wolfed it down hungrily.
"What you did was correct," she said. "Old Fraken is wrong about this. The margalus Kerrick knows about murgu, knew that this was a murgu owl, knew that you did the right thing in killing it. Now go back to your tent, tell your father what I have said. What you did was a good thing."
The wind was strengthening so she laced the tent flaps tight after the boy had gone. Old Fraken was wrong more often than right. Since her parents had died, since she had been alone, she had thought less and less of Fraken and his warnings and predictions from owl pellets. Kerrick had laughed at Fraken and his owl vomitings and had helped her lose her fear of the old man. He was stupid and foolish and caused trouble, like this thing with the boy.
Later that same night she awoke, her heart hammering with terror at a scratching on the outside of the tent. She groped for the spear in the darkness until she heard the voice calling her name. Then she blew on the fire until the coals glowed, added fresh wood and unlaced the flap. Harl pushed his bow and arrows in before him then crawled after them.
"He beat me," he said, dry-eyed now. "My father beat me with my own bow when I told him what you had said. He did not want to hear it. He shouted that Kerrick knew all about murgu because he was half murgu himself…" His voice died away and he lowered his head. "Just like you, he said. Then he beat me again and I ran away."
Armun burnt with anger; not for herself, she had heard worse insults. "Old Fraken could read the future better from murgu turds. And your father is as bad, listening to stupidities like that. Kerrick who saved the sammads, now he is away they are quick to forget. How old are you?"
"This is my eleventh winter."
Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
"Old enough to beat, too young to be a hunter and fight back. Lie there until morning, Harl, until your father wonders where you are and comes to find you. I'll tell him about murgu!"
Armun went out in the morning and walked among the tents of sammads and listened to what the women were saying. There was concern over the missing boy and hunters were out looking for him. Good, she thought to herself, they only get fat lying around their tents and doing nothing. She waited until the sun was low on the horizon before she went out and stopped the first woman she met.
"Go to the tent of Nivoth, and tell him that the boy Harl has been found and he is in my tent. Hurry."
As she expected the woman was not in that much of a hurry that she did not have time enough to stop along the way to tell others—which was what Armun had expected. She went back to her tent and stayed there until she heard her name being called. Then she went out and closed the flaps behind her.
Nivoth had a scar from an old wound on his cheek that pulled his mouth into a perpetual scowl; his temper matched his face.
"I have come for the boy," he said rudely. Behind him the growing crowd listened with interest: it had been a long and boring winter.
"I am Armun and this is the tent of Kerrick. What is your name?"
"Move aside woman—I want that boy."
"Will you beat him again? And did you say that Kerrick was half murgu?"
"He is all murgu for what I know. I'll beat the boy rightly enough for carrying tales—and beat you too if you don't stand aside."
She did not move and he reached out and pushed her. This was a bad mistake. He should have remembered what happened when she was younger and they called her squirrel-face.
Her closed fist caught him squarely on the nose and he went over backward into the snow. When he struggled up to his knees, blood dripping from his chin, she hit him again in the same place. This was greatly appreciated by the crowd—and by Harl who was peeking through a slitted opening in the tent.
Hunters do not strike women, other than their own women, so Nivoth was not certain what to do. Nor did he have much time to think about it. Armun was as big as he was—and stronger in
"What you did was correct," she said. "Old Fraken is wrong about this. The margalus Kerrick knows about murgu, knew that this was a murgu owl, knew that you did the right thing in killing it. Now go back to your tent, tell your father what I have said. What you did was a good thing."
The wind was strengthening so she laced the tent flaps tight after the boy had gone. Old Fraken was wrong more often than right. Since her parents had died, since she had been alone, she had thought less and less of Fraken and his warnings and predictions from owl pellets. Kerrick had laughed at Fraken and his owl vomitings and had helped her lose her fear of the old man. He was stupid and foolish and caused trouble, like this thing with the boy.
Later that same night she awoke, her heart hammering with terror at a scratching on the outside of the tent. She groped for the spear in the darkness until she heard the voice calling her name. Then she blew on the fire until the coals glowed, added fresh wood and unlaced the flap. Harl pushed his bow and arrows in before him then crawled after them.
"He beat me," he said, dry-eyed now. "My father beat me with my own bow when I told him what you had said. He did not want to hear it. He shouted that Kerrick knew all about murgu because he was half murgu himself…" His voice died away and he lowered his head. "Just like you, he said. Then he beat me again and I ran away."
Armun burnt with anger; not for herself, she had heard worse insults. "Old Fraken could read the future better from murgu turds. And your father is as bad, listening to stupidities like that. Kerrick who saved the sammads, now he is away they are quick to forget. How old are you?"
"This is my eleventh winter."
Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
"Old enough to beat, too young to be a hunter and fight back. Lie there until morning, Harl, until your father wonders where you are and comes to find you. I'll tell him about murgu!"
Armun went out in the morning and walked among the tents of sammads and listened to what the women were saying. There was concern over the missing boy and hunters were out looking for him. Good, she thought to herself, they only get fat lying around their tents and doing nothing. She waited until the sun was low on the horizon before she went out and stopped the first woman she met.
"Go to the tent of Nivoth, and tell him that the boy Harl has been found and he is in my tent. Hurry."
As she expected the woman was not in that much of a hurry that she did not have time enough to stop along the way to tell others—which was what Armun had expected. She went back to her tent and stayed there until she heard her name being called. Then she went out and closed the flaps behind her.
Nivoth had a scar from an old wound on his cheek that pulled his mouth into a perpetual scowl; his temper matched his face.
"I have come for the boy," he said rudely. Behind him the growing crowd listened with interest: it had been a long and boring winter.
"I am Armun and this is the tent of Kerrick. What is your name?"
"Move aside woman—I want that boy."
"Will you beat him again? And did you say that Kerrick was half murgu?"
"He is all murgu for what I know. I'll beat the boy rightly enough for carrying tales—and beat you too if you don't stand aside."
She did not move and he reached out and pushed her. This was a bad mistake. He should have remembered what happened when she was younger and they called her squirrel-face.
Her closed fist caught him squarely on the nose and he went over backward into the snow. When he struggled up to his knees, blood dripping from his chin, she hit him again in the same place. This was greatly appreciated by the crowd—and by Harl who was peeking through a slitted opening in the tent.
Hunters do not strike women, other than their own women, so Nivoth was not certain what to do. Nor did he have much time to think about it. Armun was as big as he was—and stronger in
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