“That’s the whole thing, though. That’s why I sell things at the market. I don’t want to be just a female. Or a mate, or whatever.” She says it slowly, as if she’s working it out in her head as she speaks. “I want my own thing.” There are responses on the tip of my tongue. Of course she feels this way. She thought she was mateless. She had to make peace with her lot. She doesn’t need mushrooms anymore. She’s my mate.
