Packright
Part Two
Kit hunted for Littlefire throughout the trees before she finally found him sitting high in the trees, overlooking the valley southeast of the mountain. He was perched atop the tallest evergreen, on the highest branch that could support his weight.
She sat down next to him. Littlefire gave no indication that he noticed her.
“Don’t go,” she repeated.
“I don’t have a choice,” he said glumly. “They all hate me.”
“They don’t hate you. They’re just... confused by you.”
“Your father hates me.”
Kit smiled tightly. “Well, you taught him a lesson. No wonder they whisper about your sending powers, if you can flatten him like that.”
“I didn’t mean to–”
“Shh. He deserved it.”
“He’ll come after me.”
“No, he won’t. He won’t hurt you. None of us will.”
“Can’t stay. I have to go.”
“If you go, I’m coming with you.”
He looked at her then, and held her gaze. “Kit?”
She took his hand and he did not flinch. “You’re the first elf I’ve met who understands me – who really understand me. The others – Spar, Clearbrook, even my friends in the Great Holt – they think they understand what drives me to make my howling hides. But they don’t – they can’t know how important it is – why it tears out my heart to destroy work I’ve laid down. My hides might not be as grand as the Scroll of Colors or the Great Egg, but they mean everything to me – they are a part of me. And I’d rather freeze than cut them up for warm clothes. No one else can understand that. But you do.” She grinned. “I make sense to you. And I can’t say I’ve figured you out completely, but you’re starting to make a lot of sense to me.”
Littlefire blinked. His expression was unreadable.
“Stay here,” Kit implored. “We’ll find a way for you to fit in with the tribe.”
Littlefire turned and looked back over the valley. At length he gave Kit’s hand a squeeze.
“Littlefire will live with me,” Kit informed the miniature council of Redlance, Nightfall, Rainsong and Strongbow as they sat in Redlance’s den. “I will be his watcher. I’ll make sure he doesn’t wander off, and I’ll make sure he does his share of the work. If there is a problem, you will come to me, and I will talk to Littlefire. Or he and I will meet with Chief Redlance, but only Chief Redlance. I will speak for him in open council, and he can watch from the trees if he wants. But I won’t let him be intimidated as he was this evening–”
“This evening’s council was ill-planned,” Redlance admitted. “I should have taken your advice, healer,” he looked to Rainsong. “No matter how gentle we are, too many faces and too many voices will always seem like a confrontation.”
“How is Littlefire?” Rainsong asked Kit.
“He’s terrified. Part of him thinks you mean actual physical violence.”
“What?” Redlance jumped to his feet. “Kit, you know–”
“I know,” she smiled sadly. “But Littlefire sees everything so differently. You might have thought you were being gentle with him, but to him you were stalking him and bringing him down like prey. He’ll never adapt to the Way. He simply cannot, anymore than I can glide or Rainsong can treeshape. The question is, are the elders willing to make compromises so he can remain part of this tribe, so that he can continue to learn from us, and so we can start to learn from him?”
Strongbow snorted.
“Yes, learn from him,” she repeated, though she did not meet her father’s eyes. “His view of the world is like no other elf’s. And I think if we can learn to see through his eyes, we will all see what gifts he can offer this tribe.”
“Does he truly want to stay here?” Nightfall asked. “After his parting words...”
“He barely remembers what he said, Nightfall. When he feels cornered he reacts on instinct.”
Redlance nodded. “And we cornered him.” He glanced at Nightfall and Strongbow. “We’ve been treating him like an errant cub, as we would treat one of our children. But the truth is he is not one of us. And we cannot treat him as we would a Wolfrider.” He considered a moment. “Kit, none of us want to drive away an elf who seeks to live with us, as long as that elf truly wishes to become a part of this tribe. Does Littlefire truly wish to be part of Thorny Mountain Holt? Or will he always stand apart, a lone elf who happens to eat our kills and sleep in one of our dens?”
“It will take time and patience. But he doesn’t want to be alone all the time. He wants kin and tribemates the same as the rest of us.”
Redlance considered her words further. At length he nodded. “Littlefire can stay. If he can forgive our mistakes this evening, we will forget any of this happened and start anew. But he is your responsibility, Kit. We have a lot of work to do before the white-cold sets in. If he proves a continued disruption or his presence interferes with your duties–”
“Then you will come to me, and I will settle the matter with him.”
