Supper was short as Cuganwa followed his father through the tents. A meeting of the party leaders was taking place, and the boy took Odaru’s place leaving his heart pounding away. In all his life, Cuganwa had never stepped inside the main tent. Few without the true need ever did if they were not village servers or guards. The tents closer to the village center were shorter than the others allowing Cuganwa to see many of the long torches carried by the night guard. As the two made their way toward the chief’s tent, other hunters and their seconds came into view. Everyone walked through a large clearing before reaching the tent’s front entrance. An enormous totem engraved with figures and symbols of their history sat at the entrance’s left along with two spear-wielding guards allowing them to pass. They watched everyone ensuring no weapons, aside from the ivory knives, had entered. They passed through the entrance flaps and down the mortared stairs before entering the tent’s largest section.
The boy said nothing as he followed his father’s lead. The others remained silent as they funneled through and began to sit down on a larger carpet forming a crescent with its open side facing toward the four wooden seats. Others began to talk in low roars. Cuganwa looked at some of their ivory knives. The engravings were easy to see even as they were sheathed. Each held the same symbol of Kelvert’s light but, with different animals on items marking their territory. The boy caught sight of a woman staring back at him with a smirk. Her knife held the design of a heavy-horns. It was Lamoy. She had a thin, slender build still showing a strong frame. She always wore two feathers of a blood-mane in the front of her hair. She earned her position taking out the beast with an ax after it tried to attack their caravan.
Lamoy leaned back on her hands as she kept her legs crossed, like everyone else. She looked toward the far-off tent wall. Unlike the rest, her attire had green trousers instead of the normal light brown. Cuganwa looked away, not wanting to be rude. As he turned, he saw another hunter staring at him with a fierce gaze. He wore a necklace of different colored beads like the other leaders along with the usual red and light brown for hunters. The man was well built. He had a short beard of full black and wore a red head wrap. On his knife was the silhouette of a blood-mane often in wait by salt deposits near the cliff bases. Cuganwa slowly reeled back wondering if he had offended the man in any way. The boy motioned for his father but, everyone’s attention then turned toward the front after two drumbeats. Another villager, a young boy only a year or two older than Cuganwa, stood before them. He wore a light brown tunic, trousers, sash and was holding the small drum tucked under his right arm.
Behind the aid were four separate curtains covering rooms built into the larger tent. Gamaunda passed through the closest curtains to the exit before standing by the nearest chair. He still wore the same full red attire making him almost blend entirely with the rest of the tent aside from the seats and carpet they sat on. More guards and village aids entered the tent as the drumming continued. Each of the guards wore red tunics along with dark blue trousers easily contrasting the dirt around them. A white sash adorned their waists and their straps hanging across their torso had a few knives, extra cords tied around the strap knots in a way to quickly pull off for binding, waterskins, and their quiver of arrows. Cuganwa often looked away from the guard. The memory of a thief killed on the spot after the guards caught him in the act was fresh in the boy’s mind. To aid and protect others was a law that the village held dearly.
As the village aid continued the drumbeat, the other curtains then opened as the three elders stepped into the open space and took their seats. Each had different roles in guiding the village while their matching attire to the stones in their rings granted power from the Great Lord. Elder Belractu wore the violet gem allowing him to heal most wounds unless too grave. Despite his age at seventy-two, he still maintained a lean build. His violet tunic was sleeveless. A pair of stern eyes scanned the area through a gray cloud of hair, beard, and mustache as he sat down.
The next elder to it was Elder Yanuma wearing a simple green dress with her gem allowing her to recall all the knowledge and memories she was given. Few understood how it worked but, she recited stories and told the village lessons and history as if she were there. Cuganwa remembered her lessons along with her smile and gentle demeanor to be a deception of her strict teachings of the village. She had wiry gray hair loosely bound into a single, thick braid reaching midback and was quite thin.
Last was Elder Moyaud. Unlike the others, he rarely wore a tunic showing his thin frame one could confuse for withering away. The elder maintained a shaved head and short beard as he looked about the tent ceiling. ‘Why are you looking up?’ the boy questioned. The man’s eyes were now on him for a moment.
The boy leaned back surprised by the sudden attention. The elders then turned away and gazed into the air watching something Cuganwa could not. The blue gem he wore was often said to allow the elder to see spirits and the will of others. He often instructed the village when the storm would arrive and barely spoke or ate with others.
