10 January 2013

Einar had been sleeping lightly, cold again after having at some point disentangled himself from Liz’s embrace and rolled to the edge of the bed where the hides did not so thoroughly cover him—the night was full of shadows, and he did not want to be so close to her should he accidentally fall asleep and find himself facing some of them—and troubled by a series of vivid dreams which had crept in to leave him waking wide-eyed and staring whenever he did doze.  It was in this context that the sound reached his ears, a movement in the snow outside, something between a scrape and a crunch and so faint as to be somewhat past the edge of normal hearing, but there was nothing normal about Einar’s hearing on most days, and especially not after having just wakened from one of those dreams.  The entire world was alive with sounds for him, soft, slow monotony of Liz’s breathing, gentle, reassuring, Will’s still-faster rhythm weaving in and out of her own as he, too, slept, and across the room the sound of Juni stirring slightly in her sleep, fabric of her bag rustling softly.  Then there were the routine sounds of the night—sigh of wind through the spruces, crackling of cabin logs as temperatures continued to plummet, a soft scouring sound as a skiff of newly fallen snow crystals, icy because of conditions, were caught in a stray eddy of wind and swirled against the back side of the cabin near where the tunnel connected and the hollow, almost electrical-sounding echo in his own head as he for a moment lost the rigid control he’d been maintaining over his body, and shivered violently for the passage of several seconds.  These sounds were all greatly amplified by the intense, crackling alertness that always attended the aftermath of such dreaming as he’d has that night, but were not unfamiliar.  Not a threat.

For a time he was unsure whether he had truly heard anything threatening, anything out of the ordinary, lying perfectly still and holding himself rigid against his own shivering, could have all been in his head, wouldn’t have been the first time, especially in conjunction with such dreams as had been accosting his consciousness during the dark hours, but then it came again, and he, devoid now of any trace of sleepiness, was sure.  Someone—or something, but if it wasn’t human, it had to be awfully close in both size and gait—was out there.  Was moving.  Approaching.

Swiftly and with more stealth than he was normally able to summon of late, Einar was out of bed and crouching on the floor, once more listening, not hearing the sound again but knowing he must go and investigate.  Slipping into a sweater—parka was too bulky, would slow him down and make some noise of its own, at least to his ears—he silently retrieved the rifle from its place in the corner, checking to see that one was in the chamber, which it was, always was but still he had to check.  Pistol already in his back pocket and knife ready to grab he crept for the door, ever so slowly ease open the tunnel easing it open, muzzle of the rifle leading and he following on soft, silent feet, crouching to hands and knees and pushing the door closed behind him. 

Out in the tunnel it was cold, still, not a sound other than the normal night noises he’d been hearing from inside, and for a full minute he waited, weight of the rifle beginning to drag at him so that he could no longer easily hold it up, but he didn’t feel it.  Needed to get some sense of the direction from which the danger might be coming, wanted to know before venturing out of the concealment of the tunnel but whatever it was seemed to have stopped moving, sensing, perhaps, his own motion or perhaps simply having reached its intended destination.  Frightening thought.  Even now, the man—or men, if indeed the intruder proved to be of the human sort—might be lying in wait with the tunnel mouth in full view, prepared to take him out the moment he emerged and then come for the others…  Sneaky buzzards.  Wished he had a third entrance.  Did not, though, and upon a bit of reflection realized that things probably weren’t quite as grim as he’d initially made them out to be, even should some shadowy adversary be lying in wait.

The area around the tunnel mouth was so heavily timbered as to prevent the snow ever getting particularly deep there, unless drifted in by the wind.  If one turned right upon emerging, instead of left as they usually did to begin making their way around the cabin, the trees were denser still, a stand of such thick, tangles little firs that he’d had rather a hard time pushing his way through, last time he’d tried.  Those trees, if he could reach them without being spotted, would give him the concealment he needed to put some quick distance between himself and the cabin, hopefully allow him to work his way around to a vantage from which he could look back and watch the place, spot and intercept whoever was sneaking around out there.  If indeed there was anyone at all.  Hadn’t heard a sound since entering the tunnel, not a whisper that seemed out of place, and was almost beginning to wonder whether he had imagined the entire thing, letting the dream-shadows run away with him again, when he heard it.

