Dawn broke over the home of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii. The
sun sent its golden ribbons streaming across the lush plains, skipping
across little bubbling brooks, glistening off the lively water. A large,
shaggy wolf emerged from a stone shelter, trotting down a sprawling plane
of hay-colored grass in chase of a seasonal cottontail rabbit. Two sturdy,
thick-boned prairie horses, one with a hide colored to match the color of
the grass and another with a coat the color of wet red ochre, moseyed out
of a nearby natural shelter of willow trees and approached the stream to
take a morning drink.
A tall girl of about six years old crept out from the overhanging stone shelter of the Ninth Cave. She brushed a tangled lock of light, wavy blonde hair from her startlingly blue eyes, reveling in the peaceful beauty of the dawn. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the sweet, pure scent of morning air. Somewhere in a nearby thicket, a fight broke out between two nesting finch families, sending their feuding twitters to the little girl's ears. She smiled, perceiving the sound as a musical sound appropriate to this solitary morning scene.
A movement in the grass caught her eye, and she smiled when she noticed the wolf chasing a rabbit. Her hand automatically found the slim, supple thong of leather tied to the belt around her waist, but she released it, decided to allow the wolf his morning pleasure. Instead, she scouted for other game.
Her pulse raced when she detected a pure white ermine with a black- tipped tail; it reminded her of a tunic the father of her hearth had once shown her from when he was mated to her mother. The tunic, which was colored in a purest shad of white, a truly stunning work of art, given the amount of work put into such a creation, but she could believe that her mother had made it. Her mother, in her mind, could create or do anything, and was probably the most renowned member of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, with the possible exception of The First Among Those Who Serve The Mother.
Her hand once again tightened around the pliable leather thong, this time withdrawing it. She reached into a leather pouch hanging at her waist from her belt and withdrew a round stone, one of many that she had found by the stream. She fit it into the thong, raised her arm, and released. A loud, sickening tap told her that the stone had found its mark, and when she approached, she found the ermine lying dead.
Grinning with triumph, she walked down the grassy bank to the stream, where she withdrew several flint tools that her father had painstakingly carved for her. They all had a glossy, almost oily black finish, that made them seem alive, seemed to give them their own spirit. Her father had said that heating stone in fire gave them this quality, and, as he had demonstrated, made knapping the flint much easier. Turning the tools over in her hand for a moment, she pondered what power Doni had given fire that the licking flames could transfer a spirit into stone. The thought dissipated as she focused on the ermine and how her mother had taught her to skin and gut the mammal.
The tool she used to slit the animal's belly was a bifacially knapped blade, with a dulled cylindrical end to serve as a handle that would not cut the user's hand. The sharp blade made a clean red line from the neck all the way down to the animal's anus, and she dug under the animal's skin with the blade as an ad lib form of skinning. Finally, she peeled the white hide off the carcass, and set it aside on the grass as she gutted the ermine. The intestines and other organs were too small to be of any use, so she tossed them to the other side of the stream, where they would not attract any carnivores and endanger her work.
She used a scraper to remove excess fat, skin, and blood vessels from the interior of the hide, except this one was different from the knife in that its blade was curved, and was perpendicular to the handle, rather than the knife blade, which was parallel. She had just finished ridding the hide of the unwanted particles when, by chance, she looked up and noticed a peculiar sight. A large group of people about half a mile away down the wide slope, perhaps twenty or thirty in number, was approaching the Ninth Cave, each covered in light, sturdy traveling clothes. Most of the group was made up of women, a few of whom grasped the hands of small children as the youngsters dogged the adults' footsteps. The rest of the group was male, about nine or ten burly men clutching heavy spears. To the young child, they were armed and unfamiliar, and therefore threatening. Frightened, she stuffed the tools back into place and grabbed the ermine carcass and hide, and ran up the slope. She made a shrill whistle in imitation of her mother's, summoning the wolf and horses to return to their homes, to safety. Each animal raised its head in response, ears pricked. The horses, more in the mood to graze in the nourishing field, nickered in a disgruntled manner, but they were too conditioned to the familiar whistle not to obey. They trotted back to their lean-to while the wolf bounded through the grass, muzzle stained from his morning meal, tongue lagging in pleasure that he had been recognized and summoned by the offspring of the leader of his pack.