“Evening, dear hunters. I hope Lord Kelvert has guided you well,” Gamaunda started. “Tonight, let us discuss our situation before the storm comes once more. That and a few other matters.” The chief wore a soft grin. “First, let us hear your ventures and exchange needs. “Another village aid then stepped forth with several strands of beads draped over their arm. It was an elderly man with a studious eye waiting for their discussion. “Please, Cumaul. Tell us how the harvest goes.”
The first party leader on the opposite end of the crescent started with their supplies and the number of baskets they filled with grasses and herbs along with rabbits and hens they caught. As they spoke, the village aid slid several beads from one end of the strands to the other. The elder then took three strands of beads from one end of the strands to the other. The elder then took three strands of beads with separate counts on both ends and tied knots in the middle to keep count. With the number known, Gamaunda then requested the party leader and repeated the same for supplies needed and stock required. Cuganwa listened and remained attentive. He never realized how much the village needed every day. A single basket usually had enough meat, spices, and water to feed a family of five in proper portions for twenty days. There were just over a thousand people throughout the village, and they all relied on the hunters for survival. Cuganwa looked down in awe. He imagined the countless trips for supplies and game, the resources to create bows, and other weapons. The sheer numbers were exhausting to think about for a day, yet the village survived day in and out.
‘I will do my best, Lord Kelvert,’ the boy assured himself before looking back up and finding Elder Moyaud peering at him for a second time. Cuganwa held eye contact wondering what reason the man had. ‘Is it that strange for me to be here?’ The elder’s stare seemed neutral of any emotion giving little hint to the man’s thoughts.
When the man turned back to gazing at the empty air, Cuganwa noticed a strange buzz at his core once again. It was subtle compared to the incident with the large charge-horn. ‘Are we about to be attacked?’ the boy wondered as he looked around. The sensation then ceased leaving him with more questions. Moyaud narrowed his eyes as he looked toward space and took a deep breath. Sutama then started to speak recalling their game and the number of arrows they needed for the next venture. Cuganwa’s attention returned to the conversation, ignoring the buzz.
“We have brought in five today but, they are starting to gather in larger groups for the mating seasons and storms. The winds have been stronger as of late,” Sutama said.
Gamaunda sat down and leaned forward in his seat resting both of his elbows on his legs as he stared at the party hunter without a smile. The elders also stared at him aside from Elder Moyaud. “But we have another situation to consider,” the chief said. Sutama gave a nod. “The witch came by once more and took one, yes?”
The other party leaders looked toward the seasoned hunter with a mixture of anger and confusion on many of their faces aside from the huntress Lamoy wearing a wry smile, and the hunter who glared at Cuganwa hardening his stare as if ready to fight.
“Yes, she has,” Sutama answered.
“She lingers in your region still. She should’ve been dead already!” the leering hunter said.
“Deyunca, let them explain before making such judgments. You’ve protested her death for the last three years. Let it rest. I trust Sutama’s word as much as I do yours but, that can be lost,” the chief said. He turned to Sutama and waved to his father for him to continue.
“No. We haven’t tried to kill her. We know better. Since she escaped, she has done nothing against us to warrant attacking her,” Sutama explained. “Today, she appeared after the largest charge-horn I’d ever seen, rammed into one of our sleds. My men couldn’t kill it despite their shots hitting their target.” The man held a hand up gesturing to his own neck and eyes. Six or more through here and three eyes gone but, it did not die. One of my men shot through its leg making it go off to the side before it hit. Odaru and Cuganwa fell along with the whip-neck.” Dust was everywhere but, in it, Cuganwa and the beast rose while Odaru was pinned under the whip-neck.” The man placed a hand on Cuganwa’s shoulder. “This one jumped in front of it since my second was in pain and tried to protect him.” Sutama looked the others each in their eyes as he lowered his hand. “That was when the witch came out and attacked the charge-horn.”
“How’d she kill it if arrows didn’t work?” one of the hunters questioned.
“She ran it through with a knife. Her speed makes her capable and difficult,” Sutama answered.
“You had six but, a seventh just appeared, and now only five?” Elder Belractu questioned.
Sutama exhaled deeply. “Yes, she took two in anger. She was provoked, elder,” Sutama crossed his arms. Others looked to each other, bewildered by the words. Though they knew Nuyani’s abilities, even her crystal, it was still hard to imagine a small woman carrying away such large creatures on her own. Few even cared to believe it thinking Sutama merely lost his game from another beast. “My boy first thanked her, forgetting about the witch, and attacked when she turned. The witch kicked him away and took the seventh along with another that fell from the sled. I believe in spite.”