Not too far away this time and distinctly human, the footsteps crunched through some old snow, stopped, did not start again.  On his belly in the tunnel mouth, squinting into the faintly starlit darkness, Einar knew this could mean only one thing about the location of his adversary or adversaries, as there was only one spot nearby where the wind always kept new snow polished from the ground, allowing for the sound he had heard, instead of the much softer mute thud of a human foot in fresh powder.  Turning his eyes on the place but keeping them somewhat averted in the knowledge that one’s best vision, in such lighting, is on the periphery, he scanned for any unusual shape, anything that might give away more exactly the position of the intruder, but he saw nothing, and could not risk simply firing at random into the area and hoping he hit whoever it was; the timber could be teeming with the man’s cohorts, and he absolutely must not risk giving himself away. 

Only one thing to do then, and that was to try and work his way in closer, get to a place where he might be able to see something and determine more exactly the nature of the threat, and then he was moving, slithering on his belly into the soft snow beneath the firs, worming his way through as quietly as possible.  Which was pretty quietly, for in his rather skinny state he passed much more easily and flexibly between the close-growing little trees than otherwise he would have found himself capable of doing, and with an almost-smile creeping across his face despite the direness of present circumstances, he decided he might have to mention the fact to Liz, next time she got after him for not eating enough.  Liz. Wished she was out there with him, instead of fast asleep in a cabin which almost certainly represented the target of whoever stalked the night out there, her, and Will with her, for what chance would the two of them have should the place be stormed while they slept?  Even with Juni there to help—provided she would help—it was little more than a death trap.  Mustn’t allow that to happen.  Must find and deal with the intruders, before they could have hope of closing the distance.  If he could only find them.  Still nothing over where the crunchy snow should have been, nothing visible, only just then, peering at last through the final screen of firs before a small open area beneath the cliffs back of the cabin, he thought he saw a flicker of movement, just a tiny thing right on the edge of vision, but it was enough.

Rifle aimed in the starlight, pale, tenuous starlight—would much rather use a knife, and probably would end up doing so if the man remained stationary and he was able to approach, but for now must keep him covered and watch for a minute—he lay there waiting, praying there weren’t too many, for he had no chance now to return to his family, warn them, see them off into the timber before the shooting started…

9 January 2013

When evening came without any apparent letup in the storm, Einar found himself growing increasingly restless penned up as he was in the cabin, the place seeming to press in all around him as he longed for the stinging bite of the wind on his face, for somewhere to go and the challenge that would come of getting there, even if it was just to the woodshed and back.  They had plenty of wood though, thanks to his earlier expedition, and with Liz seeming to watch him more closely than usual, he knew his chances of slipping out unnoticed and thus un-followed had to be pretty minimal. 

Could simply go, let her know that he needed some space and air and head out into the storm, but knew this would not be in keeping with the resolve he’d expressed to her up at their last camp before returning, his determination to really make an effort to allow himself to grow physically stronger as she’d been urging him to do for so long.  He’d meant it up there, had even believed, himself, that it was the right thing to do and being a man of his word knew he must stick to the things he had told her, but that was, at the moment, his only reason for doing so.  Any conviction he might have had that such a path was the right one for him had managed to evaporate sometime after his third bowl of stew—desperation lessening, resolve returning, and with it a great shame that he had ever allowed himself to give in, to slip, for that was now how he saw it—and now all he wanted was the severe life and death challenge which he knew would be brought him by spending an unprotected night out in the storm, in his condition.  Might kill him, but it seemed at the same time the only thing with much chance of keeping him alive, of making life a livable thing, on an ongoing basis.  Foolish notion, he told himself, trying to believe.  He was alive, had to be doing better than he’d done in days, between Liz’s extra bowls of stew and her insistence that he did for the most part allow himself some rather unaccustomed rest and warmth, and he would stay that way—and maybe at some point start seeing the entire process as a good thing—if he could just summon the patience to see it through.

