Sol's hand hooked into the waistband of her woven trousers. He pulled downwards, intending to strip her bare and expose the prize he had been working towards.
Lyra's hand shot back, gripping his wrist with unexpected strength.
"No!" she gasped, her body locking up. "Sol, stop! Not here!"
Sol frowned, tugging again, but she held fast. "Aunt, the treatment requires direct contact. The energy cannot flow through this weave."
"We cannot be naked here!" she pleaded, pressing her face into the furs, her voice tight with genuine fear. "This is the Hearth... the Ancestor's soil! To bare one's lower half where we eat... it is forbidden! The spirits will curse us!"
Sol grit his teeth hard. DamnSuperstition.
