explored.
On a hidden clearing beside another arm of the inlet, we began a garden. Planted seeds, transplanted young fruit trees from what had been the old settlement. Taur thought the Salt Men, if they were following us, would search where his family had lived, that we would be safe up the other arm. I thought of when he did not even believe in his right to run away, and was pleased his confidence had grown.
The inlet was shallow. Fish were abundant, grey and blue, tasty-fleshed. There were mussels much bigger than the freshwater ones, and other shellfish. Taur ate them and a little fish, but still he would not touch deer meat. Even so, we lived well beside the inlet that filled and emptied twice each day like Elltun’s.
Out to sea was a flat-topped island, its lower part light-green, the hills at its northern end dark. Taur remembered stories about people who lived there and crossed to the inlet on things called canoes, hollowed-out logs. “There must be water on the island,” I said.
Taur made a model from short sticks. It was, he shouted, a raft. He even wove a tiny sail of leaves.
“You think we could make a big raft,” I said, “and sail to the island?”
“Gahr!” he shouted, and pointed. “Squint-face would never think we were out there.”
We climbed a headland, watched the currents change with the tides up and down the coast. With much excited shouting, waving, and crude drawings in the dirt, Taur showed how we might use the currents and wind. We could carry the sheep and goats, the cow and calf on the raft, and tow the donkeys behind, but it would take several trips.
We gathered driftwood logs, choosing the dry and high-floating. We plaited flax ropes, tied them together, and learned to sail our raft. With a long steering paddle wehad some control.
Since it was Taur’s idea, he claimed the first trip. I led the animals around the inlet, while he slipped down on the tide to a beach opposite the island. One afternoon, when the current had set in the right direction, and the wind blew off the shore, Taur loaded two sheep, two goats, and Het and her three pups who were grown now. We pulled up the woven-flax sail, fixed its ropes, and I just had time to leap on to the sand before the raft moved off. Crying encouragement at the animals, Taur slipped the steering paddle in a crutch at the back of the raft and turned once to shout, “Gurgh, Urgsh!” All evening his sail grew smaller and disappeared into the night. I woke alone, cold on the sand. The wind dropped, swung around, and blew the other way. By morning light the raft blew back on to the beach. The animals plunged ashore, scampered to find grass and water, and would not let Taur near them. His face was long.
I would not let him go alone a second time. “You could drift out to sea and never get back to land. What if you blew past the island, all the way to the South Land? We’ll make a bigger raft, take what animals we can. Once on the island, we can think about returning for the others.”
We built a much bigger raft and loaded aboard tools, seeds, woven gear, metal goods, and a bale of wool and goats’ hair. We put aboard five sheep and five goats. We took all the dogs. Reluctantly, I turned loose six sheep, eight goats, and all the donkeys. Taur put his arms round the necks of his cow and calf, but they went on feeding.
I gazed back at the dark shrug of the land as we sailed with the wind before first light. Our shelter dismantled, gardens dug up, signs obscured. The sheep and goats we had driven up and left grazing on the hills. It was the donkeys worried me. Those old friends Hika and Bok trotted together down the beach, stood in the water, looking after us through the morning gloom.
We were soon too busy to worry about them. The sheep were all right in their pen. The goats, however, were nervous and plunged about. I had to get amongst them, talk, pat, and calm. When I looked back again I could no longer see the donkeys and, away to
On a hidden clearing beside another arm of the inlet, we began a garden. Planted seeds, transplanted young fruit trees from what had been the old settlement. Taur thought the Salt Men, if they were following us, would search where his family had lived, that we would be safe up the other arm. I thought of when he did not even believe in his right to run away, and was pleased his confidence had grown.
The inlet was shallow. Fish were abundant, grey and blue, tasty-fleshed. There were mussels much bigger than the freshwater ones, and other shellfish. Taur ate them and a little fish, but still he would not touch deer meat. Even so, we lived well beside the inlet that filled and emptied twice each day like Elltun’s.
Out to sea was a flat-topped island, its lower part light-green, the hills at its northern end dark. Taur remembered stories about people who lived there and crossed to the inlet on things called canoes, hollowed-out logs. “There must be water on the island,” I said.
Taur made a model from short sticks. It was, he shouted, a raft. He even wove a tiny sail of leaves.
“You think we could make a big raft,” I said, “and sail to the island?”
“Gahr!” he shouted, and pointed. “Squint-face would never think we were out there.”
We climbed a headland, watched the currents change with the tides up and down the coast. With much excited shouting, waving, and crude drawings in the dirt, Taur showed how we might use the currents and wind. We could carry the sheep and goats, the cow and calf on the raft, and tow the donkeys behind, but it would take several trips.
We gathered driftwood logs, choosing the dry and high-floating. We plaited flax ropes, tied them together, and learned to sail our raft. With a long steering paddle wehad some control.
Since it was Taur’s idea, he claimed the first trip. I led the animals around the inlet, while he slipped down on the tide to a beach opposite the island. One afternoon, when the current had set in the right direction, and the wind blew off the shore, Taur loaded two sheep, two goats, and Het and her three pups who were grown now. We pulled up the woven-flax sail, fixed its ropes, and I just had time to leap on to the sand before the raft moved off. Crying encouragement at the animals, Taur slipped the steering paddle in a crutch at the back of the raft and turned once to shout, “Gurgh, Urgsh!” All evening his sail grew smaller and disappeared into the night. I woke alone, cold on the sand. The wind dropped, swung around, and blew the other way. By morning light the raft blew back on to the beach. The animals plunged ashore, scampered to find grass and water, and would not let Taur near them. His face was long.
I would not let him go alone a second time. “You could drift out to sea and never get back to land. What if you blew past the island, all the way to the South Land? We’ll make a bigger raft, take what animals we can. Once on the island, we can think about returning for the others.”
We built a much bigger raft and loaded aboard tools, seeds, woven gear, metal goods, and a bale of wool and goats’ hair. We put aboard five sheep and five goats. We took all the dogs. Reluctantly, I turned loose six sheep, eight goats, and all the donkeys. Taur put his arms round the necks of his cow and calf, but they went on feeding.
I gazed back at the dark shrug of the land as we sailed with the wind before first light. Our shelter dismantled, gardens dug up, signs obscured. The sheep and goats we had driven up and left grazing on the hills. It was the donkeys worried me. Those old friends Hika and Bok trotted together down the beach, stood in the water, looking after us through the morning gloom.
We were soon too busy to worry about them. The sheep were all right in their pen. The goats, however, were nervous and plunged about. I had to get amongst them, talk, pat, and calm. When I looked back again I could no longer see the donkeys and, away to
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