“Agreed.”
**Redlance, you can’t!** Strongbow sent. **That... that creature is dangerous. He attacks like the Black Snake, invading my mind–**
Kit rounded on Strongbow, her cold control shattered. “Don’t you speak of attacks!”
“The matter is settled,” Redlance said, raising his hand to abort further quarrels. “We’ll begin again tomorrow. The sun will be up soon.”
Kit gave him a grateful nod of the head and turned for the door.
**He’s living in your den?** Strongbow spat at her. **Is he your furmate now?**
She glared back at him. “That is none of your concern.”
Littlefire was completely bewildered by the behaviour of the Wolfriders as they clumsily tried to befriend him. One-Eye rubbed the back of his neck nervously and stammered that he was sorry for what he said at council. Clearbrook tried to touch his shoulder in affection. Nightfall smiled at him when he passed her.
“They are all two-faced!” he exclaimed to Kit. “They say one thing and mean another!”
“They’re trying to be kind. Wolves may not always get along, but there’s nothing to be accomplished by growling at each other every day.”
“I’d rather they told me what they were feeling. At least with your parents I know what they think of me.”
So Kit relayed his message to Redlance and the other elders. The next night One-Eye came up to Littlefire. “Look, cub. I think you’re very strange. I’ve never seen the like of you, and when I see wolves that behave like you, they’re usually being run out of the pack. And... and it’s hard for an old growler like me to warm to things I don’t really understand. But you said you think we’re all just as strange, so I guess that makes sense. But we’ll figure how to get along without snapping at each other, right? And if you do something that bothers me, I’ll just let you know, and if I do something bothers you, you let me know, and maybe we’ll both learn not to bother each other.”
Littlefire was still smiling when he saw Kit again.
If mending feelings between tribemates was relatively easy, finding something for Littlefire to do was harder. At first Kit took him with her to collect berries, thinking the repetitive task would suit him. He collected half a basket of berries, then disappeared. She found him by the brook, watching the fish. She calmly redirected him to his task, but soon Littlefire began picking the wrong kind of berries, not sweet blackberries, but the dark brown sourpods.
Undaunted, Kit set him to scraping hides. He was very good at softening the hides – too good at times, and he and Moonshade often fell to fighting when she thought he was scraping too hard.
“He’ll leave us in tatters if I don’t watch him like a hawk,” she growled at Kit. “He scrapes holes right through the leather sometimes. I can’t use him.”
Hunting was no good – the sight and smell of blood overwhelmed him. Gathering was no good – he could never seem to tell one plant from another. Tanning was denied him. Smoking meat was another avenue she tried, and Littlefire seemed to enjoy it, though Woodlock always had to be by his side, handling the raw meat Littlefire wouldn’t touch, watching to ensure that Littlefire didn’t let the meat burn in the fire.
“It’s not really working,” he confessed to Kit. “Better I just handle it myself.”
Feeling guilty that she still could not find a useful contribution for Littlefire to make, Kit refused to take the tribe’s hard-won meat for the Glider. Instead she hunted alone, after riding with Nightfall and her parents, to find food for Littlefire. She brought back rabbits and small birds which she always roasted before she brought them to her den.
Eventually she coaxed him out of the den to sit on a branch closer to the Holt. Night by night, she invited him to sit closer. By the time the first frost began to stick to the ground, she and Littlefire would eat their roast meat above the rest of the pack, close enough to hear snatches of conversation, but far enough away that Littlefire did not feel smothered.
She had to eat roast meat around him, and while she found it odd at first, she grew fond of it. Spar joined them often, for she too preferred roasted meat, and Spar taught Kit how to flavour the roasts with herbs and even the juices of certain fruits.
Littlefire grinned when he first tasted it. “Mother makes roast like this!”
Spar smiled. “Who do you think taught me?”
Littlefire slept with Kit in her den, but they kept themselves wrapped in separate blankets and Littlefire often slept with his back to her. At first Kit thought her presence was disturbing him. When she asked him, he blushed and first simply that he couldn’t fall asleep if knew he’d see her face when he opened his eyes.