Which, resignedly bracing his back against the water barrel and wrapping arms around his knees as if in an attempt to hold himself in place, he tried very hard to do.  Could wait.  Knew how to wait.

Though appreciative of Einar’s obvious efforts, Liz was perhaps a bit less reassured by his waiting than he might have hoped her to be.  She knew the look that was creeping into his eyes, the look of a trapped animal, and she did not like it at all.  Did not like the idea of going into the night with him in that state, because she had seen where it could lead, but not even these strong apprehensions could justify, so far as she was concerned, sending him out to die in the wind, just when a bit of progress was beginning to be made…

Liz sighed, turned back to Will, who was once more going at the raven, this time with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm so that she was concerned he might end up aggravating the bird and getting a peck to the eye, picking up the child and attempting to turn his attention elsewhere.  No minor task, but at least it got her mind off Einar, with whom she was beginning to become dreadfully frustrated.  No way to figure him out, is there little one?  Too bad you can’t talk yet, maybe you could tell me something useful about how you guys think…  Or maybe not.  I’m not sure he knows exactly what he’s thinking right now, or why.  It wouldn’t surprise me if it was almost as much a mystery to him as it is to me.  Well.  Carry on.

Which she did, slipping Will into his buckskin sling to keep him close—and out of trouble—as she went about supper preparations.  Their supply of fresh-frozen meat continued to hold out fairly well despite having Juni around as an extra mouth to feed, and despite the fact that both before and after her arrival, they had been working pretty consistently to get the remaining stuff sliced and dried for jerky.  They’d had a good bit to begin with, and Juni had very nearly made up for her share with the fresh meat—rabbits, mostly, with the occasional squirrel or even grouse making up the remainder—that she brought in from her frequent short expeditions around the cabin, and as they had always eaten this fresh when it was brought in, this left a fair portion of the frozen meat yet to use.  That night Liz had chosen venison, good—any food was good, she had come to realize, after a long day living in the cold, a tremendous blessing and never to be taken for granted—if not such a treat as elk, but they were getting short on fresh elk, Einar having already turned most of it into jerky.  No problem, as the jerky would serve them well over the coming months to provide trail snacks and stews for both home and the road, and for that night, venison would do just fine.  More than fine, really, as they were all hungry after the cold and wind of the day, though most of it had been spent sheltered, more or less, by the walls of the cabin.  This hunger was especially evident in Einar, whose face remained painfully pinched and hollow despite several days of better eating, and though he was doing his best to conceal the extent of his need, she could see it in his eyes every time he glanced towards the stove.  It was a struggle she saw in his face each and every time she presented him with a bowl of stew—the desire, perhaps even the need to refuse, to resist, overcome with tremendous effort and at great cost—and though he had of late been winning more often than not, she knew there was no guarantee that things would continue to go that way.  Best get as much food into him as possible, while he was willing.

Supper finished, cleaning done and everyone thinking about settling in for the night, the wind still howled outside, perhaps somewhat less furiously than it had done during the day but still with enough enthusiasm to prevent any thoughts of the storm being over, and with the coming of darkness, already low temperatures plunged rapidly.  Everyone inside could feel the change, walls keeping out most of the wind but the little stove struggling to push back the icy chill of the night.

Eianr, quiet since before supper and growing increasingly withdrawn as night approached, wanted to sleep out in the tunnel that night, could feel trouble coming and didn’t want to be near Will—or either of the women—when it happened, mentioned the fact to Liz but, true to form, did not tell her why he wanted to separate himself for the night, assuming she would know.  Liz did know, or at least suspect, Einar’s reason for needing a bit more space, and though knowing she would eventually have to relent and allow him to do what he believed he needed to do in that regard, she hated the thought of him starting the night out that way, cold as he already appeared to be.  With much effort she talked him into coming to bed instead of heading immediately outside, willing that he should eventually end up in the tunnel if he was so determined to do it but wanting at least to get him a bit warmer first, give him a better chance of making it through the night out there.  Will, having worn himself out in another raven-chasing session after supper, was already asleep, and the two of them lay together beside him, Liz wrapping herself as well as possible around his cold-stiff frame and he marveling, as always, at her presence.

