"Ahinawake, but you can call me Anna if it is easier." She pushed herself off the door and took several steps into the cabin so the man could get by her.
He ducked through the door and suddenly the already small room seemed even smaller. He was a very large man, and she wasn\'t exactly a petite waif herself, so she retreated to her bed to sit cross-legged upon it once again.
Still watching him, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and started running the brush through the strands made wavy by the braid she\'d had it in.
Across from the bed on the farthest side of the cabin was a fireplace. The space in between had only a few pieces of furniture: two chairs and a table, a wash basin (with a bar of soap on its edge), and the nightstand next to her bed. The wooden walls were bare save for one framed picture of a mountainous landscape. Her boots were tucked under her bed, socks stuffed inside, and on the table was a freshly woven basket, pieces of what looked like dried reed scattered around it. Hung on one of the chairs was a leather satchel, worn buttery soft with age.
Other than those few things, the cabin was empty. She had no other belongings.
"What\'s your name?" she asked, pausing in the rhythmic motions of brushing her hair to rest her forearms lightly on her thighs, her hands dangling in the space above her crossed ankles.