Autumn turned to winter, and the first snow began to fall on Thorny Mountain. Still Kit struggled to find a task for Littlefire, and the effort of doing enough work to two began to take its toll. Kit became increasingly irritable, especially around her parents, and once again whispers engulfed the tribe.
“We allowed you to tutor Littlefire to help him find his place in this tribe, not to pull you further from us,” Redlance warned her.
“You allowed?” Kit shot back angrily. “Will you allow me to leave this tribe, should Littlefire and I not live up to your expectations?”
“It’s all that Glider’s fault,” Moonshade growled one night at another secret council at Redlance’s den. “We should cast him out before it gets worse.”
“We’re a family, Moonshade,” Rainsong protested. “Families do not simply cast off their members when there is a disagreement.”
**Littlefire is no family of ours!** Strongbow sent. **This Holt is a Wolfrider Holt. We have a chief and a Way and everyone must know his place. If they both want to run chiefless than send them packing to the Great Holt.**
“You do not mean that!” Moonshade cried. “Send our daughter away? We’ve already lost Dart.”
“What is this talk of losing?” Redlance asked. “Did we not found this Holt because we knew the Wolfriders need not be in one territory to be one tribe. And what is this ‘chiefless’ Strongbow? Chose your thoughts carefully. Does Swift not ride as chief of all Wolfriders still?”
**The Way is in short supply in the Great Holt,** Strongbow sniffed.
“They’re all blaming me,” Littlefire whispered one afternoon as he and Kit bundled together in their furs, watching the snow fall outside the den.
“No. They glare at me just as sharply. Let them. I don’t care anymore.” She wrapped her cape of rabbitskins more tightly around her shoulders. “I’ve seen a side of my family, of my friends, that I didn’t expect... I don’t know – I don’t know if there’s anything to keep me here anymore.”
She waited for him to leap at the chance, to suggest they call the Palace and escape to the great Holt, or perhaps the Wild Hunt and the soothing emptiness of the Plainswaste. But when she glanced back at him, he was pensive.
“Your heart is here,” he said at length.
He might not be a hunter, but his aim was true, she thought to herself. “And where is your heart, Littlefire?”
There was a loud pause, and she wasn’t certain he had heard her. But at length he bit his lip and sighed. “I don’t know. It... wanders... gets lost. Maybe... that’s why I wander.” He looked up at her, a quick flicker of his blue-grey eyes. Then he closed his eyes tight, and Kit wondered if there might be something more.
“Littlefire...” she swallowed. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you... ever had a lovemate?”
He shrugged, non-commital, but with a certain furtiveness in his averted gaze. “Once. I-I-I mean – one lovemate, not one – well, well, well – uh, in Green Moon Bay. An Islander, not a – a pirate, but a villager. Her... um... name is Corbie.”
“I don’t know her.” In truth, Kit had only briefly seen Green Moon Bay and the culture of the Islander elves, and found it far too alien for her Wolfrider-reared senses. “What’s she like?”
“Kind... gentle...” there was affection, but nothing more in his voice. A patient initiator, then, but not a real lovemate.
“And... did you – enjoy joining?”
He shrugged. “It was... intense.”
“A... pleasant intensity or an uncomfortable one?”
He jerked his head. “Neither. Both. Can’t it just be – intense?”
“I suppose so.”
Littlefire continued to nod his head nervously. “Kit? Do... do you want to be my lovemate?”
Kit found her breath catch her in throat. “I do,” she stammered. “But... do you want me to be yours?”
“I – I-I don’t...” he began, and her heart sank. “I... can’t... think...” He closed his eyes tight and twisted a lock his hair nervously. “I... I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
Still he kept his eyes closed. “Of what could happen,” was all he could say.
“What could happen?”
“It could... be too much. I could... make a mistake. I could start sending.”
“That's all right.”
“No, it's not. I could hurt you. You could hate me. You could... could fear me.”
She touched his cheek, and his eyes snapped open in alarm. Gently, Kit leaned forward, and he did not draw away. Her lips brushed against his, and she felt him tremble slightly under her touch. Kit drew back to better regard him, and Littlefire licked his lips nervously.
But he did not look away.
“A pleasant intensity or an uncomfortable one?” she asked again.
“Most... certainly pleasant,” he stammered.
