might say the wrong things. I want them to think that someone else lives with us, a man who may come back -'
'I found my rock.' Kerlew grinned uncertainly as he interrupted her, holding up the polished red stone for her inspection. She glared at him.
'A lot of good that will do us! Get busy!'
Kerlew was still gawking in confusion as the man pushed the tent flap open. The youth staggered in before him, dropping instantly to his knees before the fire. He swayed in place, and the big man steadied him as he glanced about. He scuffed his foot against the scraped earth floor of the tent and asked something.
'Birch?' Kerlew guessed, his tongue slow but his face eager. Tillu frowned, but the big man nodded. The boy shrugged his lack of comprehension, and the big man hissed in exasperation. Tillu spread out a hide on the floor beside the youth and eased him down onto it. The big man made a gesture for waiting and disappeared from the tent. The youth closed his eyes. Tillu watched him breathing. He was too pale. He had bled more than such a wound should, and he seemed more exhausted than should a boy of his years. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him shrewdly. He was not as robust as the man he hunted with. She would guess that he had not been eating well recently, perhaps not for a long time. And she surmised from his growth that he had never been a sturdy child. But, for all that, he was healthy enough. He'd live to hunt again.
She knelt and checked the bandage on his arm. He opened his eyes to watch her, but tolerated her touch. The bandage was damp, but the blood had not soaked through it. Better to leave it alone than to open the wound trying to change it. Food and warmth and rest were what he needed now. She scowled at the stiffened hare that would have to feed four instead of two. Nothing to be done about it except to do it. She took the pot outside to pack it with snow, leaving Kerlew to stare curiously at the injured stranger.
The big man made a strange profile in the dark as he returned. She held the tent flap open for him. He unslung a huge bundle of birch twigs from his shoulder and pushed them in before him. Tillu followed, setting the pot of snow by the fire to melt, then watching him curiously. As he began to spread the birch twigs in a layer over the earth floor, she wondered if this were some healing ritual of his people. She had been taught the uses of the birch tree: Oil from its bark soothed skin disorders, and syrup from the tender roots pleasantly eased a cough. One could steep its tiny cones for tea to ease a mother's body after a difficult childbirth, or toast the same cones over coals, that the fumes might clear a stuffy head. She watched carefully to see how he would use such a quantity of twigs on a bleeding wound. But then he boldly took another hide from her bed and spread it over the twigs. Careful as a mother, he helped the injured boy move on to this softer resting place. Then he straightened and looked around her small tent curiously. She could not tell what he was thinking.
Abruptly he placed a hand on his own chest and announced, 'Heckram.' A gesture toward the youth. 'Lasse.'
'Tillu,' she replied and, pointing to her son, added, 'Kerlew.'
'Tillu,' he muttered and, turning, left the tent again.
'What happened to him?' Kerlew demanded, pointing at Lasse as she knelt to open up the hare.
'Some fool shot him instead of a reindeer,' she told him tersely.
'The big man?' he asked with interest.
'No. Someone else, someone who ran away instead of staying to help as he should have. So I had to help them instead.'
'Why?'
'Because they needed help. Isn't that a good enough reason?'
'I guess,' he subsided. He watched her with interest. 'Is that all you killed today?'
'Yes. And we're going to have to share it.'
'Sharing makes less,' he observed without rancor, returning to staring at Lasse. The youth opened his eyes and at first looked confused. Then he smiled weakly at Kerlew and made a vague
'I found my rock.' Kerlew grinned uncertainly as he interrupted her, holding up the polished red stone for her inspection. She glared at him.
'A lot of good that will do us! Get busy!'
Kerlew was still gawking in confusion as the man pushed the tent flap open. The youth staggered in before him, dropping instantly to his knees before the fire. He swayed in place, and the big man steadied him as he glanced about. He scuffed his foot against the scraped earth floor of the tent and asked something.
'Birch?' Kerlew guessed, his tongue slow but his face eager. Tillu frowned, but the big man nodded. The boy shrugged his lack of comprehension, and the big man hissed in exasperation. Tillu spread out a hide on the floor beside the youth and eased him down onto it. The big man made a gesture for waiting and disappeared from the tent. The youth closed his eyes. Tillu watched him breathing. He was too pale. He had bled more than such a wound should, and he seemed more exhausted than should a boy of his years. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him shrewdly. He was not as robust as the man he hunted with. She would guess that he had not been eating well recently, perhaps not for a long time. And she surmised from his growth that he had never been a sturdy child. But, for all that, he was healthy enough. He'd live to hunt again.
She knelt and checked the bandage on his arm. He opened his eyes to watch her, but tolerated her touch. The bandage was damp, but the blood had not soaked through it. Better to leave it alone than to open the wound trying to change it. Food and warmth and rest were what he needed now. She scowled at the stiffened hare that would have to feed four instead of two. Nothing to be done about it except to do it. She took the pot outside to pack it with snow, leaving Kerlew to stare curiously at the injured stranger.
The big man made a strange profile in the dark as he returned. She held the tent flap open for him. He unslung a huge bundle of birch twigs from his shoulder and pushed them in before him. Tillu followed, setting the pot of snow by the fire to melt, then watching him curiously. As he began to spread the birch twigs in a layer over the earth floor, she wondered if this were some healing ritual of his people. She had been taught the uses of the birch tree: Oil from its bark soothed skin disorders, and syrup from the tender roots pleasantly eased a cough. One could steep its tiny cones for tea to ease a mother's body after a difficult childbirth, or toast the same cones over coals, that the fumes might clear a stuffy head. She watched carefully to see how he would use such a quantity of twigs on a bleeding wound. But then he boldly took another hide from her bed and spread it over the twigs. Careful as a mother, he helped the injured boy move on to this softer resting place. Then he straightened and looked around her small tent curiously. She could not tell what he was thinking.
Abruptly he placed a hand on his own chest and announced, 'Heckram.' A gesture toward the youth. 'Lasse.'
'Tillu,' she replied and, pointing to her son, added, 'Kerlew.'
'Tillu,' he muttered and, turning, left the tent again.
'What happened to him?' Kerlew demanded, pointing at Lasse as she knelt to open up the hare.
'Some fool shot him instead of a reindeer,' she told him tersely.
'The big man?' he asked with interest.
'No. Someone else, someone who ran away instead of staying to help as he should have. So I had to help them instead.'
'Why?'
'Because they needed help. Isn't that a good enough reason?'
'I guess,' he subsided. He watched her with interest. 'Is that all you killed today?'
'Yes. And we're going to have to share it.'
'Sharing makes less,' he observed without rancor, returning to staring at Lasse. The youth opened his eyes and at first looked confused. Then he smiled weakly at Kerlew and made a vague
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