Vincavec woke up groggily, lying on top of Latie, spent and also spiritually drained. He had heard of spirit travels to other times and places, and of people being possessed by a spirit of one of their ancestors, but never experienced anything like that before.
Was it the witches' salve, that mamuti did not usually apply to themselves, or was it that Latie was unusually gifted, he wondered. She should go into training to become a mamut, he thought. But then, she could not have children if she did so; the plants the mamuti used for access to the spirit world did not agree with childbearing women.
The majority of mamuti were female, but most of them were older women who had started their training only after their children were grown, usually because they were drawn to healing while treating their offspring's childhood diseases.
As a rule of thumb, those women of a later calling were not eager to travel the spirit world, and did not acquire great power. Those destined for power, on the other hand, whether male or female, usually received their calling, or joined the ranks of those who served just to quench their curiosity, rather early in their lives.
Vincavec was roused from his musings by a stirring from the furs beside him. Chaleg had gone on to snoring loudly, but the woman underneath him was becoming agitated. Judging from his mumbling and the rustling of the bedding, she was apparently shaking him. In a distressed whisper she demanded that he wake up and use „it", whatever that was, that he should have brought with him.
From the new woman's quiet rumblings (Dollie was the name, wasn't it?), Vincavec got an idea what she was so frantically seeking. The couple had been at it before the ceremony as suspected. For a last vestige of respectability, and bride-price, and to prevent rumours about bad luck, she now needed Chaleg to apply some animal's blood to her thighs and the bedding, which he hopefully would have brought with him as instructed.
Outside, somebody was lighting a fire. Apparently the watching women thought the ceremony now completed and were encouraging the men who had participated to leave before dawn. The dim light reaching them through the skins of the tent made it easier to find and put on their clothes and reach the door flap without stumbling over someone.
Some men were already getting up and dressing to leave, while some others, also roused by the commotion, were less in a hurry and asked their - or neighbouring - women whether they'd like a second demonstration.
Latie was fast asleep, so Vincavec tucked her in snugly with the sleeping furs. He pitied the young woman next to them. So she did not have the required minimum of self-restraint, but he knew life must be hard at Chaleg's and the two related „scrap-camps".
If they mended their lodges as well as their leaky, half-rotten tents ... and they all were very lean each year upon arrival at the summer meeting, and often short a child or older person. So had the girl just had a girlish crush and no self-restraint, as the older women in the council of sisters might put it, or had she seen the need to increase her chances of survival by throwing herself at her camp's lead hunter? Or something in between?
Did she deserve to be scorned? Chaleg, on the other hand, would not be scorned, but praised for his manliness, and he would be the envy of all men. Sharing pleasures with a woman before first rites was every man's wild, forbidden dream.
That settled it. Vincavec decided he would help the woman. Sighing, he tried to remember where fleabane grew near Wolf Camp, while searching Chaleg's pile of clothing for the required flask of blood. He was glad when he found it, a small animal's bladder filled with liquid - so at least the other man had that much sense of responsibility that he'd brought something.
In the meantime, Dollie had continued shaking and prodding the man on top of her, constantly pleading with him, and her efforts came to fruitition: he stirred and mumbled. Vincavec handed him the blood-filled flask; it was that man's duty after all.
The groggy man felt that a container of liquid was handed to him and mumbled: „Thankee chum, 'm real thirsty." Still lying on top of Dollie, keeping her down with his weight, and oblivious to her horrified squeal, he unstoppered the bladder and drank deeply, only to choke, cough and sputter the next instant, followed by a mostly unintellegible stream of foul language.
Vincavec thought his jaw would drop to the floor. This would certainly be the riot at the laughing contest next winter. But he should not laugh now, not to draw the watching women; Dollie needed some time yet to handle the situation. Don't laugh - don't laugh - think about something boring! Counting words? Two hands and four is half a cycle of the moon ... No, not working. He was holding his mouth with both hands and getting a hickup from suppressed laughter. Think of something boring, very boring! Aspects of sacred colours? The Mother's song? Verses came to him unbidden:
In the tent's darkness, at that special time
coupled a man and a girl in their grime.
From the dregs of the earth She'd created the pair
but to teach them manners She never did care.
At least She made them desire each other
and never the neighbouring couples to bother.
Not working either. He was curled up in a fetal position, laughter ready to explode. Valez' welcoming speech to the council of brothers! The Wolf Camp headman was known for his lengthy sleeping-drought speeches, and had outdone himself this year. Vincavec's mind went blank.
Dollie was an inventive young woman, and not as addled by the witches' salve as the other girls, who had likely been kept well away from mind-altering substances all their lives by their camps' shamans. (Selfish bunch; weren't the Mother's plants there for everyone to use?)
When Chaleg dropped the blood-containing bladder, she caught it before it could run empty completely, and applied the remaining few drops between her legs. To be on the safe side, she bit and tore the little container open and rubbed her inner thighs with the bloodstained inside, and Chaleg's crotch also. There now, that should convince them old hags - or at least, they could not prove anything against her.
She flung the torn bladder into a corner of the tent, then rubbed her hands clean on the bedding, and her face also, just in case some blood from Chaleg's sputtering hat hit her. In case of remaining traces, she decided, he would have suffered nosebleed; that wasn't uncommon for men who had fun after drinking heavily.
Just in case, she scooped up some blood from her thigh and smeared it under his nose. He barely stirred, having gone to sleep again while she'd been busy tearing up the little bladder. She wrapped an arm around him and a fur around her back and went to sleep.
A little while later Vincavec had calmed down sufficiently to take in his surroundings once again, and, seeing Dollie and Chaleg asleep and cuddling, decided the woman must be comfortable with the situation, so there was no need for himself to bite his tongue and spit blood on her or anything like that any more. All the better.
Latie was still asleep as well. He was not quite comfortable with leaving the young woman next to the snoring Vulture Camp headman, but all the other men had departed already, so he figured the watching women would soon move in to throw Chaleg out.
The young shaman picked up the bundle of his clothes, not bothering to put them on, and exited the tent, planning to take a quick dunking in the river before going to sleep, and to smoke out his clothes the next day, to make sure nothing that might have crawled over from the Vulture Camp bundle would last.