She kissed him again, and this time Littlefire responded, pressing his mouth back against hers, his hand at first trembling against her shoulder, then clutching her furred cloak tightly.
But at length he was the one to break the embrace, and he looked away, shame written on his face. “Kit... forgive me...”
“Shh. There’s nothing to forgive.”
“It’s not... that I do not...” he stammered. “Only... I...”
“I know.” She summoned a kind smile. “The white-cold is long,” she said, and Littlefire smiled shyly. He gave her a barely-perceptible nod. Kit took his hand in hers and gave it a friendly squeeze, and Littlefire, though he did not meet her eyes, squeezed back.
The white-cold set in with a viciousness not seen in many years, and the hunters struggled to keep the storeholes filled. They were now down to only a few remaining brightmetal arrowheads, and One-Eye had yet to crack the mystery of the blackstone. Kit’s quiver now held arrows tipped with crude bone points which Littlefire had carved for her.
At least he could help out with some chores. But carving bone into arrowheads was no special skill. She knew that somewhere Littlefire held a gift that would benefit the entire tribe. She had only to find it.
She was mulling over that as she busied herself fletching her new arrows. Her arrows were not fit for use, she thought to herself as she stripped the feathers with her knife, preparing to bind them to the arrow shaft with a length of sinew.
Littlefire hovered at her shoulder, watching her intently. She wondered if she could teach him to fletch arrows – but then the process was surely too complicated for him. He would cut the feathers bent, or tangle the sinew around the shaft, or...
She felt his nose against her bound hair, and she doubted he was even paying attention.
How many times had attempted lessons ended thus? she wondered. Too many to keep count for one so schooled in the Now. Hand against hair, cheek against cheek, and Littlefire lost all thirst for learning. She thought fondly of an episode, only a few nights past, when she had tried to teach him how make a little bark bag for storing nuts. At first he had watched her fingers weaving the bark strips. But he was so easily distracted, and before long he was scrutinizing her face with the same fascination. A little shiver laced through her shoulders as she recalled how he had followed that careful inspection with his fingertips. For someone who still feared the physical intensity of joining, Littlefire could be a remarkably... sensual creature.
“Kit? What’s wrong?”
She smiled. There was no point in being surprised he had sensed her shiver. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”
He nuzzled against her neck and slipped his arms about her waist. She smiled still, but a bittersweet edge touched her expression. Was it only love making her blind? No, no, Littlefire did have gifts to offer the entire tribe. But unless she could convince them of his worth, he was always one step away from exile.
Worth... what was worth? Who had the right to decide who was worthwhile and who wasn’t? The last few months had taught her a harsh lesson about her tribemates... especially her parents. It was easy to be willingly blind to their faults when she had been the indulged cub. Even when they had fought her vision of howls frozen in time, suspended in words, she had consoled herself with the certainty that they would understand one day. Only now it was becoming clear that there were some things they did not want to understand – and that everything beyond the boundaries of the Way was to be feared and distrusted.
I am outside the Way, wasting hides like that. They’ve made it clear that my howls are without worth.
Frustration overwhelmed her, and the knife slipped in her hand. It skimmed the edge of the feather’s vane and cut her forefinger from the top knuckle to the tip. Kit cried out, immediately clapping her other hand over the cut.
Littlefire let out a gasp and drew back in horror. “It’s all right,” Kit insisted. “It’s just a scratch.” She snatched up a leather scrap and pressed it against her finger to staunch the flow of blood. “See. See, it’s covered up.”
Littlefire stared at her in horror. “You’re hurt. You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!”
“It’s all right. I’ll – I’ll go see Rainsong. I’ll get her to heal it up. You just wait here. Wait here. I’ll return soon, all healed. All right?”
Littlefire closed his eyes and bent his head against the heavy fur collar of his jacket. At length he nodded.
Kit snatched up her parka and laced it up, struggling to keep the bandage over her finger so that he would not see the blood. She untied the straps holding the leather doorflap in place and slipped out into the early morning. The wind had stopped, and the world was all still and silver outside the den. Kit pulled her hood over her hair and climbed down to the forest floor.
