Good riddance to you and your haughty disdain, I think, but any satisfaction I get from your early departure dissolves once I see my mother’s face. The light that glowed in her eyes as she handed out mats piled high with her cooking last night is all but gone today. She sits on the floor in the center of the kitchen, a circle of tools and ingredients spread around her. She reaches for a sharp stone blade made from obsidian brought back from an expedition to the far north—her favorite cutting tool by far—but then sets it down again distractedly. Her hand moves to a bowl made of woven stalks of slough sedge, filled to the brim with bits of crab meat mixed with lupine roots gathered from the meadow. On a flat stone she’s been cutting wild carrots dug from a tidal marsh a half day’s walk from here. This was meant to be a meal that would rival the one she’d served last night.
Instead, she slides all these things aside and calls on Roon to help her move a large flat stone—a slab of rock split from an outcropping that broke into smooth, even layers when it was dug out from the hill. I remember my father presenting this stone to her—he had carried it on his own shoulders from the hill where it was quarried, knowing that she would find it perfect for cooking and cutting. An arm’s length wide and two arm’s lengths long, it holds most of the mammoth meat that was butchered last night. It’s not all of it, of course—only about a third of the mammoth has been cut from the bone—but my mother is determined to send half of what we have with you.
She gets to her feet and hands out large, supple sheets of tightly stitched walrus gut. “I’ll divide the meat into evenly sized portions. Each of you take a piece, wrap it tight, and tie it with a length of cord. I don’t want it to dry out before they get it home.”
Father’s voice comes from outside the door, followed by Chev’s. If my father feels insulted by your sudden departure, he’s much better at disguising it than my mother is. “Of course; we insist,” he says.
Chev ducks his head to step through the doorway into the dim tent. His eyes sweep over the scene, stopping on the piles of mammoth meat on the cutting stone. “You are being far too generous. There’s no need to send us with any provisions. By boat, it won’t take much more than half the day to reach our own shores.”
“The three of you helped bring in this food; you will take your fair portion. I will not risk angering the Spirit of the mammoth that died so that we could all eat.” This comes out as a proclamation rather than a comment. My mother’s tone has the definitive note she usually reserves for my brothers and me.
I drop my head and try to appear too caught up in my task of wrapping meat to notice what is being said. But then the door flips open and shut, light from outside splashing momentarily across the kitchen floor. Before I look up I know it’s you—I already recognize the unique cadence of your steps.
You stand with your sister, just inside the doorway. Seeri’s hair is tied up in a braid that wraps around her head, a style my mother and most of the women of my clan wear almost every day. I notice that your hair, as it was yesterday, is loose, falling over your shoulders and down your back. You are both dressed in the clothes you wore on the hunt.
“We know you do not need our help to successfully bring down game.” These words come from Seeri. “Thank you for the privilege of accompanying you yesterday. We all learned so much.” Her eyes are fixed on Pek, and for the first time, her clear intentions toward him ruffle my nerves. Suddenly, I can’t stomach the sight of the tender expression on her face. My eyes move to yours. You stare at the ground, falsely occupied in making a mental inventory of my mother’s kitchen supplies. I guess it’s what I should expect of you. You wouldn’t accept my gift last night. Why should you even look me in the eye to say a proper good-bye?
“We can all learn from a hunt with Pek, that’s certain,” my father says. “He’s one of the best with a spear that I have ever seen.”
I’m stunned. I wouldn’t expect my father to make such a blatant play to impress the three of you. Then again, I’m not intimately involved in managing and governing the clan, as he is. My parents are both elders of this clan, and there have been frequent meetings of the council lately. They would have a far better understanding of our situation—of the need to move south and the ways cooperation with your clan could reduce the risks involved with such a move. The ways a betrothal could encourage such a friendship.
I would rather our clan face extinction than reduce myself to playing for your affections, but my father, I see now, is feeling the pressure.
“There used to be a girl in this clan called Shava,” my father says. “She was so impressed by Pek’s hunting that she wanted to marry him. She cooked every kill he brought in for the entire clan. She tried to make herself the ideal partner for him, I suppose.”
Father’s eyes cloud over and I can see in his smile that he is thinking back on Shava and perhaps wondering why we were ever so careless as to let her slip away.
“Pek wasn’t interested in that girl, though, no matter how many mats she piled high with grilled bison or mammoth,” I interject. The eyes of every person in the room snap to my face. It’s quite bold to interrupt your own father as he relates a tale, especially if your father is Arem the High Elder, but I feel I need to put a stop to this one. “Apparently, being a great cook for a great hunter doesn’t necessarily win his heart. Her cooking wasn’t enough to buy his affection,” I say, turning to look directly into your face.