Mak awoke in the breaking day to
the scent of the fire from above. As he opened his eyes, he thought of Calana, laying
in the skin hut just a short stroll away. When would he see her again? Then a
deep uneasiness pierced his chest—perhaps she was mated to one of the men at
the rock shelter. Was it the strongly built man with brown hair or another man
away on the hunt?
Kol was gone, searching in the
forested fringe below for wood. Mak emerged from the lean-to and began the hike
to the valley to check his traps. The rabbits near the river had avoided his
root-fibre snares, but they would fall prey to his deadfall traps. He passed
Kol on the way, carrying a load of dry branches. He would rekindle the fire to
cook the rabbits Mak caught under the rocks.
As he climbed down the slope, Mak
brushed away the thought of Calana taken by another man and fixed his mind on
winning her for his mate. He tried to imagine where he would meet her again,
how they would speak. Other young men were told by their fathers how to court a
woman, when to approach the headman for approval.
He remembered his mother telling
him that a man and woman would mate if they were meant to be together; their
children were waiting to be born in the spirit world. The Lions needed strong
children to survive, many were weak or sickly and died in their first years. The
clan had persisted since the time of origin, the spirits of people who produced
offspring returning again in the bodies of newborn infants.
He tried to will it, Calana at
his side as they filed between the rows at their mating ritual, the murmurs of
approval from the Lions and the new people gathered at the hearth.
Mak found his traps where he left
them at the edge of the hazel thicket. One was tripped but empty, the rock flat
against the ground. The other two were still standing upright. The rabbits were
wiley in this new land.
There were hazelnuts scattered on the ground, not a meal on their own, but part of one. Hunger pangs gnawed at his belly, even more intense at the thought of Kol back at the camp craving food as well. He gathered a few of the nuts and put them in his pouch. There would be more prey farther down the mountain in the deeper woods. He would not return to the camp without meat.
There were hazelnuts scattered on the ground, not a meal on their own, but part of one. Hunger pangs gnawed at his belly, even more intense at the thought of Kol back at the camp craving food as well. He gathered a few of the nuts and put them in his pouch. There would be more prey farther down the mountain in the deeper woods. He would not return to the camp without meat.
The rising sun dappled the ground
under him as he moved silently, listening for irregular sounds between the
notes of the early chorus of birdsong. The land dropped and rose and Mak hiked
through open ground and then under tree cover again.
At the top of another slope, he
reached the edge of the larger hazel grove. He stopped to listen, as still as a
tree trunk: there was a ruffling in the forest below. He crouched low to the
ground and carefully made his way down the flank above the grove. He heard the
sound of legs against brush as he padded silently between the thin birch and
pine. Peeking over a bluff, he saw them, a family of boar, heads down on the
forest floor. There were at least ten animals—large adults, smaller
juveniles—but there could be more, trailing into the underbrush. Mak turned in
a circular pattern to get closer, downwind from the herd. He reached a small
ledge the height of two men and crept on his belly in the leaves and rock. At
the edge of the bluff he looked down. The boar had stiff dark hair, large
angular heads and long snouts, rooting in the undergrowth. A litter of
sucklings were trailing a large black sow. He could hear the animals snuffling
and chewing, he could smell their pungent odor. They were feeding on the
hazelnuts lying on the ground. These nuts grew in great abundance and attracted
animals that were also good to eat. The meat of boar that thrived on hazelnuts
would be especially sweet tasting.
He must act swiftly, like his
father would, rather than trying to get closer and risk losing the prey. He
knew the herd would scatter deep into the woods as soon as they sensed him. There
would only be one chance, a carefully aimed spear hurled at a smaller animal. A
bigger boar would be heavy for one man to carry and the meat would be tougher.
He saw a young animal foraging at
the edge of the herd, now moving in place directly below him. He had a clear sight,
but first he had to stand and raise his spear. He pulled himself up on his
haunches, as silent as the air, then slowly unfolded his body and rose among
the trees, his fingers wrapped around the shaft, never losing sight of the
animal below. As he reached his full height, the boar raised its snout to
sample the wind, then turned its head to the side. Mak cocked his elbow, touched
his ivory ear charm with his thumb for a straight aim, and flung his spear at
the animal’s neck.
The boar lurched on its feet and squealed
in panic. Mak jumped down the embankment and the rest of the herd flushed into
the woods in a flurry of snorts and scrabbling hooves. The young boar was stuck
in the thicket, wriggling frantically, the spear point embedded in its neck,
the shaft lodged among the hazel branches. Mak pulled a rock knife from his
pouch as the boar struggled, twisting its head to dislodge the tormenter at its
neck. He grabbed an ear and dug the blade into the animal’s throat, slashing it
open. The boar kicked and squirmed and Mak looked in its eye as it quivered and
the life-blood flowed from its body.
He withdrew the spear and dragged
the boar by its legs to a clearing. He cut through the skin at the belly with
his knife, then opened the body cavity and gutted it and lifted the carcass
over his shoulders. Below the water gathering spot, he lowered the boar onto
the beach gravel by the stream. He cleaned out the remaining entrails and
tissues and washed his spear point and his hands and arms. He watched the blood
flow away, then he bent to drink deeply from the stream.