“You know her so well,” Deyunca chided.
“Deyunca! Show some restraint. There are more important matters to this problem,” the chief shouted. “Leader Sutama, why would she need so much food? Surely, she couldn’t eat it all, even cured and dried. Does she not linger near the cliffs?”
“I don’t know if what some of my men fear is true, she is taking the extras to feed pets. That would be a reason. I don’t agree because of what we’ve seen in our return home,” Sutama continued. Gamaunda waved to a village aid who disappeared inside Moyaud’s space only to return with three other men carrying the dead tall horn. Eyes fell on the animal as it was placed at the center between the elders and party leaders, the claw marks on full display near the rear. Bloodied as the wounds were, none would believe them to be so fatal. “There was at least a dozen in all with claw marks like this in one area. I doubt even her speed would allow her to cause such wounds alone but, they were also intact. Her controlling or having pets that could hunt them makes no sense to me.”
“Blade-jaws?” another hunter questioned.
“I would think so but, I don’t think the witch is the culprit,” Sutama said. Cuganwa then caught Deyunca making a face in anger as he looked at the ground. ‘Who is she? Why is she so angry?’ the boy questioned.
“If she had such control over those demons, it would be trouble like before,” Gamaunda stated.
“Be wary of her, Sutama. We do not need another sinner.” The chief then turned away. “Elder Moyaud, any thoughts on this?”
“A few. The life of this beast was stripped away by those cuts but, its hide and organs remained intact. Its flesh around the wound is shriveled and cold beneath the fur. The witch may possess some new skills, or something worse lingers,” the elder summarized.
Cuganwa looked around the room seeing their concern. Only Deyunca held a scowl as he looked at the animal. The boy began to fidget tracing his fingers over each knuckle. ‘The witch is more dangerous than they said. Is he right?’ the boy thought as he glanced at the flustered hunter. ‘Why lecture me if she could do so much harm?’
“Any signs of blade-jaws?” Elder Belractu asked.
Sutama shook his head. “Just her ax, a few prints, and crushed grass.”
“None from any other beasts?” the elder sighed heavily as he mumbled under his breath. “Well, I understand your choices, Sutama. But things may grow tense. May the Great Lord forbid but, trouble seems to be growing out there. You may have to take her life. With any suspicion, if any attempt, you must do it.”
“She is trouble!” Deyunca rang out.
Gamaunda rose bearing fury in his leer Cuganwa had never seen. The chief gestured to two of his guards, who lunged for the man. The other hunting leaders and seconds moved away as Deyunca was grabbed and dragged to the chief’s feet. Forced to kneel, Gamaunda released a vicious hook sending the hunting leader’s head snapping back. Deyunca’s rage still burned as he tried to fight the other guards and stand. “Continue,” the chief said keeping his tone even, almost jubilant.
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“She is sin!” Another strike drew blood from his nose and lip with drops falling to the dirt. “A murderer!” A third strike sounded through the tent. Cuganwa tensed up, not fighting his hands’ urge to fidget. “My brother is dead, yet she still breathes.” The hunter’s words grew into a mumble. A fourth.
Cuganwa’s mouth was agape. He looked at the hunter understanding his anger. Sutama placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Cuganwa turned to look at his father. The hunter’s lips tightened as he nodded. ‘People are dead because of her,’ the boy thought.
“Enough, Gamaunda. The boy must speak now,” Elder Yanuma said. Gamaunda stood straight glaring at Deyunca with each knuckle bearing some blood. The guards released him as the hunter sat on his heels with his chin resting on his chest limply. “Now, Cuganwa, why did you attack her?”
“I…I thought that is what I was supposed to do,” the boy uttered, still shaken from the sudden beating.
“Louder,” Sutama instructed.
“I thought I was supposed to. She is dangerous and takes people in the night or steals hunter to kill,” the boy went on, reciting the rumors spewed by the village expressed to him since before he could speak. Deyunca let out a chuckle and turned to the boy wearing a bloodied smile.
“Well, you’ve picked up the tales nicely but, do you know how he died?” the elder questioned. Her eyes were big like an owl as she waited for a reply.
“I think I do,” Cuganwa said.
