and gave a warning cry. The cloud rose again, just as she leaped at the closest bird.
Snap! Sheâd only caught its wing, but that was enough to stop it flying. She dropped it onto the grass, then picked it up properly, still squirming, broke its neck and took it up onto the ridge to eat.
She could smell the world there; she followed Bony Boyâs scent as he woke up and drank then headed down to the rocks at the edge of the headland with his new long stick. She chewed the bird slowly, spitting out the feathers, then let herself doze.
There was no hurry. It would take Bony Boy a while to spear a fish. He never ate the fish meat straight away, but cut it into pieces and left it on the hot rock with slices of fruit over it.
She didnât like the fruit-covered pieces. They were soft and tasted wrong. But he always left the head and tail for her; and the fish guts too.
There was time to sleep in the sun now.
CHAPTER 32
Loa
Loa stood on the rock and peered into the water. He wished he could fish properly, striding into the waves, but his knee still gave way under him if he tried to walk with the splints off. But if he was patient most days he could spear a fish here on the rocks. He had made fish hooks too, âfindingâ the hooks hidden in the shells on the beach.
The new spear didnât fly straight, but he was used to that now. Heâd cut a hole in the end and tied cord to it and his waist so he didnât lose it in the waves. His obsidian knife point was the most precious thing in his world.
A fish glinted in the water, almost near enough, but not quite. He waited. One fish usually meant more.
Then there they were, twisting and cutting their way through the wave. He aimed and cast quickly, laughing with joy as the water turned bloody.
Heâd got one!
I am the best hunter in the world, he thought. His smile vanished. He was the only hunter in this world.
He hauled in the spear and fish. The fish was as long as his arm and still flapping, so he bashed its headagainst the rock, then examined his spear. The point was still secure, he saw thankfully. It had taken days to get it right â he didnât want to have to do it again soon.
He carried the fish along the beach then up the track to the cliff top by the pool. Heâd seen crocodile tracks on the beach, though he hadnât seen a croc since the one in the cove. But crocs were cunning, lying so still, so mud-covered, that you thought they were a log until it was too late.
The fruit were where heâd left them: small, sour mangrove berries. Later in the year theyâd be fatter and sweeter, but when he sliced them and laid them on top of slices of fish on the hot rock in the sun like the women did at home the berry juice and the heat turned the fish flesh white and cooked.
Womenâs work, he thought bitterly. Collecting fruit, slicing fish. No wonder Leki had chosen Bu. Loa was a cripple, a fool who had lost his way, who lived like a woman with a rubbish dog in a bare barren land.
He gazed out at his new world. Dry grass, limp trees, smoke â¦
He stilled. Smoke! It was almost at the horizon, but there was no mistaking it for cloud. A high plume of smoke, the sort of fire youâd build for a feast, a gathering of clans.
A campfire! He felt the grin spread across his face. Other people. Aunties who might know how to heal his leg, girls â¦
He stopped smiling.
Hunters whoâd look at him with scorn â a lost boy with a bad leg. But maybe his leg would keep gettingbetter. And even living as a cripple with a clan would be better than trying to survive alone on raw fish and mangrove worms.
He looked around for the dog. She usually came down to him about now. âDog!â he yelled.
No sign of her. For a moment he hesitated. He didnât want to leave her behind. The dog was all he had.
But he was a hunter! What hunter would wait for a dog instead of striding out to find others of his kind? And if he
Snap! Sheâd only caught its wing, but that was enough to stop it flying. She dropped it onto the grass, then picked it up properly, still squirming, broke its neck and took it up onto the ridge to eat.
She could smell the world there; she followed Bony Boyâs scent as he woke up and drank then headed down to the rocks at the edge of the headland with his new long stick. She chewed the bird slowly, spitting out the feathers, then let herself doze.
There was no hurry. It would take Bony Boy a while to spear a fish. He never ate the fish meat straight away, but cut it into pieces and left it on the hot rock with slices of fruit over it.
She didnât like the fruit-covered pieces. They were soft and tasted wrong. But he always left the head and tail for her; and the fish guts too.
There was time to sleep in the sun now.
CHAPTER 32
Loa
Loa stood on the rock and peered into the water. He wished he could fish properly, striding into the waves, but his knee still gave way under him if he tried to walk with the splints off. But if he was patient most days he could spear a fish here on the rocks. He had made fish hooks too, âfindingâ the hooks hidden in the shells on the beach.
The new spear didnât fly straight, but he was used to that now. Heâd cut a hole in the end and tied cord to it and his waist so he didnât lose it in the waves. His obsidian knife point was the most precious thing in his world.
A fish glinted in the water, almost near enough, but not quite. He waited. One fish usually meant more.
Then there they were, twisting and cutting their way through the wave. He aimed and cast quickly, laughing with joy as the water turned bloody.
Heâd got one!
I am the best hunter in the world, he thought. His smile vanished. He was the only hunter in this world.
He hauled in the spear and fish. The fish was as long as his arm and still flapping, so he bashed its headagainst the rock, then examined his spear. The point was still secure, he saw thankfully. It had taken days to get it right â he didnât want to have to do it again soon.
He carried the fish along the beach then up the track to the cliff top by the pool. Heâd seen crocodile tracks on the beach, though he hadnât seen a croc since the one in the cove. But crocs were cunning, lying so still, so mud-covered, that you thought they were a log until it was too late.
The fruit were where heâd left them: small, sour mangrove berries. Later in the year theyâd be fatter and sweeter, but when he sliced them and laid them on top of slices of fish on the hot rock in the sun like the women did at home the berry juice and the heat turned the fish flesh white and cooked.
Womenâs work, he thought bitterly. Collecting fruit, slicing fish. No wonder Leki had chosen Bu. Loa was a cripple, a fool who had lost his way, who lived like a woman with a rubbish dog in a bare barren land.
He gazed out at his new world. Dry grass, limp trees, smoke â¦
He stilled. Smoke! It was almost at the horizon, but there was no mistaking it for cloud. A high plume of smoke, the sort of fire youâd build for a feast, a gathering of clans.
A campfire! He felt the grin spread across his face. Other people. Aunties who might know how to heal his leg, girls â¦
He stopped smiling.
Hunters whoâd look at him with scorn â a lost boy with a bad leg. But maybe his leg would keep gettingbetter. And even living as a cripple with a clan would be better than trying to survive alone on raw fish and mangrove worms.
He looked around for the dog. She usually came down to him about now. âDog!â he yelled.
No sign of her. For a moment he hesitated. He didnât want to leave her behind. The dog was all he had.
But he was a hunter! What hunter would wait for a dog instead of striding out to find others of his kind? And if he
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