add. He hurried out into the growing darkness, glad to be free. Armun sealed the tent again, added wood to the fire and sat beside it.
Her face was grim with anger. How easily these brave hunters had turned their backs on Kerrick. They followed him in battle—then left him. If the Sasku had remained with him he must have asked the hunters to stay as well. And there must be something important in the murgu city, something so important that it had come between the two leaders. She would find out about it in good time. The winter would be over and in the spring Kerrick would return. That is what would happen in the spring.
Armun kept herself occupied so that the winter would go faster, so she would not miss Kerrick too much.
Arnwheet was now in his second year and unhappy at the confines of the tent. Armun had cured and scraped the softest deerskins, shaped them, then sewn them into clothing for him with thin lengths of gut.
While the other babies his age were still being carried on their mothers' backs he played and rolled in the snow. As was the custom, the other babies were being nursed until they were four, even five years old.
Arnwheet was almost weaned by his second year. Armun ignored the dark looks and shouted remarks of the women: she was well used to being an outcast. She knew that they were just jealous of her freedom and nursed only to prevent more pregnancies.
So while their babies dangled out of their carriers and gummed their knuckles, Arnwheet grew strong and straight and chewed the tough meat with his growing teeth.
On a sunny, cold day, with no hint of spring in the air, she walked away from the tents with little Arnwheet trotting to keep pace. She carried a spear always now when away from the sammads—and was suddenly glad that she had it with her. There was something up ahead, in among the trees, making a mewling sound. She pointed the spear and stood ready. Arnwheet clung to her leg in wide-eyed silence as she tried to make out what it was. It was then that she saw the footprints leading from the trail, human footprints. She lowered the spear and followed them, then pushed aside the snowy boughs that shielded the boy. He turned about; his snuffling died away as he scrubbed at his face that was streaked with tears and blood.
"I know you," Armun said, reached down with her sleeve to wipe his cheeks. "You are from Herilak's sammad. Your name is Harl?" The boy nodded, eyes brimming. "Did you not come to my fire one night with the story of the owl you had killed?"
When she said this he began wailing again, burying his head in his arms. Armun lifted him with kind hands and brushed the snow from his skins. "Come to my tent. You will have something warm to drink."
The boy pulled back, reluctant to go, until Arnwheet trustingly took his hand. They went back to the tent Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
this way, each holding one of Arnwheet's hands. There Armun stirred sweet bark into warm water and gave it to Harl to drink. Arnwheet wanted some too, but spluttered over the strong flavor and let it dribble down his chin. After Armun had cleaned the blood from the boy's face she sat back and pointed at the bruises. "Tell me about these," she said.
She listened in silence, Arnwheet falling asleep on her lap, and soon understood why the boy had cried when she had mentioned the owl. v
"I did not know it was an owl. It was my first bow, my first arrow, my uncle, Nadris, he helped me to make it. The sammadar Kerrick said I did a good thing, for the creature that I killed was not a real owl but a murgu owl and it was right to kill it. That was then, but now the alladjex has said that it was wrong.
That killing an owl is wrong. He has told my father that and now my father beats me and won't let me sit by the fire when it is cold."
The boy sobbed again at the thought. Armun reached carefully for the ekkotaz so she would not wake the sleeping infant, then gave Harl a handful of the sweet berry and nut paste. He
Her face was grim with anger. How easily these brave hunters had turned their backs on Kerrick. They followed him in battle—then left him. If the Sasku had remained with him he must have asked the hunters to stay as well. And there must be something important in the murgu city, something so important that it had come between the two leaders. She would find out about it in good time. The winter would be over and in the spring Kerrick would return. That is what would happen in the spring.
Armun kept herself occupied so that the winter would go faster, so she would not miss Kerrick too much.
Arnwheet was now in his second year and unhappy at the confines of the tent. Armun had cured and scraped the softest deerskins, shaped them, then sewn them into clothing for him with thin lengths of gut.
While the other babies his age were still being carried on their mothers' backs he played and rolled in the snow. As was the custom, the other babies were being nursed until they were four, even five years old.
Arnwheet was almost weaned by his second year. Armun ignored the dark looks and shouted remarks of the women: she was well used to being an outcast. She knew that they were just jealous of her freedom and nursed only to prevent more pregnancies.
So while their babies dangled out of their carriers and gummed their knuckles, Arnwheet grew strong and straight and chewed the tough meat with his growing teeth.
On a sunny, cold day, with no hint of spring in the air, she walked away from the tents with little Arnwheet trotting to keep pace. She carried a spear always now when away from the sammads—and was suddenly glad that she had it with her. There was something up ahead, in among the trees, making a mewling sound. She pointed the spear and stood ready. Arnwheet clung to her leg in wide-eyed silence as she tried to make out what it was. It was then that she saw the footprints leading from the trail, human footprints. She lowered the spear and followed them, then pushed aside the snowy boughs that shielded the boy. He turned about; his snuffling died away as he scrubbed at his face that was streaked with tears and blood.
"I know you," Armun said, reached down with her sleeve to wipe his cheeks. "You are from Herilak's sammad. Your name is Harl?" The boy nodded, eyes brimming. "Did you not come to my fire one night with the story of the owl you had killed?"
When she said this he began wailing again, burying his head in his arms. Armun lifted him with kind hands and brushed the snow from his skins. "Come to my tent. You will have something warm to drink."
The boy pulled back, reluctant to go, until Arnwheet trustingly took his hand. They went back to the tent Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
this way, each holding one of Arnwheet's hands. There Armun stirred sweet bark into warm water and gave it to Harl to drink. Arnwheet wanted some too, but spluttered over the strong flavor and let it dribble down his chin. After Armun had cleaned the blood from the boy's face she sat back and pointed at the bruises. "Tell me about these," she said.
She listened in silence, Arnwheet falling asleep on her lap, and soon understood why the boy had cried when she had mentioned the owl. v
"I did not know it was an owl. It was my first bow, my first arrow, my uncle, Nadris, he helped me to make it. The sammadar Kerrick said I did a good thing, for the creature that I killed was not a real owl but a murgu owl and it was right to kill it. That was then, but now the alladjex has said that it was wrong.
That killing an owl is wrong. He has told my father that and now my father beats me and won't let me sit by the fire when it is cold."
The boy sobbed again at the thought. Armun reached carefully for the ekkotaz so she would not wake the sleeping infant, then gave Harl a handful of the sweet berry and nut paste. He
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