She stopped by the community fire pit and breathlessly tossed the bloody carcass and unfinished hide over near the pile of other Zelandonii projects. From among the few people who were already up, she was relieved to find her mother preparing her father's morning mint tea.
"Mother," she called, rushing to the familiar woman and throwing her arms around the leather-covered leg. "People are coming up the hill. Many people, two or three casts of a stone away!"
"Jonayla?" her mother replied, frowning in confusion. She knelt down and looked into her daughter's eyes, the deep-blue eyes whose color was matched only by those of the father of her hearth, and by a great wall of deep, pure ice she had once seen, years ago. "Who's coming?" she asked in consternation, running her fingers through the girl's wavy blonde hair.
"People. Come look!" Jonayla grasped her mother's hand, dragging her insistently to the edge of the stone shelter.
Ayla gazed down across the field, and was startled to see a large group of people approaching the shelter of the Ninth Cave. She stood for a moment, thinking, then looked down at her terrified daughter.
"Jonayla, go wake up Joharran. Tell him what you just saw; I'll wake up Jondalar and tell him," Ayla said urgently, and added "Quickly!" as she watched her daughter scramble through the stone shelter. She returned to her own dwelling.
"Jondalar, wake up," she called. The blonde, incredibly handsome man opened his eyes, frowning slightly, to look at the woman who was his mate. "Strangers are approaching the Ninth Cave. I just sent Jonayla to wake up Joharran, help me get some spears." She knelt down before one of the leather screens that separated her dwelling from the one next to their own, rummaging through the weapons.
"Huh? What's going on?" he asked foggily, pulling on his light summer garments.
"Jonayla was out this morning, and noticed a group of twenty, maybe thirty strangers approaching the Cave. I want to be prepared, so I sent her to get Joharran."
"Strangers? What strangers?"
"Strangers." She straightened up, equipped with two spears. She gave one to Jondalar, and found her familiar leather sling. She tied it around her waist, and left the dwelling.
A tall girl of about six years old crept out from the overhanging stone shelter of the Ninth Cave. She brushed a tangled lock of light, wavy blonde hair from her startlingly blue eyes, reveling in the peaceful beauty of the dawn. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the sweet, pure scent of morning air. Somewhere in a nearby thicket, a fight broke out between two nesting finch families, sending their feuding twitters to the little girl's ears. She smiled, perceiving the sound as a musical sound appropriate to this solitary morning scene.
A movement in the grass caught her eye, and she smiled when she noticed the wolf chasing a rabbit. Her hand automatically found the slim, supple thong of leather tied to the belt around her waist, but she released it, decided to allow the wolf his morning pleasure. Instead, she scouted for other game.
Her pulse raced when she detected a pure white ermine with a black- tipped tail; it reminded her of a tunic the father of her hearth had once shown her from when he was mated to her mother. The tunic, which was colored in a purest shad of white, a truly stunning work of art, given the amount of work put into such a creation, but she could believe that her mother had made it. Her mother, in her mind, could create or do anything, and was probably the most renowned member of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, with the possible exception of The First Among Those Who Serve The Mother.
Her hand once again tightened around the pliable leather thong, this time withdrawing it. She reached into a leather pouch hanging at her waist from her belt and withdrew a round stone, one of many that she had found by the stream. She fit it into the thong, raised her arm, and released. A loud, sickening tap told her that the stone had found its mark, and when she approached, she found the ermine lying dead.