“You’re so warm.  How do you do that…?”

“I eat.  Enough to have some insulation on me, that is, as well as to produce energy for the day.  And you don’t, and you feel like a block of ice right now, but we’re going to fix that.”

“No fixing it.”

“Oh, yes there is…”

And so it happened that Einar, contrary to his initial intent, was still in the cabin when the storm ended, skies cleared and the visitors came.

8 January 2013

Nothing  today.  Sorry.  Back with another tomorrow.

7 January 2013

Will got his father’s attention, alright, his insistent climbing and clambering at Einar’s knee unsteadying him to the point that he very nearly tipped over before catching himself.

“What is it, little one?  You after my stew?  Want a taste or two?  Fine with me, but your mother…well, we’d have to ask her, wouldn’t we?”

Apparently by way of answer—no, no asking needed—a little hand shot up and into Einar’s bowl, coming away with a bit of rabbit meat and a lot of dripping broth which inevitably ended up all over the floor.

“In trouble now, aren’t we?”  Einar growled, mopping at the spilled stew and taking a sidelong glance at Liz, but Will only smiled, rolling the rabbit meat around in his mouth as he tried to figure out what to do with it and patting his hands in the little patch of dampness on the floor.  Exploring.  Wondering, perhaps, what he might be able to build given time and free access to that bit of mud.  Wonderful things, Einar had no doubt, but he mustn’t be allowed to do it, not in the house and with bits of broth which he was never supposed to have.  Wanting to remedy the situation before it got out of hand—or ended up being noticed by Liz who at the moment still appeared not to have observed the little incident—he scooped Will up in one hand, jabbing with the other at the raven on his perch so that Muninn turned to face him, already hopping down and across the floor by the time Will realized he had been taken from his latest project. 

In this way, raven expectantly tilting his head at father and son as if asking where he might find his portion of the recent meal and Will’s attention grabbed by the shimmering iridescence of the bird’s wing and tail feathers, Einar was able to keep the peace all around for the moment.  A good thing, too, as he’d seen how loud things could get when his son was pulled prematurely from one project or another, and he—though fortunately he did not actually scream and wail when thus interrupted—certainly knew how the little guy felt.  Sometimes, a fellow just needs to be left to whatever he’s got in front of him until the thing’s finished, and any undue interruption tends to be a cause for major distress. 

You’ll learn, Snorri.  As you get older and out on your own just a little more, you’ll find places where you can work undisturbed, a favorite spruce, maybe, that can be a quiet refuge where you’ll spend hours at a time out of sight of others, even if those others are just Mom and Dad and maybe someday a little brother or sister or two…yeah, I had a bunch of places like that as a kid.  Those, and a little cubby under the eaves upstairs in the log house where I grew up.  Place was supposed to be for storage, just two and a half, three feet high at the front and of course tapering to the floor at the back, they’d put up a lightweight wall of wood siding boards to hide the boxes and stuff they planned to keep in there, but when I got to be six, seven years old I moved the boxes all down to one end of it and claimed the other as my own little place.  Spent hours in there reading by candlelight and later with a flashlight, studying books on history and war and the animals and the wild plants we had in the area, taking apart radios and lamps and once my Dad’s rifle and hiding them in there until I’d got them put back together better than I’d found them…  And then there was the time when I assembled an entire porcupine skeleton once, pieced it together and held it with wrapped wires after I’d boiled it to get some of the stink off of the bones, since I’d found it when the critter still had some old, rotten meat and skin fragments on it…surprised they didn’t catch me at that one!  But it sure was fascinating, seeing how the critter was put together, how it worked.  Yeah, you’ll find your own little hidden spots like that, I have no doubt, and I’ll try to make sure you have plenty of time to think and contemplate and dream, if it’s possible.  Everybody needs that.  We just need a little more space that some others, don’t we, kid?  Space and quiet.

