Alex rebuilt his house using the methods Klipta-ak had taught him. He would never be as naturally skilled with tools or be able to glance at a project and accurately judge its structural strengths and weaknesses, but he was happy with the result.
The small cabin made a happy home for him, Senta-eh, and Monda-ak.
Despite the obstacles of recovering from the zisla-ta, Alex Hawk was busy, productive, and happy.
And then... Then everything changed.
Chapter Twenty-FourSenta-eh
Aside from those moments when he nagged at himself for losing Amy, Alex Hawk was quite content in his life. Though there was no word for love in Winten-ah, he loved Senta-eh with all his heart. More than three years of complete togetherness had only brought them closer together. They hadn’t dared try to have a child, but in many ways, Monda-ak was their child.
A slobbering, farting, manipulative two-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound child.
Because of the dangers of childbirth, they had agreed that it was best for them to be intimate with each other as little as possible. Still, they shared a bed, cared deeply for each other, and were bound together in the Winten-ah tradition. There were times when their mutual attraction overcame all good sense.
Each time that happened, they waited and worried until evidence arrived that Senta-eh was not pregnant.
It was the same battle fought by every couple in Winten-ah. For that matter, the same problem every couple in Kragdon-ah fought against.
Every time a trader or traveler passed through, Sekun-ak would ask them what was happening elsewhere.
Each time, the word was the same. Childbirth equaled death—but only for the mother. The children lived, healthy and unscarred. If not for that, healers such as Niten-eh might have brewed up a concoction to abort the baby. No Winten-ah mother was willing to give up her growing child to save herself, though.
The Winten-ah had always been hunters and gatherers, but the invasion of the zisla-ta had taken them in a new direction. When Versa-eh had brought them bags of seeds to plant and grow krinta—which turned out to be much more like the hard maize than corn itself—they had incorporated that into their lifestyle as well. After nearly starving, the tribe enjoyed being able to store and have the krinta to help them through their winters.
One day a few weeks after the summer solstice, both Alex and Senta-eh were working in the krinta garden. It was an area at the far southern end of what had once been only the field. They were both working with primitive hoes, weeding out the tenacious grasses and weeds that constantly tried to strangle the stalks of krinta. It was hard work, but they enjoyed working side-by-side, doing something they both knew would be of benefit to the tribe.
Alex had suggested a challenge to see who got to the end of their row first, though he knew that Senta-eh was likely to win, as she won most games they played. It didn’t stop him from challenging her, though.
He worked steadily, chopping with the hoe, and throwing weeds out of his path. He was surprised when he finished his row and glanced to his left and saw that he had not only beaten Senta-eh, but that she was nowhere in sight.
Alex stepped into her row and saw her on all fours, twenty feet behind him. He rushed to her, but she held up a hand and motioned him away as she dispelled a thin, sickly thread of vomit.
“Wait here. I’ll run and get some water.”
That was what he said. What he meant was, I will run and get some water and Niten-eh, which is exactly what he did.
Five minutes later, he was back with Niten-eh, who was more bent than ever, trailing behind him as best she could.
By the time they returned, Senta-eh was standing, hoeing her row again. When she saw that Alex had brought Niten-eh with him, she fixed him with a look. A wifely look that conveyed more than a hundred words might have.
Alex held his hands up defensively. “I was just worried about you.”
“We have been in many battles together. I don’t know if I have killed as many men as you have, but I think perhaps I have. Do not treat me like a child.”
Over her objections, Niten-eh had Senta-eh sit in the cool grass in the shade of the stalks while she quizzed and examined her.
Tellingly, she spent an inordinate amount of time palpitating her abdomen. She leaned in close and asked her a question so quietly that Alex could not hear it. Senta-eh answered in an equally quiet voice.
Niten-eh turned to Alex and said, “I think she just ate something that did not agree with her stomach. Get her out of the heat, rest until tomorrow, and she will be fine. Your hut is cool, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Being in the shade of the cliff and near the water keeps us cool.”
Rest was a word that was typically not applied to Senta-eh. Every time Alex left her side, she would attempt to sneak off and do some work somewhere. Finally, when he needed to leave for any reason, he left Monda-ak with her with a command to bark if she got up out of bed, no matter what she said to him.
It was a momentary battle for the dog’s soul. He had given his loyalty to Senta-eh nearly as much as he had to Alex, but in the end, he ratted her out each time she tried to rise.
Within a few days she was much improved and the whole thing was forgotten. Life went on in the cliffside.
They tended their crops, went on hunting expeditions, and told stories around the fire. Alex was the most popular storyteller among the children because he had a lifetime of reading that he could reshape and tell as though
