Usha keeps insisting I'm awful young to have my pouch full, and while I may indeed be young, I think she worries too much. I've my family here, they know how this is done.

"What will you do when she outgrows the pouch?" she asks and in her voice I hear my mother. She hunts my daughter from between her feet and holds her like a fruit as she inspects her.

"Put her on the redhorn and send her to fetch water," I jest, "no, she'll stay with my cousin when I hunt."

There's a short hum of acknowledgement. The giant lets my child back down and turns her eyes toward the skies. "It's funny," she starts, "where I'm from we share pouches with the father. When I first came here I thought you'd be the same, that perhaps you'd lost your partner, but no." She looks at me and sighs, turning her gaze to the distance. "Instead he's just... one of the nameless faces out there."

My gaze joins hers in the distance. Beneath me my daughter dives back into my pouch, her weight rocking my body in the process. I take a breath to speak but words refuse to leave me. I think of the faces I've shared my nights with and I think of the face tucked within my pouch, and finally my breath leaves my mouth.

"He does have a name."