Grinning with triumph, she walked down the grassy bank to the stream, where she withdrew several flint tools that her father had painstakingly carved for her. They all had a glossy, almost oily black finish, that made them seem alive, seemed to give them their own spirit. Her father had said that heating stone in fire gave them this quality, and, as he had demonstrated, made knapping the flint much easier. Turning the tools over in her hand for a moment, she pondered what power Doni had given fire that the licking flames could transfer a spirit into stone. The thought dissipated as she focused on the ermine and how her mother had taught her to skin and gut the mammal.
The tool she used to slit the animal's belly was a bifacially knapped blade, with a dulled cylindrical end to serve as a handle that would not cut the user's hand. The sharp blade made a clean red line from the neck all the way down to the animal's anus, and she dug under the animal's skin with the blade as an ad lib form of skinning. Finally, she peeled the white hide off the carcass, and set it aside on the grass as she gutted the ermine. The intestines and other organs were too small to be of any use, so she tossed them to the other side of the stream, where they would not attract any carnivores and endanger her work.
She used a scraper to remove excess fat, skin, and blood vessels from the interior of the hide, except this one was different from the knife in that its blade was curved, and was perpendicular to the handle, rather than the knife blade, which was parallel. She had just finished ridding the hide of the unwanted particles when, by chance, she looked up and noticed a peculiar sight. A large group of people about half a mile away down the wide slope, perhaps twenty or thirty in number, was approaching the Ninth Cave, each covered in light, sturdy traveling clothes. Most of the group was made up of women, a few of whom grasped the hands of small children as the youngsters dogged the adults' footsteps. The rest of the group was male, about nine or ten burly men clutching heavy spears. To the young child, they were armed and unfamiliar, and therefore threatening. Frightened, she stuffed the tools back into place and grabbed the ermine carcass and hide, and ran up the slope. She made a shrill whistle in imitation of her mother's, summoning the wolf and horses to return to their homes, to safety. Each animal raised its head in response, ears pricked. The horses, more in the mood to graze in the nourishing field, nickered in a disgruntled manner, but they were too conditioned to the familiar whistle not to obey. They trotted back to their lean-to while the wolf bounded through the grass, muzzle stained from his morning meal, tongue lagging in pleasure that he had been recognized and summoned by the offspring of the leader of his pack.
She stopped by the community fire pit and breathlessly tossed the bloody carcass and unfinished hide over near the pile of other Zelandonii projects. From among the few people who were already up, she was relieved to find her mother preparing her father's morning mint tea.
"Mother," she called, rushing to the familiar woman and throwing her arms around the leather-covered leg. "People are coming up the hill. Many people, two or three casts of a stone away!"
"Jonayla?" her mother replied, frowning in confusion. She knelt down and looked into her daughter's eyes, the deep-blue eyes whose color was matched only by those of the father of her hearth, and by a great wall of deep, pure ice she had once seen, years ago. "Who's coming?" she asked in consternation, running her fingers through the girl's wavy blonde hair.
"People. Come look!" Jonayla grasped her mother's hand, dragging her insistently to the edge of the stone shelter.
Ayla gazed down across the field, and was startled to see a large group of people approaching the shelter of the Ninth Cave. She stood for a moment, thinking, then looked down at her terrified daughter.
"Jonayla, go wake up Joharran. Tell him what you just saw; I'll wake up Jondalar and tell him," Ayla said urgently, and added "Quickly!" as she watched her daughter scramble through the stone shelter. She returned to her own dwelling.
"Jondalar, wake up," she called. The blonde, incredibly handsome man opened his eyes, frowning slightly, to look at the woman who was his mate. "Strangers are approaching the Ninth Cave. I just sent Jonayla to wake up Joharran, help me get some spears." She knelt down before one of the leather screens that separated her dwelling from the one next to their own, rummaging through the weapons.
"Huh? What's going on?" he asked foggily, pulling on his light summer garments.
"Jonayla was out this morning, and noticed a group of twenty, maybe thirty strangers approaching the Cave. I want to be prepared, so I sent her to get Joharran."
"Strangers? What strangers?"
"Strangers." She straightened up, equipped with two spears. She gave one to Jondalar, and found her familiar leather sling. She tied it around her waist, and left the dwelling.