Your part in the whole of things

A Devon sort of pony from a Darwin point of view via Wikimedia

"For a boy no higher than the back of a horse Hand took things serious and knew what to be serious about." It's important to get the words right, Hillary Storm, confessed the storyteller. She, the storyteller, was persnickety about details when it came to words. Since this was a story meant especially for Hillary Storm she back tracked just a little.
"Hand was a boy no higher than the back of a horse, that was in fact, a pony."
"A very specific sort of pony!" Hillary Storm was not a girl to wait as you might already perceive even at this fresh point of our story.
"Yes, Hillary Storm, Hand was a boy no higher than the back of a Devonshire pony. So he was in fact a rather diminutive boy for someone nearly twice seven."

It was at this point, and then again at other points, when Hillary Storm imitated the face-making and posturing of the storyteller. She was joining in, and THAT is the most important part ... a part taken most seriously and sillerously. Story told and heard jiggled the words like beans being shaken on split reeds. Too heavy with water, the bean, as a story, will not keep through the winter. A moldy bean is not eatable for most humans wound with hare. So best to know your part in the whole of things...

Here is the next part.

Count by seven

She was quiet. Her brother was not. The tiny sister no bigger than a bird squirmed in her momma's belly. She would arrive hollering. The season was turning and doing it with great speed.

"Wind's already coming north. Before long he will blow deep and cold." Hand was a talker but he was good with his sightings, too. "We'll need to be sure beans are good and dry, and the corn picked before the rains come again." For a boy no higher than the back of a horse Hand took things serious and knew what to be serious about. Winter would be cold and wet, and without storing food it would be a hungry time as well.

Shore kept her eyes on the swift movement of clouds, shaking the baskets of split reeds to make the beans rattle. Still heavy with water, the beans made a thud instead of a splat. "Hope we get at least 'nother week of warm."

"Think'n we will, we got the charms in place, just right this time, Hand wrinkled his dark brown nose and jumped a foot in the air like the master hare he was. "Just right this time/no worries my dear/the feathers be set/and the jewels disappear/one,two,three,four ...Shore finished ...five,six,seven/" Beings such as these prairie children with the shimmer of hare winding tight and sure in their bones counted by seven to make life solid.

"To make life solid?"
"Yes, that's the way hare and human beings wrap their ways together. Now, if you interrupt me again, and so early on, the story will be ever ever more long."
"How much long er will the story be if I interrupt you again?"
"It might be a toenail or a boar's tusk long, but if we keep talking something worst than long will happen. And you know you won't be wanting that, Hillary Storm."
"You mean you'll forget and then get it wrong."
The storyteller nodded ... Hillary Storm nodded.

The story went on.