As if having heard his father’s words—really ought to try speaking aloud to him, Einar, because if he’s anything like you were, he can comprehend an awful lot more than most adults will give him credit for, even at this age.  Remember hiding under the kitchen table when you were two or three and listening to Dad debate philosophy and theology with two or three friends, and understanding the conversation well enough to have a strong opinion?  Yeah.  No reason to think he won’t be the same way—Will turned momentarily away from the raven and gave him a sharp, penetrating glance as if to say, I hear you thinking about me, and I don’t like it…

Einar grinned, nodded, looked the other direction.  “I know it.  I don’t like that either, when people do that to me.  They always think we can’t tell, but we can, can’t we?  Ok.  Turning my thoughts another way, and you can get back to inspecting the raven.”

Liz had been watching, looking puzzled.  “Don’t like when people do what?  What are you talking about?”

“Was talking with Will.  We two just had a great conversation.”

“He looks pretty absorbed in counting raven feathers about now.  He wasn’t even looking at you.”

Einar shrugged.  “Is that supposed to be necessary?”

“Supposedly.”  And they both laughed, Einar because of the play on words and Liz because he could be so genuinely oblivious at times to the things most people took for granted when it came to human communication and interaction, yet could instantly hear and interpret a distant crow caw or shift in the wind or detect an approaching helicopter several miles away with such uncanny perception and accuracy that at times she had been quite sure he must be somehow sensing, rather than hearing.  And you’re going to be just like him in that way, aren’t you Will?  I can see it already.  Could see it in your first month of life.  Well.  I can just hope you got the best from both of us.  That it’ll all balance out, more or less.

Ha!  She rose, shaking her head and taking Will with her, raven, though patiently bearing the little one’s inspection, clearly wishing for a break from such attention.  Not much chance of that, is there?  Of balance?  You’re your father’s son, and that’s alright.

5 January 2013

No chapter tonight, but should be back with another tomorrow.

Thank you all for reading!

4 January 2013

As the day continued, Will waking, eating and beginning his daily exploration of the cabin, Einar went over with Juni the basics of carving a bone atlatl point, giving her a section of elk leg bone at the end of the lesson so she might try her hand at the skill.  Much of her morning was spent in simply scoring the bone so it might be broken correctly, tracing the same line over and over with a sharp bit of granite until enough material had been worn away that she could tap the bone with a larger rock and have it split neatly in half.  This was her intent at least, after Einar’s describing the process and briefly demonstrating a technique for scoring, and she was very pleased when things worked out the way they were intended, bone falling neatly in half and her roughly-etched dart head template ready and waiting to be carved out.

Will watched with interest as Juni worked, his previous day’s interest in the beaver hide replaced by a fascination with watching bits and shavings of bone come off and fall to the floor as Juni’s project took shape.  So taken was he with the process that several times Liz had to go and retrieve him, easing small but incredibly strong hands from around the sharp-tipped shard of granite being used by the young reporter to scratch out the rough shape of the dart head, and returning it to her.  This displeased the little one greatly, intent as he had been on not only observing but participating in whatever strange and wonderful process was being carried out there on the floor of his small but increasingly fascinating abode.

After the third such retrieval, the youngest Asmundson’s protests growing louder each time, Liz decided he needed some fresh air, bundled him up against the continuing storm and headed out to the woodshed.  Besides distancing Will from what seemed at the moment to be proving an almost irresistible source of temptation and giving him something else on which to focus his increasingly intense curiosity, Liz did not at all mind the opportunity to go check on Einar, who had for nearly the past hour been out in the woodshed doing something or other.   Making kindling, he’d told her, and had taken the axe, but she had heard few sounds of late to indicate that he was still working with the firewood, and with the storm continuing in unabated, rock-scouring fury, she had begun to worry just a bit.

