Sheira didn't know what to expect. She had thought she... well she hadn't had all the answers, only the gods did, but she had been on a path to having a *lot* of answers. Training as an herb wife was for the intelligent and quick witted and curious and she'd thought she'd have a couple more years at least in training before being given a husband. Then the tribe's hearth wife had read in the signs that she was to be this year's bed wife and then...<br/><br/>Well here she was, walking between her old clan's spear wife and the tribe chief's spear wife as they delivered her to her new clan. There would be no large celebration, no marriage ceremony and godly offerings, not even the humble celebratory meal of a broom wife. She was an honor upon the clan, not an honor on herself, her life and service was for her new clan.<br/><br/>She wished she had more training than the lip service paid to bed wives she'd heard over the years. Her Mother had told her this was the way, that no time for training could be given as all clans would seek to claim her as their's once she was announced but she wasn't entirely comfortable with being thrown into this mess with no training.<br/><br/>Well. That was one of many reasons she wasn't comfortable with this mess.<br/><br/>Still here she was, entering the clan's clearing, doing as she'd been told to before hand to go to sit in the basket used to raise goods to the treetops. She was a slight girl of eighteen, willowy and fair, not meant or muscled for combat. The two who had brought her here had little difficulty pulling the rope that would raise her, and the basket, to her new home and whoever waited there to greet her. It was supposed to just be the Mother Wife, she'd meet the others as they finished their duties for the day, but who knew who'd actually come to see the newest arrival.