table, Drake erupted into a
staccato squirrel giggle. “Screw you, Kerzon.”
Kerzon winked. “You'll have to buy me a drink
first.”
When Drake's expression became contemplative,
Jerome turned to Elza. “What are your criticisms this time?”
“Ingrid gave a coherent presentation free of
obvious fallacies. I see no reason to belittle the only person who
hasn't wasted my time.”
Griff snorted. “After the way you ripped me
yesterday, you better criticize something.”
“Go ahead,” Ingrid said, “I'm actually
curious about what you might say.”
“If you are going to insist, then I suppose
there is one thing. I question the significance of your
observations. You investigated a minor intersection of ethics and
sociology. That seems worthy of a conversation over a bottle of
wine, but hardly something worthy of presentation as your ultimate
contribution.”
Ingrid sank back into her chair.
“Any other questions?” Greg waited a full
minute. “Then I will see all of you tomorrow.”
Chapter 13 – Ingrid / Iteration 1
She ground the seeds with two rocks, her back
to the group of raucous men and subdued women. Lude lounged among
the hunters, pride beaming from his broad face, no doubt reflecting
upon his conquests of the day. First he had killed a dozen unarmed
men. Then he had received a public reward in the form of an amorous
Ingrid throwing herself at the new top man.
Ingrid knew a lot about pleasing men. She
knew how to tease their expectations prior to the act. She knew how
to control the tempo to bring them close to completion, then bring
them back from the edge, to approach and hold back until a single
squeeze of her insides caused them to explode. She knew how to
flatter their egos with words and expressions.
Lude was well pleased as he reclined in the
soft grass.
No doubt he had expected a less enthusiastic
reception from the women after ambushing their men at a peace
meeting. Instead, he had been courted and bedded as a hero and now
relaxed as his new woman cooked a meal for him, apparently eager
for the status of being owned by the top man of the tribe.
When the seeds were finely ground, she swept
them into the mixture of water and acorn flour and stirred. She
poured thin patties onto hot rocks pre-greased with the fat of a
doe. Then she returned her attention to the meat being smoked above
the fire in a wicker basket. She had cut the meat as thin as
possible with a flint blade, then pre-cooked it closer to the
flames using green wood skewers. Now it smoked while wrapped around
a mash of starchy root vegetable that would bring a hint of
sweetness to it.
To Ingrid's mind, even more impressive than
cooking an entire meal herself was coordinating everything to
finish at the same time. The men would be able to eat bread and
meat and squash all at once in a great feast.
Bree, one of the other women, approached the
fire, her sullen eyes fixed upon Ingrid.
“Leave,” Ingrid said.
“My son is hungry.”
“Your son is a boy. These mighty hunters eat
first.”
Bree's discontented gaze drifted to the pile
of cooking discards hidden beneath the doe's hide. She bent to
touch the remnants of a green plant, her fingers stroking the hairy
stalk. Bree's eyes flashed up to Ingrid's, her jaw going slack.
“This food is not for your son,” Ingrid said.
And Bree nodded, a kaleidoscope of fear and hope rising to her
face. The woman may not be the most competent at the fires, but she
knew enough to distinguish poison hemlock from carrot.
When the food was done, Ingrid portioned it
out on rough wooden planks and presented it to the men – Lude first
and then the other men in order of decreasing size. Each of the men
took the offered plate and devoured sweet and savory meat, cubed
squash, and crisp bread. Ingrid brought forth an obsequious smile
as she watched them eat meat sweetened by hemlock root, squash
cooked with leaves of hemlock, and bread filled with hemlock
seeds.
A single mouthful
staccato squirrel giggle. “Screw you, Kerzon.”
Kerzon winked. “You'll have to buy me a drink
first.”
When Drake's expression became contemplative,
Jerome turned to Elza. “What are your criticisms this time?”
“Ingrid gave a coherent presentation free of
obvious fallacies. I see no reason to belittle the only person who
hasn't wasted my time.”
Griff snorted. “After the way you ripped me
yesterday, you better criticize something.”
“Go ahead,” Ingrid said, “I'm actually
curious about what you might say.”
“If you are going to insist, then I suppose
there is one thing. I question the significance of your
observations. You investigated a minor intersection of ethics and
sociology. That seems worthy of a conversation over a bottle of
wine, but hardly something worthy of presentation as your ultimate
contribution.”
Ingrid sank back into her chair.
“Any other questions?” Greg waited a full
minute. “Then I will see all of you tomorrow.”
Chapter 13 – Ingrid / Iteration 1
She ground the seeds with two rocks, her back
to the group of raucous men and subdued women. Lude lounged among
the hunters, pride beaming from his broad face, no doubt reflecting
upon his conquests of the day. First he had killed a dozen unarmed
men. Then he had received a public reward in the form of an amorous
Ingrid throwing herself at the new top man.
Ingrid knew a lot about pleasing men. She
knew how to tease their expectations prior to the act. She knew how
to control the tempo to bring them close to completion, then bring
them back from the edge, to approach and hold back until a single
squeeze of her insides caused them to explode. She knew how to
flatter their egos with words and expressions.
Lude was well pleased as he reclined in the
soft grass.
No doubt he had expected a less enthusiastic
reception from the women after ambushing their men at a peace
meeting. Instead, he had been courted and bedded as a hero and now
relaxed as his new woman cooked a meal for him, apparently eager
for the status of being owned by the top man of the tribe.
When the seeds were finely ground, she swept
them into the mixture of water and acorn flour and stirred. She
poured thin patties onto hot rocks pre-greased with the fat of a
doe. Then she returned her attention to the meat being smoked above
the fire in a wicker basket. She had cut the meat as thin as
possible with a flint blade, then pre-cooked it closer to the
flames using green wood skewers. Now it smoked while wrapped around
a mash of starchy root vegetable that would bring a hint of
sweetness to it.
To Ingrid's mind, even more impressive than
cooking an entire meal herself was coordinating everything to
finish at the same time. The men would be able to eat bread and
meat and squash all at once in a great feast.
Bree, one of the other women, approached the
fire, her sullen eyes fixed upon Ingrid.
“Leave,” Ingrid said.
“My son is hungry.”
“Your son is a boy. These mighty hunters eat
first.”
Bree's discontented gaze drifted to the pile
of cooking discards hidden beneath the doe's hide. She bent to
touch the remnants of a green plant, her fingers stroking the hairy
stalk. Bree's eyes flashed up to Ingrid's, her jaw going slack.
“This food is not for your son,” Ingrid said.
And Bree nodded, a kaleidoscope of fear and hope rising to her
face. The woman may not be the most competent at the fires, but she
knew enough to distinguish poison hemlock from carrot.
When the food was done, Ingrid portioned it
out on rough wooden planks and presented it to the men – Lude first
and then the other men in order of decreasing size. Each of the men
took the offered plate and devoured sweet and savory meat, cubed
squash, and crisp bread. Ingrid brought forth an obsequious smile
as she watched them eat meat sweetened by hemlock root, squash
cooked with leaves of hemlock, and bread filled with hemlock
seeds.
A single mouthful
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