Brenda Hamilton struggled back, pushing with her heels in the mud, backing away from him.
“No,” she said. “No.”
Tree grinned at her.
He took her by the right ankle and pulled her again to him. “No!” she cried.
Again her thighs were spread.
She cried out with pain.
When Tree had finished with her there was blood on the inside of her left thigh, smeared to the side of the knee.
She lay on her side, her wrists still tied behind her.
Tree took a bit of the blood on his finger and licked it. It tasted of blood, but there was other fluid, too. He found the taste of interest.
She looked at him with horror.
He took some more blood on his finger and held it to her lips, that she might taste. This was done in the group, that the girl, too, might know the taste of the blood of her deflowering. In the group they were eager to know the taste, for they experienced the world richly, sensuously, knowing it not only by sight and concept, but by touch, smell, feel and taste. The Bear People, Tree knew, even had a ceremony in which the girls were deflowered. The Men, though, had no ceremony for this. They did have a ceremony when the boy began to run with the hunters. He drank first blood of his first kill, the other hunters, even the great ones, waiting to drink after him.
Brenda Hamilton cried out with misery, and turned her face away.
This angered Tree, and he thrust her mouth open with his left hand and thrust the bloodied finger across her lips and tongue.
Brenda Hamilton, forced, tasted and smelled Tree’s trophy of her ravished virginity.
She looked at him, with fury.
Tree’s hand again went forth to touch her ankle. She pulled away. “Please don’t hurt me again,” she wept.
Tree reached to her and, taking her by the hair, pulled her to her feet. He led her beside him, bent over, holding her by the hair, to where he had left his pouch, and his rope and spear. There he sat her down, regarding her.
“What is your people?” he asked.
Brenda Hamilton did not understand him, for he spoke the language of the Men.
“I cannot understand you,” she said.
She did not speak the language of the Men. Tree had not expected her to be able to do so, of course, though Old Man, long before Spear had killed him, had told him that there were other groups who did speak the language of the Men. Old Man had also told him of a great trek, which had lasted, in the telling of it, for five generations, in which the Men had moved westward. In this trek different groups, from time to time, had split away, seeking a territory sufficient for hunting. This had been, however, even before Old Man’s time. Old Man had known many stories. Tree was sorry that Spear had killed him. Tree had liked Old Man, and, too, he had liked the stories he had told. He had even told of beasts, large and hairy, as large as huts, or larger, with great, long curved teeth, and of black rocks that, when lit, would burn like wood. Spear had said Old Man was a liar.
Tree was not disappointed that the woman could not speak the language of the Men. He was glad.
It meant one could do with her what one wished, completely. One, of course, did much what one wished with the women of the group, using them, and beating them, and such, but one was not supposed to kill them. They, though women, were of the group, its followers, and breeders and workers. Tree looked at the helpless, desirable, bound body of his catch. She was not of the group. If one of the hunters wished, she might even be killed.
She did not speak the language of the Men. Tree was glad.
She would learn, of course, to speak the language of the
Men, and learn it quickly. The women would see to that. She must understand the orders that would be given to her.
Tree looked at his catch. She was just that, totally sightless.
“You will belong to the Men,” he told her.
Hamilton looked at him blankly.
Tree wondered if she could speak in the Hand Sign, that used by the Horse Hunters and the Bear People. Only Fox, in his group, was fully conversant with Hand Sign, but Tree knew the Hand Sign for the Men, and knew, too, how to ask for another’s group, or people, and how to make the more general question sign. He also knew the hand sign for the Horse Hunters and the Bear People, and for salt and flint. That was the extent of his vocabulary. But Fox could speak fluently in Hand Sign.
Tree took his long rope, and with one end of it, lashed together Brenda Hamilton’s ankles.
He then untied her hands.
She sat and faced him, her hands free, her ankles crossed and tied together.
Tree pointed to her, and then held up his left hand, palm facing to the right, and then placed his right index finger upright with the upright fingers of his left hand, one among others. “To what people do you belong?” he had asked in Hand Sign.
She shook her head, she understood nothing.
Tree frowned and touched his left hand to his head, as though puzzled. Then he held his right hand forth, palm to the left, thumb folded in, four fingers pointing down toward the earth. “Are your people the Horse Hunters?” he had asked.
She shook her head, trying to indicate that she understood nothing.
Tree was patient. He knew, of course, that females, even in the Horse Hunters and Bear People, were not generally taught Hand Sign, being women, but he was sure they would know at least how to respond to certain simple signs. They would know, certainly, the sign for their own group.
But this woman was apparently completely ignorant of Hand Sign.
Tree touched his head and frowned, and then lowered and raised his hand in a cupped fashion, as though he might be scooping something from the water. “Are you of the Bear People?” he asked. He then moved his hands, as though striking flint, the sign for flint. No recognition came into her eyes. He then licked his upper lip, in the sign for salt. She did not respond. He then pointed to himself and raised his right fist, as though it might hold a spear. “I am of the Men,” he had told her.