— They won’t believe it.
— They will have to believe it. She gestured at the kits.-They can try it and they’ll see we’re right.
She grinned fiercely at this thought. She liked to be right about things, he saw, and in ways no one could argue with. Like hitting a rabbit with a thrown rock and killing it dead. No arguing it had been a good throw.
Thorn only snorted when Loon mentioned this later.-Hers aren’t the interesting things to be right or wrong about. Those are just the way things are.
— But that’s what she wants to know.
— Sure. So does everyone. But things we can know in that way are a very small part of what matters. So it’s a form of looking away. You get to the hard questions, Heather just looks away.
— I wonder what she would say to that.
— Ask her! But I’ll tell you what she’ll say, because she’s always saying the same things; she’ll say, first things first. First know what you can know, then take a look at the harder things.
— Isn’t that right, though?
— Not at all. The hard questions press on us the whole time, youth, no matter what we know or don’t know. You have to face up to Narsook. The hard questions can’t be avoided, not if you want to really be alive.
The flexible young cedar withes could be woven into strong ropes, and that was one of the things people did around the fire during the long nights, weaving and tugging them and making sure they were strong. They could be even stronger than rawhide cord. Any withes that were brought in would be put to quick use. When Loon went with Hawk and Moss out to check their snares, he brought a hand blade and cut as many of the new young branches as he could fit in his backsack. Everyone tried to come back from their day’s walk with something useful for the handwork at night around the fire.
That end of the year Loon became a five-strand rope maker under Ibex’s guidance.-What did you do to that finger? Ibex said, pointing to Fatty.
— Caught it knapping.
— Ow. I bet you won’t do that again.
— It wasn’t so bad, Loon lied.
They went out on the hunt one morning, headed downstream and then across Lower Valley and up its east ridge trail. On the ridge they had to stop and retreat, as a bear was devastating a beehive, and looked like she would be a while. Between the bear woman and the angry bees it was not worth waiting for it to be over. Spearthrower wanted to try to kill the bear, but a ridge was not a good place to try, and the others already had all the bear claws they wanted and did not want to risk harm to get more. Spearthrower gave them a hard time about it, but the others ignored him and descended to the Lower Valley floor by way of a deer trail Loon had not noticed before. Spearthrower still had a neck cord hung with a great number of bear and lion claws.
On the valley floor the creek’s flow had dropped enough to make walking up the creekbed easy. And near the head of the creek they saw a herd of horses. They stopped and bowed to the creatures, then stood and watched for a while.
The horses were beautiful, as always. About half of them were spotted, either black on white, or white on black; the rest were brown. Their colors were as vivid as birds’ colors, and they had a little of that same fastidious quality, so much finer than caribou or saiga or elg. Their footwork was light and neat, like a cross between women dancing and the swift trotting of the unspeakables in the forest. Big glossy haunches, short stiff manes. Lower Valley was pinched to a gorge at its top, so it wasn’t clear whether they would pass through the gorge or return downstream to continue their grazing in the Urdecha.
Again Spearthrower wanted to kill one, and again the others declined. Horses were only to be killed when people were really hungry. Not to mention they were hard to get near.
— Spearthrower wants to kill. Let’s find him a wolverine and let him do it.
They laughed at Spearthrower, and he said, — All right then, let’s find a deer, if that’s what you want.
— That is what we want.
They traversed above the horses in order not to disturb them, and crossed Quick Pass into the top of Upper Valley. As they came over the rib of rock that marked the Lower side of the pass, they were hailed from the ridge trail across the valley.
— Look, he’s short-handed, Spearthrower said.
Loon saw it. All of the men in the Raven pack, who lived south of the biggest ice cap, were missing their left little fingers. This was a little worrisome, but other than that they seemed like any other people. Loon recognized the man they were approaching, a traveler named Pippiloette, which was the Ravens’ name for red squirrels.
Pippiloette waved as he approached.-Well met! he called.
— Well met, they all said.
He was much friendlier than a squirrel, but quick and inquisitive in their way.-Have you seen a pack of spotted horses? He said his words farther back in his mouth than they did, so that they came out of his nose a little.
— Yes, they’re just over the pass in the first meadow. Why, do you want one?
Pippiloette grinned.-I do. Our big mama wants one of their spotted hides. I’m trying to find out their grazing circuit, so we can set up an ambush.
This was the only way to kill horses; they were very fast and had good endurance, and stuck together in packs very hard to split. And they saw traps that caribou would run right into. No, horses were hard, and being sacred, were only hunted for sacred reasons.
— We’re hunting deer, Hawk said.-Do you want to join us?
This took Loon by surprise; Schist would not have asked, nor Heather. But Pippiloette was pleased.
— Yes, thanks, he said.-Those horses will be there tomorrow too, I’m pretty sure.
So they were five, and they discussed where deer had last been seen. Pippiloette had seen some that morning down by the top ford on Lower’s Upper Creek, so they made a plan as they went over there, and Hawk and Spearthrower slipped ahead to get downstream and get settled into an ambush. Loon was left with the traveler, to beat downvalley after a fist of sun had passed.
— You’re Thorn’s apprentice? Pippiloette asked.
— Yes, that’s right.
— Hard work! the traveler said, and laughed at Loon’s expression.-Our shaman likes him a lot. But he’s a handful even for other shamans.
— Your shaman is Quartz?
— That’s right, Quartz the magnificent. A very good shaman. Well, odd. A little scary. But I had a sickness last winter, and he made a steam that almost choked me, but he pulled the bad thing right out of me, I could feel it leave me, right here.
He pointed to his diaphragm.
— You’re lucky, Loon said.-It’s good when that happens.
— Can Thorn do that? Are you going to be able to do that one day?
— I hope so, Loon lied.-I’ve been on my wander, and gone with him to the end of the cave.
The man nodded. He was happy for Loon, interested. He had a lot of stories about the Raven pack and Quartz, and Loon offered that he had recently married a girl he had met at the eight eight festival.
— Oh very nice, congratulations on that. Where did she come from?
— From north of the caribou.
— North of the caribou! Those people, well, you tell me, I shouldn’t presume, but I hear they are wild?
— She’s actually pretty quiet, Loon said.-But maybe wild is still the right word.
The man grinned at Loon’s expression, such that Loon couldn’t help grinning himself.
When a fist had passed they clomped down the creekbed whacking things with their javelins, and Pippiloette emitted some very realistic lion roars. Any deer in the brakes below would surely have bolted downvalley to avoid either lions or, worse, humans acting like lions. Although if the deer heard the falsity they would know it was a trap, and take off sideways on a traverse over the ridges bounding the valley.