that.
Watching my father was a little bit like watching a spoiled child who got excited when things went his way but threw a tantrum when they didnât. For the first half of the summer things had gone his way. Now, on this ridiculous expedition to Annapolis Royal, they werenât.
Chapter Eighteen
T he warmth of summer faded like a fire going out. It became wet, windy and cold. The troughs that cut through the swamp lost what little dryness they had gained over the summer and became shallow streams of water and mud. But inside Two-feathersâ tunnels he was able to stay mostly dry. This was the muskrat world â damp, slippery passages of mud between dens, and a dark, recessed cave in which to dry out.
The wet mud was a challenge for Two-feathers, especially as the weather turned colder. In fact, this combination of wetness, cold and wind was a scourge to all furless creatures. In some ways the winter was easier because, though it was colder, it was drier as a rule, and the ground was frozen. Autumn in the swamp, with its incessant rain, was a miserable time.
But Two-feathers had created a refuge of dryness, and he thanked the muskrat spirit many times for showing him how to live in the swamp properly. The tunnel floors, which would have become impassably slippery with the water he carried in himself, he lined with branches and birch bark. Inside each entrance he kept sticks for scraping off the mud that collected on his arms and legs.
Fire making became much more difficult in the rain and rising troughs. He reserved one den just for this purpose. It was intentionally unconnected to the tunnel system so that, should it ever be discovered, it would not lead his enemies anywhere. At the opening of this den he constructed an elaborate fire and canopy system made out of logs, stones, boughs and bark. The fires were built on an elevated platform, above the running water but below the swamp surface, and the smoke rose and spread out thinly, so as not to be seen from the distance. He only lit fires at night, when the smoke would be invisible.
In the flickering light of a late-night fire, while the rain beat down outside, Two-feathers sat comfortably in his fire-den entrance and began to fashion two necklaces from the bearâs claws. The one with the largest claws he made for himself. The smaller one he made for the girl of the rainbow. He didnât intend to visit her until his wounds had healed more. His chest looked like the troughs that cut through the swamp, and he didnât want to frighten her.
Cutting thin strips of leather from the bearâs skin he punctured holes in the claws with the point of a sharpened stone, smoothed them by rubbing them with soft stone, then fitted the leather through. In between he added coloured stones that he had been collecting for years. When they were done, the necklaces would sing the bearâs praises, telling of its courage and generosity. And they would be beautiful.
He also wanted to wait because he was sore and feared that the strenuous work of climbing in and around the bluecoatsâ village would open his wounds again. So for several more days he sat and rested comfortably in his den, fashioning the necklaces and sewing his winter coat and leggings while the rain came down and the wind blew in from the sea.
The day he decided to see her he went for a swim in the ocean. The water was very cold but good for his wounds, and he wanted to wash the smell of mud from his body. He washed his hair, cleaned his nails, filed them with a stone, and rubbed the spruce gum from his hands. Smelling like the woods, not the swamp, he hung both necklaces around his neck and went to see her.
Getting inside the leaderâs house was easier than before. The guards had loosened their attention and become less careful. Two-feathers felt a change in the energy of the village, though he didnât know why. It was mid autumn; the air was colder, the days shorter. But it
Watching my father was a little bit like watching a spoiled child who got excited when things went his way but threw a tantrum when they didnât. For the first half of the summer things had gone his way. Now, on this ridiculous expedition to Annapolis Royal, they werenât.
Chapter Eighteen
T he warmth of summer faded like a fire going out. It became wet, windy and cold. The troughs that cut through the swamp lost what little dryness they had gained over the summer and became shallow streams of water and mud. But inside Two-feathersâ tunnels he was able to stay mostly dry. This was the muskrat world â damp, slippery passages of mud between dens, and a dark, recessed cave in which to dry out.
The wet mud was a challenge for Two-feathers, especially as the weather turned colder. In fact, this combination of wetness, cold and wind was a scourge to all furless creatures. In some ways the winter was easier because, though it was colder, it was drier as a rule, and the ground was frozen. Autumn in the swamp, with its incessant rain, was a miserable time.
But Two-feathers had created a refuge of dryness, and he thanked the muskrat spirit many times for showing him how to live in the swamp properly. The tunnel floors, which would have become impassably slippery with the water he carried in himself, he lined with branches and birch bark. Inside each entrance he kept sticks for scraping off the mud that collected on his arms and legs.
Fire making became much more difficult in the rain and rising troughs. He reserved one den just for this purpose. It was intentionally unconnected to the tunnel system so that, should it ever be discovered, it would not lead his enemies anywhere. At the opening of this den he constructed an elaborate fire and canopy system made out of logs, stones, boughs and bark. The fires were built on an elevated platform, above the running water but below the swamp surface, and the smoke rose and spread out thinly, so as not to be seen from the distance. He only lit fires at night, when the smoke would be invisible.
In the flickering light of a late-night fire, while the rain beat down outside, Two-feathers sat comfortably in his fire-den entrance and began to fashion two necklaces from the bearâs claws. The one with the largest claws he made for himself. The smaller one he made for the girl of the rainbow. He didnât intend to visit her until his wounds had healed more. His chest looked like the troughs that cut through the swamp, and he didnât want to frighten her.
Cutting thin strips of leather from the bearâs skin he punctured holes in the claws with the point of a sharpened stone, smoothed them by rubbing them with soft stone, then fitted the leather through. In between he added coloured stones that he had been collecting for years. When they were done, the necklaces would sing the bearâs praises, telling of its courage and generosity. And they would be beautiful.
He also wanted to wait because he was sore and feared that the strenuous work of climbing in and around the bluecoatsâ village would open his wounds again. So for several more days he sat and rested comfortably in his den, fashioning the necklaces and sewing his winter coat and leggings while the rain came down and the wind blew in from the sea.
The day he decided to see her he went for a swim in the ocean. The water was very cold but good for his wounds, and he wanted to wash the smell of mud from his body. He washed his hair, cleaned his nails, filed them with a stone, and rubbed the spruce gum from his hands. Smelling like the woods, not the swamp, he hung both necklaces around his neck and went to see her.
Getting inside the leaderâs house was easier than before. The guards had loosened their attention and become less careful. Two-feathers felt a change in the energy of the village, though he didnât know why. It was mid autumn; the air was colder, the days shorter. But it
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