The blood flow was already ebbing. It was little more than a flesh wound, not worth bothering Rainsong, who was probably bundled up in her furs with Woodlock trying to keep warm. Kit paced through the snow, knee deep, until she came to a large rock poking out of the white drifts. She sat herself down and snatched up a handful of snow. She wrapped the freezing powder around her finger and winced against the cold. Soon enough the snow had completely staunched the bleeding.
Not bad, she decided, examining the scab of dried blood that was forming over the shallow cut. She buried the bloody scrap of leather in the snow, then climbed back up into the trees. She did not return to her den right away, but paced from branch to branch in the cold, waiting for the lingering scent of blood to leave her.
At length she slipped back inside the den, expecting to find Littlefire cowering the corner still. Instead he was sitting by her arrows, delicately tying sinew around a fully-fletched arrow.
“Kit!” he said, a little too loudly.
“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled.
He held up the arrow. “Is it all right?”
He had completed the fletching on the shaft, but he had done something more. “Littlefire... what did you do?” Kit examined it carefully. “You added an extra row of feathers.”
“Is it wrong? I-I thought it would work. Give it... give it lift. Will it work?”
Kit smiled patiently. “Let’s find out. You wait here where it’s warm, and I’ll take a shot from a clear break in the trees.” She took her bow and slipped back outside into the cold. She climbed up to a suitable perch and notched the new arrow, aiming away from the holt. It would probably fly wild; she knew too well that one little irregularity in the feathers would send the arrow off course. Littlefire’s extra vanes would probably lift the arrow right into the clouds.
She took aim on a distant tree trunk, far beyond the reach of an actual arrow, to line up her sights. With luck she would be able to recover the arrow wherever it landed. Littlefire would feel terrible if his fletching ended up losing her a weapon.
She shot the arrow and watched it disappear into the night. It shot silently and smoothly, and she quickly she lost sight of it. Had it dropped out of the air? It must have, for there was nothing in its path that it could have struck. At least it had been on course for the distant pine tree.
She climbed down to the lower understory and scanned the moonlit snow for signs of the arrow. She paced to where her instinct told her a standard arrow with a heavy bone head would eventually fall. Nothing. Frowning, she searched the nearby area, certain it had wobbled off course. Nothing. The snow was untouched. She slowly combed her way back to where she had begun at the tree that housed her den. Still nothing.
And then, just for curiousity’s sake, she hiked back towards the pine tree at which she had been aiming.
At last she found the arrow, lodged deep in the sticky bark of the tree.
“Well, fry me for a fool,” she breathed, yanking the arrow free. She examined the bone point. “I wonder...”
* * *
Littlefire flew alongside as Kit and One-Eye rode down the faint game trail through the snow. Kit’s wolf Shystrides was the smallest of the pack, but this white-cold the feisty beta female had grown a fluffy winter coat that made her almost as large as Blackmask, the alpha male and One-Eye’s mount. Littlefire kept a wary distance from both wolves. Even Shystrides’s play bows frightened him. Another mark against him in the eyes of the tribe. But Kit took heart. He had been afraid of them all when he had first arrived, but gradually he was overcoming his fears.
He was so brave. He could have hid himself in the caves at the Great Holt and become a recluse, spending his days travelling within. But he chose to travel without and confront the overwhelming sensations of the physical world. Perhaps it was so for those Firstcomers who chose to embrace the wolfsong and the life it offered. They could have laid down and died, shedding their skin and escaping all pain and fear. But they had the courage to endure the pain and forge a new life.
She smiled at the comparison. She would remember it the next time anyone questioned whether Littlefire belonged in a Wolfrider tribe.
**Why are you coming along?** One-Eye asked. **Clearbrook could have helped me carry the blackstone back to our Holt. And you know the Glider won’t like it on the other side of the mountain.**
**I have an idea,** Kit sent back simply. **But I want to test it out of sight of the others. If it works, we’ll have a great surprise for the tribe.**
**Just because he stumbled on a way to fletch arrows doesn’t mean he’ll have the same success with knapping stone.**
She rode Shystrides up alongside him. “He only watched me fletch two arrows and he figured out a way to extend the flight’s distance by half again. Half again, One-Eye! You said he didn’t contribute to our storeholes. Imagine if he could knap arrowheads to match. Imagine how our storeholes would swell then.”
“I think you’re gambling on chance.”
