At least the pain had served to sharpen his mind, and the chill in the air helped him keep the panic at bay. His breath came in shallow gasps as he fought down the rising tide of panic. Wounded and alone, he had to think of his own survival now. If only the girl would cease her chatter!
A creature of the deep forest, he’d never been one for the company of girls like her, glorying in the hunt when he could be alone with the breath of the forest around him and the easy company of the men.
It was not that he’d found the women unappealing; he’d even cast eyes at some of the girls as he ate his fill round the campfire. A few swaying hips had caught his attention, that Alia in particular. But he’d always found them strange creatures. If only they’d be as predictable as the elk.
If only it’d been Alia who was with him now, instead of this chattering, simpering girl who didn’t know how to keep silent. Even with his wound she slowed him. Alia would be silent, Alia would be quick.
There was a sharp stab of pain as he brought his foot down clumsily on a root. No. He had to concentrate. This was the forest, death could come quickly. Best forget the tender fold of Alia’s arms, the swell of her breast and the dimples that formed whenever she smiled, but not at him, never at him.
Angrily, he motioned Iwa to silence and hunkered down into a stiff crouch. She was so caught up with her plans that she almost bumped into him. But he stayed perfectly still, senses strained to pick out the faintest movement. He was one with the forest, the way that he’d been taught almost from birth, the dagger held straight before him, ready for the killing blow.
But the forest had become different, an alien place. He should have been enjoying this, the stillness of bark and briar, and the scent of the leaves fresh on the breeze. If only the girl wouldn’t keep so close, her breath hot on his neck as he tried to concentrate.
There was something out there in the bracken, a tiny scrabble of movement. Even Iwa couldn’t hear it, but he could. He didn’t have the skill of Godek or the older men, but his senses were sharp and he could often pick out a trail before many of the more seasoned hunters.
Without a word, he put the knife back in its sheath and began to walk. Iwa followed as an old fox broke through the undergrowth and darted for the safety of its burrow. She should have gone after it, but they were both too tired, their nerves frayed and even this ancient fox could probably see better in the dark.
By now Jarel had begun to feel the effects of his wound, his steps falling clumsily as his breath shallowed and his pace dulled. The pain returning as he had walked too far. There was no way he could have raided the camp with the other hunters. Maybe the hunters used him as a lookout.
She’d no idea how long they’d walked. At least now the trees had begun to thin and the undergrowth was less dense. Up ahead there was a moss-covered mound. Here the ground was broken and dipped to form a hollow, over which Jarel had pegged a large piece of hide. Inside, a few furs lay strewn on the bare earth. At least the hunters must have stuck together – there was no way that he could have escaped from the woyaks alone loaded down with all that.
Jarel peeled back the deer skins and motioned for Iwa to crawl inside. ‘You try and do better if you think you can,’ he said, catching the look on her face. ‘I’ve had to sleep in far worse than this before.’ He was proud of the tiny strip of tanned skins which he’d managed to fasten over the hollow to form a crude shelter. Not much to look at, but it was more than enough to keep early spring at bay.
‘What about the others?’ Iwa slipped into the shelter, her nose curling at the stench. ‘What’s happened to the rest of the hunters?’ she said as she began to crawl inside, the moss springy under her palms. The smell was worse now but at least it was familiar, the scent of leaves and earth and moisture. Anything was better than the sweaty warmth of the ship, filled with the sickly odour of tar and pitch.
‘Most of them are hereabouts,’ he said wearily. Now that the walking was done, some of the stiffness had returned to his leg. Why did she waste her breath with so much chatter? She was like the leaves, except that they often made more sense and told him useful things. ‘We don’t camp together; it’s safer that way.’ It was hard for him to keep the emotion from his voice. Now, more than ever, he longed for the company of the others, even the ones who teased him. ‘Nobody knows all the hideouts. The woyaks might capture one or two but they won’t find us all.’
But that way there can be no clan fire, she almost said, as Jarel crawled under the furs beside her. We need a clan fire to gather round if we are to remain one at all, but Jarel had already turned away, his body tired and ready for sleep. Iwa wrapped the furs around her: they were hardly warm, and their sides were blackened as if they’d been pulled out of a fire. Maybe it was better that the hunters kept to their small groups, but she’d never known there not to be a clan fire. What are we, without a fire to burn before the bones of our god? Is this how a clan dies? She drew the skins
