case it would be a desolate end for a mother’s son. Her hopes had been buoyed high upon Gontra’s admission that Pell — believe it or not, Donte’s own son — had in fact been the one to reduce his dislocated finger.
The ability to perform such miracles was a Spirit given gift that could make you welcome in any tribe, even if you were an abysmal hunter—even such an abysmal hunter that a mother would recognize the lack of skill in her own son. Donte’s high hopes had been dashed repeatedly on the stones of disbelief. This was, after all, the boy she had raised for thirteen summers, always watching for the signs of the distinction that a mother hopes for in her child, yet, being honest with herself, never seeing it.
Pell had been a scrawny, clumsy child, and though initially friendly, after many beatings at the hands of his tormentor, Denit, he had become fearful and shy. Only the similarly afflicted Boro had remained as Pell’s friend. Nonetheless, Donte had loved her son and had still hoped against hope that he would prove to have some distinctive skill. If not skill as a hunter, then something else that would prove his worth. When Tando had asked her to take him to Pell, she had begun praying to all the spirits that she knew of. Praying for a miracle that she didn’t truly believe could occur. On edge when Tando first asked Pell to reduce the wrist, horrified when Tando became angry at Pell’s initial poking, relieved when Pell calmly reassured Tando, then finally and desperately disappointed when Pell’s attempt failed—Donte’s emotions had whipsawed back and forth so brutally that she had stumbled back into the bushes where she emptied her stomach violently on the ground.
Seeking solace in a familiar routine, she set out to gather wood. While dully and tediously collecting a leather strap full of dry sticks, Donte had arrived at the conclusion that she must stay in Cold Springs Ravine with her son. Her son couldn’t possibly survive without her, and she couldn’t bear to rejoin the Aldans with Tando. With a crippled Tando, and with word certain to get out that, not only had Pell crippled the marvelous hunter that had been Tando, but that her son had tried and, of course, failed to amend the damage he had wrought.
She arrived back at the little clearing below Pell’s shelter with a leaden cloud of despair, ready to find Tando hostile and angry . She searched for words to brace Pell’s spirits. Her load of wood clattered to the ground. As if struck dead by the Spirits, Pell and Tando both lay inanimate at the edge of the stream! Donte cried out, rushing to them. Then her heart leapt with joy as Pell rose on one elbow to look towar d her. She stumbled to a halt, “What happened? Are you OK? What’s wrong with Tando?”
Pell grimaced, “Yes, I’m fine. I think Tando will be OK too; he’s just had too much hemp. His wrist did go back in place though.”
Donte turned wildly to look at Tando’s wrist. It was extensively bound to Pell’s piece of driftwood and thus almost completely hidden from view by the leather straps. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the grotesque deformity that had been present for the past two days was gone! Donte felt little prickles in her scalp and, lightheaded but still staring at Tando’s arm, she sat down w ith a “whump.” T ears stream ed freely down her face. Pell got up and moved to her side, “Are you OK?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, clinging to her son, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Chapter T hree
When Tando regained consciousness sufficiently, Pell and Donte helped him stumble back up to the little campsite under the overhang. Tando's arm had swollen further and Pell saw that the leather straps were biting into his flesh. He carefully loosened them one at a time , worrying that the bones would slip back out of place. He wished he knew what herbs the medicine men used in the leafy compresses that they said kept swelling down.
While Pell sat fretting
The ability to perform such miracles was a Spirit given gift that could make you welcome in any tribe, even if you were an abysmal hunter—even such an abysmal hunter that a mother would recognize the lack of skill in her own son. Donte’s high hopes had been dashed repeatedly on the stones of disbelief. This was, after all, the boy she had raised for thirteen summers, always watching for the signs of the distinction that a mother hopes for in her child, yet, being honest with herself, never seeing it.
Pell had been a scrawny, clumsy child, and though initially friendly, after many beatings at the hands of his tormentor, Denit, he had become fearful and shy. Only the similarly afflicted Boro had remained as Pell’s friend. Nonetheless, Donte had loved her son and had still hoped against hope that he would prove to have some distinctive skill. If not skill as a hunter, then something else that would prove his worth. When Tando had asked her to take him to Pell, she had begun praying to all the spirits that she knew of. Praying for a miracle that she didn’t truly believe could occur. On edge when Tando first asked Pell to reduce the wrist, horrified when Tando became angry at Pell’s initial poking, relieved when Pell calmly reassured Tando, then finally and desperately disappointed when Pell’s attempt failed—Donte’s emotions had whipsawed back and forth so brutally that she had stumbled back into the bushes where she emptied her stomach violently on the ground.
Seeking solace in a familiar routine, she set out to gather wood. While dully and tediously collecting a leather strap full of dry sticks, Donte had arrived at the conclusion that she must stay in Cold Springs Ravine with her son. Her son couldn’t possibly survive without her, and she couldn’t bear to rejoin the Aldans with Tando. With a crippled Tando, and with word certain to get out that, not only had Pell crippled the marvelous hunter that had been Tando, but that her son had tried and, of course, failed to amend the damage he had wrought.
She arrived back at the little clearing below Pell’s shelter with a leaden cloud of despair, ready to find Tando hostile and angry . She searched for words to brace Pell’s spirits. Her load of wood clattered to the ground. As if struck dead by the Spirits, Pell and Tando both lay inanimate at the edge of the stream! Donte cried out, rushing to them. Then her heart leapt with joy as Pell rose on one elbow to look towar d her. She stumbled to a halt, “What happened? Are you OK? What’s wrong with Tando?”
Pell grimaced, “Yes, I’m fine. I think Tando will be OK too; he’s just had too much hemp. His wrist did go back in place though.”
Donte turned wildly to look at Tando’s wrist. It was extensively bound to Pell’s piece of driftwood and thus almost completely hidden from view by the leather straps. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the grotesque deformity that had been present for the past two days was gone! Donte felt little prickles in her scalp and, lightheaded but still staring at Tando’s arm, she sat down w ith a “whump.” T ears stream ed freely down her face. Pell got up and moved to her side, “Are you OK?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, clinging to her son, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Chapter T hree
When Tando regained consciousness sufficiently, Pell and Donte helped him stumble back up to the little campsite under the overhang. Tando's arm had swollen further and Pell saw that the leather straps were biting into his flesh. He carefully loosened them one at a time , worrying that the bones would slip back out of place. He wished he knew what herbs the medicine men used in the leafy compresses that they said kept swelling down.
While Pell sat fretting
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