“Only think? The lessons and laws are to right the sins against us. Don’t forget that. Deyunca’s brother, To’anu, ran off to kill her and never returned. There is no sin aside from his foolishness. An ambition from his own hate and hubris that could’ve brought danger to your father and others. What if he lived and she did as well, left vengeful? She could outrun anything and chase down anyone. Her strange stone took those beasts with ease. Imagine her fury turned onto the village just for one man to want his name or position to be greater than others.” The elder turned shooting her own glare at Deyunca. Turning back to Cuganwa, she went on, “Don’t trust her and don’t be tempted by your anger. She may bear a force equal to the storms, and that is not something we need turned on us in this difficult world. We survive working together. She does not and is on her own. Do not disturb that truce, understood?”
“Yes, Elder Yanuma,” Cuganwa said.
With a soft chuckle and nod, her smile returned as she sat straight. Deyunca’s smile faded, replaced with a narrowed glare expressing his contempt fixed on her the boy’s father.
Gamaunda crouched low meeting the hunter’s eyes. “Anything you care to add?” The worn hunter turned to the man and shook his head. “That’s better. We feel for you, but a child shouldn’t understand the lesson better than his senior.” Gamaunda sat down as the guards returned the hunter to his spot on the carpet. “I think we have only a few things to consider. All of you rest for the next day. After that, some of your parties will come together to gather more resources. We will have to prepare for the coming storm but first, feast. Celebration for all that you’ve done should be rewarded. Spend time with your families and share a few of your stories with others. I like the one of a new hunter getting his name, Little Charge-horn.” The others chuckled as the boy’s eyes widened.
‘They already know?’ Cuganwa thought.
The chief then continued, “Aside from this council, what are your thoughts, dear elders?”
Elder Belractu spoke first. “We will have to wait further on for the actions of the witch. Keep our distance until we understand more of what is happening. The story should give us time away from her and let things settle.”
Elder Yanuma then added, “I think she plays with you all. Lonely in her home, she needs something to do and only the hunters to mess with. Her theft is childish but, do not let that bring any danger to your men, Sutama. Ten years and she’s kept her distance. May Lord Kelvert keep that wall whole.” Sutama replied with a nod. Elder Moyaud waved his hands as his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. The man then rose and walked toward his own space. Elder Yanuma shook her head as she and Elder Belractu rose to do the same. As the village aids cleared the seats to another room, the guards and Gamaunda escorted the hunters out of the tent as one presented Deyunca with a small bowl containing herbs and wrapped in a soft cloth of whip-neck fur. He glared at the smaller man handing him the supplies but, eased his expression as he took up the items.
The hunters all parted as Cuganwa followed his father trudging along in silence as he thought of the witch. A man died trying to attack her because of his ambition. He did the same thinking it was the right thing to do.
“Father, how did the witch get free?” Cuganwa asked.
Without stopping or hesitating, he replied, “She fled when she was found with those cursed eyes.”
“If she hasn’t committed any crimes, why leave her out there?”
“So she doesn’t have a chance to commit a crime. Remember your lessons, boy. One of the chiefs lost their family from jealousy of the first sinner. Now no chief may have a family to be swayed.”
Cuganwa stopped and looked at his father’s back with widened eyes. ‘He’s forced to be alone too?’ the boy realized the many training ventures and group meetings in public or studies he saw the man instructing with the elders accompanying him as he led the others. ‘There isn’t any time,’ Cuganwa thought.
“Take your mind off it, Cuganwa. There is much work to be done on our end for the village,” Sutama stated as he looked toward the boy and nodded his head. The two continued in silence. Morning arrived as Cuganwa leaped from his bedroll, tightly rolled it up, and placed it to the side within his living space. He kept quiet as his younger sister slumbered. The boy then pushed past the curtain separating his space from the main room only to find Jogia smiling at him as she fixed some food. Their home was nothing special. It had a large central room held up by poles with the ground and stairs paved over with clay. A fire pit in the center was dug and mortared into the dirt with a port overhead. Three spaces were separated by lines of thick cloth, two for their rooms, and the last for storage. On the floor were cushions and rugs of whip-neck fur placed where they normally sat.
With news of a late feast coming that night, only a few pieces of bread, figs, and jerky sat in a wooden bowl in wait for Cuganwa. The boy scarfed down most of his food in large bites causing him to cough. Jogia laughed at his eagerness but, did not try to stop him knowing he was going to start making his bow.
“Before you take a single step out of here, pray with me. I want to make sure you have been,” Jogia stated. With a final swig, Cuganwa downed the remaining content before gasping for air.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“You’re welcome but, relax. You act as if you need to chase the bow down. Now, pray with me.” Cuganwa laughed as he and his mother fixed themselves to face towards an eastern port in the tent wall. The two recited their prayers in unison before gesturing to the sun’s rise.
Cuganwa shuffled to move but stopped for a moment looking about the room. “Where is father?”
The woman looked back at Cuganwa with a smirk. “He’s an early riser. Look outside. The sun grows brighter. Better learn to rise early too, or he will leave you on his next trip.”
The boy nodded his head and moved to rise until he felt something push against his side. Caluu was leaning against him with closed eyes. In her daze, she began to mumble the prayer.
“Morning, Caluu but, if you are going to pray, you must do it right,” Cuganwa instructed as he moved her to sit properly and performed it once more.
“Are you going to the big tent?” Caluu asked. Her words sounded clear.
“Yes. I have to go,” Cuganwa answered.
“Well, since you are going that way, you can take Caluu to Elder Yanuma’s lessons,” Jogia added.
Cuganwa turned to her with pleading eyes. “That bow won’t exist until you make it. You can take your sister to the lessons.”
“We are on our way,” Cuganwa started as the two departed up the steps.
Walking through the village proved tedious as the two were squeezed by several crowds of people. Everyone was busier than usual as whip-neck drivers rode by with large ration baskets on their sleds. Each one was dropped off at home in preparation for the storm. As the two continued, they made their way toward the village’s western perimeter. They walked along the canal, where many people gathered to wash clothing or collect water. The canal was filtered by tight barriers of bone to keep out water bites and went under the guard mounds built high enough to peer over the bone wall. The two watched as some of the guards speared any water bites that got in.
The two soon arrived at the dozens of whip-neck pens holding many of the hunters’ animals. Caluu began to wave at the animals and their handlers. “Can you get one too?” the girl asked.
Cuganwa widened his eyes before he replied, “Not for many years, Caluu. I would have to trade many things on my own for a whip-neck.”
“I wanna ride one,” the child moaned as she watched a handler leading a younger whip-neck no taller than a man along with their child riding on its back.
“You will one day,” the boy said as he smirked.
After passing the crowds and into the open area, a cluster of young children gathered before Elder Yanuma and another totem. The monument was a half-circular of clay smaller than the one in front of the elder’s tent. Polished ivory figures and shapes were embedded in the clay, and each section showed the hours of the morning where the sun’s light would gleam and reflect onto the ground before the afternoon. The first section held a curving sliver of ivory arched toward the sun with engraved lines like spikes jutting to the sky to represent the Great Lord’s Light. The next sections illustrated their history with their rise from the river, a dome over the village as the design of curling lines parted over the borderline, the light dispersing, and taking the village. The last few had the light showing in the bodies of people as they hunted animals and rebuilt the village in a larger state along with the witch illustrated with the light missing and eyes larger than the others, and claws for hands reaching out to fight a larger figure with the light symbol and a strange item in their hand pointing to the witch.
The boy held his stare at the would-be witch. It was a new section of ivory not so discolored as the other portions. The witch was nothing as the totem displayed. Cuganwa’s lips tightened as he thought back to her image. A normal woman wielding a knife seemed completely removed from the beastly appearance, aside from her speed.
Some of the figures within the totem were being cleaned by a village aid in light brown as the elder greeted villagers leaving their children for the lessons. Other figures and clay tablets standing about the totem represented stories and legends from the tales of hunters fighting against animals and spirits.
As Caluu sat down to listen, Cuganwa made his way to the village center. Men and women rushed about with their supplies preparing for the night.
‘People are getting ready for the feast. I should have plenty of room in the crafter’s tent,’ he concluded. Cuganwa reached the enormous canopy spanning almost a mile long and wide. Cuganwa winced as a pungent smell wafted his way signing that he was close by. He walked down the stairs, plunging into a wave of heat. Beads of sweat rose on his brow. The boy looked around for someone to direct him failing to notice the thin man leaning against the wall beside a canopy pole.
The man held out a hand drawing Cuganwa’s attention. “What are you doing here?” The man’s face was doused in sweat and drenched the front of his tunic.
“I came to make a bow,” he replied.
The man narrowed his eyes at him showing his disbelief. “What do you need a bow for?”
Cuganwa turned to show his ivory knife engraved with the charge-horn’s head and light of Kelvert. The man gawked at Cuganwa for a moment.
“Tsk. I wonder if you can even pull one. Go get water,” The man said as he turned away looking down one of the narrow paths. All around him, villagers were working on different projects. The sounds of pounding, grinding, and hacking was in a chaotic chorus as the village’s talent was on full display. Seamstresses, twine weavers, tanners, carvers, butchers, vat attendees, spice and herbalists, whittlers. Blade flinders, pot makers, saddlers, cobblers, and dexters all worked within their small sections of the crafter’s tent. The pungent smell grew stronger as two villagers walked down the narrow path carrying a pot suspended by two wooden staves. ‘It must be the lacquer,’ Cuganwa thought as he held his breath for a moment. Every bone, leather, and piece of wood in the village used were dipped into the strange mixture allowing most items to last for years of abuse, even during the storms. Their leather canopies covering the tents were well anchored and braved the razor-sharp sands for a time. Though most animal hides did well to resist the climates, whip-neck fur had its strength due to their thick coats but, lost it once the animal’s fur was sheered off, and the hide was terrible for leather.
Cuganwa followed the men carrying the pot knowing he needed to use the vats eventually. With little knowledge of the area, it was his best clue. Several minutes passed as he followed the men to the edge of the canopy. Multiple ports were cut into the ceiling venting out the fumes above dozens of large vats build into the dirt. The men stopped and poured the contents into an empty vat as someone else tended to the kindling in the furnace portion. The lacquer already budding from the heated mortar. As one of the men turned to walk back, the boy caught his attention.
“What can I get to make a bow?” Cuganwa asked.
The man’s chin rose as he narrowed his eyes. “Get water.” The man then pushed past the boy leaving Cuganwa confused. ‘Why’s everyone saying that? What does water have to do with anything?’ he questioned. A young boy then passed by with a ladle and small pot with a rope around the brim moved toward one of the other villagers tending to a hide. The boy plunged the ladle into the pot and drew some water and handed it to the adult. After a quick drink, the man then handed over a bundle of leather hide behind him. With a pot in hand, the boy ran off toward the center. Cuganwa followed the child, eventually reaching a walking area where others waited by large urns to gather water. ‘Do I have to trade water for information too?’ the boy questioned.
Cuganwa sat at the end of a few benches behind others waiting for their turn. Other children moved to and from gathering their supplies and returned for another turn to fetch water. With a short wait, walked to another village manning the urn who plunged the small pot into the water by a rope, then handed it and the ladle to Cuganwa. Finally bearing a lead, the boy spent the next few hours gathering all the supplies to fletch his bow. He sat near whittlers learning how to handle the knife as he made holes, both large and small, for medallions and necklaces. Beside him were two large sacks of supplies from knives, wooden staves, sinew, thin pieces of bone good for arrows, porcupine grass, and a small totem of a charge-horn head holding a few yellow beads in its mouth; a small token to ask villagers to help him retrieve the lacquer needed for the bow. Still considered too young, some resources were limited even with his knife. He was drenched in sweat and was permitted to sit by the edge for better ventilation. ‘So many are here. No wonder it is so big,’ Cuganwa thought. He rarely needed to go to the crafters’ tent for most of those who went were either trained in a talent working for others to produce goods or family members with a single tree. Sutama was only a hunter while Jogia often cooked for others in trade. Neither had much of a reason to come to the tent unless for supplies.
“Enough! Go home!” a woman said. Cuganwa looked confused to find the villager Ienka standing before him with her hands on both hips. The woman’s eyes danced over the small collection of trinkets he was tasked to bore holes in.
“Oh. Is it time?” the boy thought considering his task might have a time limit so others could practice as well.
“Only yours,” Ienka said with a shake of her head. “The feast is tonight. You will be doing other things to help prepare.”
“I still have…” Cuganwa started.
“No. You are a runner for your father. That means there will be tasks to do for the festival. So go,” she ordered.
Cuganwa nodded his head as he handed back the small collection and took his stuff with him. Once he climbed the stairs back into the village space, he was refreshed with a short breeze. The boy crossed through the village until he reached the western totem. In his approach, the pool of children was much smaller as the remaining listening to the elder’s story.
Yanuma pointed to a tablet engraved with dozens of structures as she went on, “Even with homes made of stone and towering the mountains, the people explored open waters that stretched beyond their sight.” As she continued her tale, Cuganwa found Caluu, and the two left for home.
