Today's Reading

His parents rarely talked about how they had met. When they did mention it, it was always with carefully thought out words, as if they knew broaching the subject would stir up unanswered questions. He knew it was through a brief trade agreement between their fathers that ultimately had led to the two young people running away to be together, but Father refused to go into too much detail, instead waving his hands and commenting, "In this world, people have not found anything beyond being offended.”

His mother looked up from her work, almost as if she heard his wondering thoughts. "We need more obsidian for knapping, son,” she said quietly. "Your father is going to try for more fish down the coast before freeze-up. We can get one more batch dried and smoked and put into the si!7uaq, so that means it will have to be you to go up into the mountains before it gets too cold."

"I will leave tomorrow,” he replied. He took another bite of meat.

"You be careful,” she said, a note of worry creeping into her voice. "And don't take longer than necessary.”

Her words stung. Didn't she trust him yet? It had taken her two years to finally allow him to hike up to the mountains after his brothers disappeared. Despite her warnings that something up there would take him, just as it did his brothers, the boy had made many trips in the years since, and the only danger he had run into was a young male brown bear whose fur was now part of his parents' bedding.

Nothing is more dangerous than a bear, he thought, but didn't dare say out loud. He turned away from his mother and dug back into the bowl for another piece of meat.

When the boy finished eating, he stretched out his tall frame on the ground next to his mother and watched the rhythmic movement of her hands as she scraped the dried membrane from the skin. Soon his eyes drooped, and he fell into a half slumber. In his mind, he went through the trip he would make the next day. He relaxed, belly full, as he considered what equipment to take and which route would be quickest. He would pack his waterproof socks made from seal intestines and leave behind the heavy throwing spears his father would probably push. He planned to move fast and did not want to get slowed by boggy tundra or unwieldy weapons. Eventually the soothing familiar sound of his mother scraping the skin lulled him into an afternoon nap.

* * *

Early the next morning, his mother hovered around him as he packed for his trip to the mountains, and he tried his best not to frown at her in annoyance. He tucked his elbows closer to his body as he moved around the tight space inside the sod house, stuffing supplies into his bag. His father watched from the sleeping platform, legs crossed as he absentmindedly rolled up a long length of braided sinew he was packing for his own trip down the coast in the opposite direction. His father's soft, deep voice rumbled under his mother's hovering movements.

"You can take two of my throwing spears, i!ñiin, if you want. Over there.” He gestured to the wall where a rack held their weapons. "Might help just in case. Better to have something rather than nothing when you need it.” The boy raised his eyebrows at his father's suggestion. But he didn't reach for them, and instead grabbed an extra bowstring and stuffed it into his pack.

"It rained a few days ago. The lower trail might be wet. Maybe take the upper trail at the point,” his father said. Again the boy raised his eyebrows in agreement while he slipped on his waterproof socks, making sure to tighten the straps of his caribou-skin boots so that they would not slip around when he walked.

I'm not a child anymore, he thought. I know what I'm doing.

His father glanced at his wife and sighed, then went back to wrapping the rope into a neat coil.

As soon as his pack was ready, the boy touched foreheads with his parents, ignoring the worry lines on their faces, and ducked down into the entrance tunnel.

The day was cool and breezy. Above him stretched a sky of the purest blue. The morning fog had quickly been burned away by the rising sun, and the intense red of the bearberry leaves on the ground competed with the bright yellow of the willow leaves. More than once as he walked, he startled fat lemmings gathering food. Their tiny, round rodent bodies erupted out of the grass and dashed ahead of him, whiskers twitching in annoyance, cheek pouches full, as they worked in a frenzy to get ready for winter.

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