She grinned. “Come on, One-Eye. What’s life without a little toss-stone?”
They crossed over the south-west ridge of Thorny Mountain. By the subtle change in scents Kit knew they were now in Pack territory. Littlefire flew close behind her as they continued along the game trail towards the Yellow Creek and the great stronghold of limestone that served as Holt for the small Go-Back tribe.
The winds always blew more harshly on the west side of Thorny Mountain, and Kit was forced to clench her parka more tightly around her throat. The Yellow Creek bubbled with hot pools and modest steam vents as they followed it downstream towards the Fortress. A heavy whiff of sulphur hung in the air, and now and then they came upon the crumbling yellow rocks that gave the river its name. At length they came to the great ravines and caverns the river had carved into the rocks long ago. Towers of limestone served as lookout posts and bonfire platforms. The gully that cradled the creek was the Go-Backs’ main assembly place. And the only entrance to the Fortress that did not involve rock climbing was Four Points, a perfect crossroads of water-gouged ravines that allowed a single sentry to monitor all comings and goings of the clan.
The chief climbed down from a lookout to greet them as they slipped in through the south gate. He was a typical Go-Back, round-faced and wicked-eyed, with wild hair scarely contained by his fur hat, and a stocky build born of generations spent in the high arctic. “Well, well, the Wolfriders are back!” the Go-Back announced. “And you brought your pet bird! Hullo there, Misfit.”
“Hello Loudmouth,” Littlefire replied.
The Go-Back laughed heartily, and Littlefire flinched, though a hint of a smile graced his face. Humor was a foreign concept to him; he seemed incapable of grasping the simplest jest. But he had learned that simple reply provoked good spirits in the Go-Backs, and he thus employed it.
Kit noted that there was no trace of resentment in his eyes at being called “misfit.” The Go-Backs admitted their opinions openly, and Littlefire responded in kind. No hidden meanings, no chance for misunderstanding.
“Hello, Vorik,” One-Eye said. “I hope I haven’t exhausted your blackstone mine yet.”
“Back for more already? Of course we have lots to spare, but I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever see your end of the bargain, hey? Still can’t do anything but make powder, hey?”
“I’ll make powder out of your head, cub, if you keep us out in the cold much longer.”
Vorik laughed. “Come on in. This weather isn’t fit for a troll!”
Inside the walls of the Fortress the wind disappeared and the temperature rose. “Ah, this is the life,” Voril spread his arms wide. “Why you Wolfriders chose to live in trees in beyond me.” Kit’s eyes scanned the sheer rock walls, dripping with frosty lichens and snow-dusted ferns, and she had to admit a tinge of jealousy. Inside the walls, it was mild in winter and cool in summer.
Go-Backs bounded down from the rocks to greet their guests, and Littlefire conspicuously wedged himself between Kit and One-Eye for protection. The Pack numbered eight-and-six following a productive summer in which two fawns were born. Kit could barely remember when the Pack first settled on Thorny Mountain, a mere ten elves, disenchanted with life on the Plainswaste under Mardu’s leadership, eager to discover the green wonderland of the Wild Hunt’s campfire tales. She had only been a child of six, terrified by the wild-haired creatures, who cursed and roared like the Go-Backs of old, before the capture of the Palace and the Go-Back Exile had tempered their kin somewhat.
Her father had hated the interlopers, she recalled. **Let them find another mountain!** he had sent at council soon after they arrived. **This is Wolfrider territory.**
“Our mountain can hold two tribes,” Nightfall said reasonably.
**Bah, a tribe of wild cubs playing at being warriors! A mad pack of yearling wolves!**
So Strongbow had jeeringly dubbed them the Yellow Creek Pack. And the Go-Backs, when they first heard the insult, adopted it as their official name.
“Kit!” a sandy-haired lad leapt down from his perch. “No Spar with you this time?”
“I’m afraid not,” Kit laughed. “And I shan’t be keeping you warm tonight, either, Dom. You’ll just have to settle for Mab or Mian.”
Dom pouted. Males outnumbered lifebearers in the Pack, and Kit and Spar had used that ratio to their advantage many times before.
“You must be frozen to the bone,” Vorik said. “We’ll get some meat roasted for you. Even you, One-Eye, you must want some nice charred smoky deer meat after a ride through that blizzard.”
