. She was short statured and light framed like a dancer, sweet and open youthful face behind wispy blonde hair. She looked as airy and soft as the nearly sheer white cloth tied around her torso to just barely cover her breasts and around her narrow hips to just barley cover enough to keep her decent. She looked back at the mother with quiet, thoughtful, eyes while her lips slowly found an equally soft smile.<br/><br/>In a world where survival was paid for in blood, sweat, and strength she was delicate and soft and comforting.<br/><br/>"Moon bless out meeting." She greeted the mother in return and risked a smile for the children. She wasn't sure how far "not permitted to work" went when it came for caring for children but kindness could hurt. "All of our meetings." She looked back to the mother. She was raised to trust mother wives and wanted the comfort that brought her in these strange times. "I'm afraid I don't know what is expected of me. Do you? I was told I would be called for when I was wanted but I don't know where to go until then. The bower?"