Einar was indeed still in the woodshed, kindling piled neatly in a stack two feet high against one wall, waiting to be carried in, and because of it she did not at first see him, squinting into the darkness and thinking he’d gone.  There were no tracks leading from the shed however, and despite the fury of the wind she expected there would be some sign if he’d taken off into the timber.  Which made it worth going in for a look, and she did, finding him pressed against the wall behind his kindling stack, arms locked around his bent knees and eyes distant, empty when she moved out of the door to allow a bit of muted, storm-filtered light to fall on him.  He was cold.  Looked like he’d been still for way too long, and was feeling it.  Or would be, if he was feeling much of anything.  She sat down beside him, leaning forward so as not to trap Will, riding in her parka, against the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“Just watching…storm.  Good place to be.”

“Looks like you’re a little chilly.  Let me have your hands.  They’re not a good color.”

He stared at his hands, blotched alternately purple and bloodless-white, tried without much success to flex his fingers and finally at Liz’s insistence held them out to her, she slipping off her mittens and taking them between her own.  Took several minutes, but the intense sting of returning circulation eventually brought him around, nodding gratefully at Liz and accepting, finally, the embrace with which she had been attempting to warm him.

“Now can you tell me what’s going on?  What you were thinking about, out here?”

“Just needed some quiet.”

“Quiet.  Well, have you had enough?  Can you come back in now?”

He shrugged, got a bit shakily to his feet and began gathering up kindling from the pile, Liz helping until they’d got it all picked up.  Outside—and to some extent in the woodshed, as well, its front being open to the weather—the storm raged on, and pausing before heading out once more into the full force of the wind, Liz did have to admit that it was beautiful in its own way, the spectacular force and fury of slanting, swirling wind-driven whiteness to which their immediate world had been reduced.  It was no wonder that Einar might have wished to seek a few minutes’ solitude out there with little between him and that living, moving entity.  She was sure, though, that there had to be more to his absence, especially as he had apparently hidden himself with some deliberation behind the kindling pile to sit unresisting as the elements stole in and began their work on his body. 

Not something she needed to know, she supposed, only in this case it seemed really that she did, as the consequences tended to be rather swift and severe at their elevation and in such weather, and Einar…well, she greatly wished him to continue on what had appeared to her a better path, over the past day or two.  It was far too soon for him to be reverting to his standard mode of existence, sitting out in the weather and, she wouldn’t be surprised, probably refusing his stew again pretty soon, too.  Must not happen this time.  She wished he’d talk to her, tell her what he really had been thinking about as he froze to the woodshed wall…but he seemed little inclined to volunteer any such information, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask.  Silence, then, as they stood together watching the storm, until finally, unwilling to go on seeing him shiver in the piercing, snow-laden wind, Liz laid her head against Einar’s shoulder to get his attention, nodded towards the cabin and led the way inside.

Einar, much to Liz’s relief and somewhat to her surprise, as well, did not refuse the bowl of stew she was within minutes easing into his still-purple hands, Juni having tended the pot in her absence and even added some bits of sheep jerky and a few dried nettles to fortify the meal.  Did not refuse but did stare rather absently at the wall as he ate, mind somewhere far away and far, she was certain, beyond her reach.  But perhaps not beyond Will’s, the little one clambering over to his father and beginning to climb his knee, all the while a look of very serious determination in his eye, destination clearly beyond doubt and, to him at least, tremendously important.

3 January 2013

Neither of them wanted to answer Juni’s question about long-term plans, so they did not, Liz continuing her work over the fire and Einar staring silently into the shadows behind the water barrel before suddenly being struck with a bit of inspiration, rising and seeking out the buckskin pouch in which he kept the bits of bone and stone from which he made atlatl dart heads and arrows.  Tossing the small bag to Juni—she caught it, was apparently learning—he passed her one of the finished darts he always kept with the atlatl.

“Seem to remember you taking a pretty keen interest in these the first time you were up here.  Care to learn how they’re made?”

“Yes, I was interested!  Up there in the mine tunnel where you where you were staying, that time when the photographer and I met you in the woods when you were carrying home a baby mountain goat for your supper…but as I remember, things didn’t go too well that time when I showed some interest in the atlatl.  Not too well at all.”

“You never go for a fella’s weapons, especially unexpectedly like that.  Gives him the wrong idea, and yeah, you’re somewhat lucky to have survived that one.  You and your friend.  Whatever happened to him, anyway?  He manage to walk out without his shoes, or is he still up here somewhere, doing his best to figure out how to catch a critter or two so he can make shoes out of its hide?”

“Oh, he made it out.  Though it took us an awfully long time and he was none too happy about you having taken his boots.”

“Could have taken more.”

“I know.  And so did he.  He figured we really were fortunate to get out of there with out lives, in the first place.”

“Had to give myself some time.  Knew what I thought your intentions were, you two, but wasn’t going to stake my freedom on what I thought.  Could have been wrong.”

“Were you?”

“Don’t know yet.  Sometimes I still wonder.”

Not very reassuring for Juni, his uncertainty, but she hardly blamed him for it.  The life he was living made no allowance for unearned trust or lapses in the constant vigilance required if one as to maintain his freedom, not to mention his life.  He doubted her because he must, because he could not afford to trust any man, or woman—at least, she hoped that was the only reason, as she’d certainly done what she could, otherwise, to earn his trust.  She shrugged, saw him looking at her strangely, and, unable to read his eyes—never had been able to do that with him, not in the least, and it was a good part of what made his presence so unsettling, at times—looked away.  Wished he’d get back to talking about atlatl darts and perhaps even showing her how they were made, but instead he seemed intent on scrutinizing, studying, and she wondered what might be coming next. 

After a time Einar seemed to lose interest in his study, eyes drifting half closed as the warmth of the fire began seeping in to ease some of the ice from his bones.  Relief.  It was the closest thing to physical pleasure that he seemed capable of experiencing, of late, and half the time he thought himself doing wrong for allowing even so much as a hint of it to creep in around the edges.  Should have at that moment scooted farther from the stove, taken off the deer hide, stuck his head in the water barrel so that he ended up streaming with icy water and allowed himself to slowly dry while freezing to the wall—something, but instead he kept still, allowing the radiant warmth to slowly edge its way further into his core, loosening muscles and leaving him slouched over against the water barrel, not far at all from sleep.

The sound of clanking rock chips brought him back to full awareness, scrambling to his knees and glancing about the cabin in a somewhat desperate attempt to gage the length of time that might have elapsed since his beginning to doze.  Not much at all for the looks of things, Will still fast asleep, Liz tending a pot of stew and Juni—ah, that explained what had wakened him—sorting the small pile of chipped rock and bone that she had just poured from its buckskin pouch.

“So, tell me how you do it.  The atlatl heads.”

“You’re looking for a pretty narrow point on the front, tapering wider towards the back.  Gonna vary some depending on what you’re hunting, but that’s generally what you’re aiming for.  The stone, you’ve got to chip.  Knap.  That’s a skill that takes a lot of practice, especially with this quartz, which is just about all I have to use up here.  No chert or obsidian or anything up in these parts.  You can work on learning to knap later, maybe, but for now how about some carving?  It’s easier.”

“The bone is really sturdy enough to use as dart points?  I mean, it doesn’t just break off when it hits something?”

A dangerous little sparkle in Einar’s eye, quickly concealed by a turn of his head.  “Want to find out?  Let’s head outside, and we can do a few quick experiments to settle that matter once and for all.”

She was about to go, Einar on his feet also with atlatl and bone-tipped darts clutched in one hand, when Liz stepped in and saved the situation.

“How about you wait until the storm’s over?  You wouldn’t even be able to see what you’re aiming at, in this whiteout.”

“Huh.  Good point.  Would kinda hate to hit the neck or torso instead of a less-critical  arm or leg, just because the snow was blowing in my eyes…”

The women exchanged glances over his head, Juni as if to say, is he serious? and Liz shrugging.  Who knows?  Your guess is as good as mine…