“You’re all soft!” One-Eye laughed. “This is a mild day compared to what we faced in the Frozen Mountains. But if I can’t take my meat fresh and blood-warmed, then I’d rather it charred than frozen solid.”
A hearty meal of rich venison later, the travellers were shown to the snug caves reserved for visiting Wolfriders. Heavy hide doors kept out the chill, while fur blankets softened the rocky ledges. Vorik tossed One-Eye a few large flakes of blackstone. “We’ve got a few scraps left in camp. The rest will have to wait until morning. I’m not sending out my scouts in weather like this – not when there are fires to stoke and beds to warm.”
One-Eye took out a piece of flint he had kept tucked away in a pocket of his parka. “All right, Littlefire. “Watch closely. This is flint. And this what I use to knap it.” He withdrew an egg-shaped stone. “This is my hammer stone. You hold the flint,” he faced the flint away from his body, “and strike at the angle of a tuft-eagle fishing,” he struck the hammer stone against the top of the flint. Littlefire flinched at the sound.A flake of flint fell away. “And again.” Another chip fell away. “See now, you can’t make a good flake large enough for an arrowhead with one strike. You have sculpt away at it. And again. And again!”
“Stop!” Littlefire cried. He held out his hands, and One-Eye reluctantly handed over the flint and hammer stone. Littlefire ran his fingers over the edge of the flint core, then tapped the stone several times. “No, now you’re holding it wrong,” One-Eye began as Littlefire aimed a blow.
The hammer stone struck and a large flake fell away.
“Well, I’ll be! Well done!” One-Eye exclaimed.
Littlefire struck again. And again. One-Eye reached out to take the intruments back, but Littlefire turned his back, and continued to work. Moments later he gave out a chirp of surprise as a huge piece of flint dropped to the ground. “Is it good?” he asked, holding up the flint flake.
“Good?” One-Eye took the flake. “Littlefire, this is... this is incredible. I took me moons to flake with this precision. How did you do this?”
Littlefire shrugged. “It just... seemed right. The way the stone feels... the sound the hammerstone made when you struck... it... seemed right.”
Kit laughed and clapped her hands. “I knew it. Try the blackstone next.”
“All right, now blackstone is a lot harder to figure out,” One-Eye said. He picked up a piece of the shiny black glass. “Watch. I try the same way, striking at the angle of a eagle fishing.” He brought the hammer stone down. A fracture went through the black glass and the obsidian broke into two jagged pieces. “Bah, a bad break,” he growled. “Let’s try it again. This time we’ll try a lower angle.” He struck, and this time the fracture ran down the middle, shattering the stone.
“Agh! See, it’s like this every time. I can’t find the right angle. The break is always off. I’ve tried breaking large pieces, then refining the edges with bone and antler, but it takes too long, and half the time there’s a break somewhere deep inside the flake from the first knapping.”
Littlefire picked up the largest of the fragments. He tapped the stone, then ran his finger along the edge. He yelped as he cut his finger. “Aye, it’s sharp – sharper than brightmetal. That why it’ll help us so if we can just find a way to use it.”
“Littlefire,” Kit murmured. “Your finger. It’s bleeding.”
“Hmm,” Littlefire sucked his finger to staunch the flow. “Puck’nuts,” he growled. “Hurts.”
“But the scent isn’t making you sick?”
Littlefire shrugged. “It’s my own.” He shook his hand, then took up one of the larger pieces of blackstone. He held out his hand for the hammerstone.
“Be careful now,” One-Eye said.
Littlefire brought the hammerstone down on a diagonal, slight angle. He chipped off a very small piece. He tapped the stone again, then adjusted the angle, making it higher. Kit and One-Eye watched as Littlefire methodically worked away, adjusting the direction of the striking stone. His speed and confidence was amazing. Moments later he held up a perfectly formed flake of volcanic glass, detached from the main core.
“Is it good?”
“By my eye,” One-Eye took the little spearhead from Littlefire. “How did you do that?”
“I just... listened to the rock. The sounds, the shivers the hammer stone sends through it.” He looked from Kit to One-Eye, bewildered by their awe-struck expressions. “Did I do it right?”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts