Tillu understood that they were sharing their hunting rations and nodded to indicate her thanks. At the same time, her mind was racing. A folk that knew weaving, and the making of cheese, that used ground flint tools as casually as Benu's folk used bone.
These were no stray hunters from some wandering tribe. Surely cheese meant a settled village somewhere, and woven goods meant livestock kept, crops grown, and village life such as she had once known. And where polished flint tools were known, there was usually bronze as well. She pushed down a vague hope and dropped the last piece of hare into the pot.
Heckram was offering a piece of the cheese to Kerlew. The boy took it, sniffed it suspiciously, and glanced at Tillu in confusion. 'Cheese,' she told him, but had to revert to the language of her childhood to find a word for the food. 'You eat it. Try it, it's good.'
The hungry boy needed no further encouragement, but crammed most of the chunk into his mouth, then made a wry face at the unfamiliar taste. Heckram burst into a roar of laughter that Lasse weakly echoed. Tillu felt her face flush, her nerves prickling as they laughed at her son. She kept her head bent over the fire so they would not see the flash of anger in her eyes. Always it was this way; adult men either made sport of the boy, or dismissed him in disgust. If did not help her spirits when she looked up to see Kerlew smiling vaguely at their laughter. He had swallowed some of the cheese in his mouth, but still looked like a squirrel with its cheeks pouched.
'Eat nicely,' she hissed at him. 'What must they think of us?'
He gulped to clear his mouth. 'It tastes funny,' he tried to explain.
'Then don't eat any more,' she snapped, letting her anger find a target.
'But I think I like it,' he hedged, unwilling to surrender anything that resembled food.
Tillu felt tension pull tight in her. The two strangers had noticed the exchange between her and her son. They were trying to ignore it politely, talking casually to one another as if they did not sense the unease. Tillu stirred doggedly at the stewing hare, feeling the familiar ache of the emotions Kerlew roused in her. She had to protect him, but wished there were no need. She loved him as he was, but wished he were not that way. She wanted others to accept him, to see the value in the boy as he was, and yet wished his differences were not so apparent. Everything she felt for Kerlew was a contradiction. Her mind snapped back to the old midwife putting the tiny baby into her arms. She had shaken her head, patting a soft skin around the babe, her mouth pursed.
Tillu had still been amazed by the reality of this new being when the old midwife spoke. 'Love him while you can, but don't lose your heart to him. He has the look of the ones that don't live long.'
That had been the first time she had felt the now familiar anger at the unfairness. All were so quick to judge the child. She had left the wandering tribe and their midwife as soon as she was strong enough to travel. The people had watched them go, and in their eyes she saw their belief that her tiny mewling babe would be dead soon. But he had not died, she thought fiercely. He had lived and he was hers, and she would fight for him, every day of his life. The sooner these men were gone, the better. She needed to be alone with Kerlew, she told herself fervently, to teach him slowly what other children learned rapidly, to give him manners and skills so he could merge unnoticed with other folk. She would not follow them back to their village. And as soon as she had that thought, she was surprised at the poignancy of the regret she felt. Were woven cloth and cheese, the idea of a village and a settled life, such a powerful lure to her? She pushed the thought away.
A hand plucked at her sleeve, but she rudely pulled away from him. She didn't want to touch Kerlew just now, lest in her frustration she strike him. But it was Heckram's voice that spoke, saying, 'Fish,' 'for you,' 'eat,' and other words she could not understand. His tone was the excessively polite one of the guest who had given offense.
Tillu's embarrassment deepened. She thanked him without looking at him or at the food he placed carefully beside her. Instead, she gave the stew a final stir and rose to go to the door flap and lift it. She peered anxiously out, as if awaiting someone's return.
The coolness soothed her flaming cheeks, and the necessary deception gave her a measure of control again.
'What's wrong, Tillu?' Kerlew asked anxiously. He felt his disgrace without understanding why.
'Nothing,' she replied evenly. 'I just thought I heard him coming.'
'Carp?' asked the boy excitedly, rushing to the door. He poked his head out under her arm and stared wildly into the darkness.
'Mmm,' she said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. At least Kerlew was convincing in his appearance of waiting for someone. She hoped they would think her man delayed somehow on his hunt. She turned from the door to find the strangers watching her expectantly. She shrugged. Lasse lay on his side, holding a bit of fish in his good hand.
His color was still not as good as it should be. She went to kneel beside him. She inspected the bandage once again, then felt the band below if. It was a little cool, but the stricture of the bandage was necessary to hold the flesh together. 'Make a fist,' she told him, then demonstrated. Lasse winced, but was able to obey her. She nodded her approval, but his eyes were cast down before her. His youth suddenly struck home to her. He was, at most, five years older than Kerlew, and obviously unaccustomed to a woman's touch. He was shy. Yet she knelt by him a moment longer, savoring the fantasy that Kerlew would grow this well, would hunt like this youth did, and bear himself with a man's dignity. 'He's a good boy,' she said, more to herself than anyone, but looked up to find Heckram nodding with a vaguely paternal air.
'Brothers?' she asked aloud, to break a suddenly heavy silence.
'Friends,' Heckram explained gravely. 'Hunt together.'
She nodded her understanding. But for the accent, the languages seemed to share many common words. She was unprepared for his question.
'Little brother?' He nodded toward Kerlew. 'Father comes? Mother comes?'
Tillu snorted. 'Son,' she explained, then wondered if it wouldn't have been smarter to let him think them siblings. What difference could it make anyway? But now the big man was anxious to talk. Words and questions spilled from him.
'You come from ... far? South?' He added other words she did not recognize. The intensity of his interest gleamed in his eyes. It made her uneasy. Why did he want to know so much about them? She picked up snatches of his meanings, but tried not to let it show. Had her man gone to trade to the south, or was he hunting? Where were the rest of her people? She let the questions flow past her, smiling apologetically as she shrugged, and then covering her thoughts by bringing out bowls to divide up the stew.
Kerlew had his in his cup, and Tillu had hers in the cooking pot, to make enough dishes. She saw the big man's forehead wrinkle in puzzlement at this, but decided to let him think what he would. He made another slow appraisal of her tent and its contents.
Tillu covered her nervousness by eating.
The fish had been smoked into a hard slab and tasted of salt and summer fires. It had been so long since she had tasted cheese that she was not sure if the flavor had changed, or just her memory of it. She ran a fingertip lightly over the rind, feeling the woven impression where the curd had been packed into the mold. After the weeks of lean hare, it seemed unbelievably rich, and the stew tasted heartier in its company. She looked up suddenly from her empty dish to realize she had ignored everyone else while she ate.
But Kerlew and Lasse seemed likewise occupied with their food, with only Heckram's eyes wandering about the tent as he chewed.
Their eyes met and she dared not glance away in what might be a submissive gesture among his folk. They looked at one another, while she struggled frantically to think of something to say, anything to fill this silence. But it was he who spoke.
'... hard ... winter ... wild ... herd ... but ... hides ... payment ... heal Lasse ...'
She listened carefully, trying to string the words she knew into some kind of sense, but finally had to shrug at him. He gave his hands a small toss to indicate the dilemma, and then said quite clearly, 'Wait. Understand soon.'
She nodded and rose to gather the various vessels and clean them. By the time she had finished, Lasse was sprawled in sleep. She knelt by him to check him. No fever, the bandage seemed comfortable, the hand below it warm. She looked up to find Heckram's eyes upon her. 'Thin,' she said, spanning the boy's wrist with the circle of
