Free Children of the Dawn by Patricia Rowe Page B

while.
    “The Tlikit people seem nice. They share. But you know, Tor, they
are
different, and language is just part of it. I may understand their words, but I don’t understand
them.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like why do they go almost naked, with only those grass things hanging from their waists? Grass is fine for a basket—and
     the Tlikit do make excellent baskets—but to cover the body, well—it doesn’t fit like leather. It doesn’t move when they move.
     It’s strange to look at a man’s power staff flopping around, or to see a woman’s secret when she bends over. And don’t they
     get cold? Or is their skin different from ours? Will they wear leather when winter comes?”
    She realized she was babbling, but these questions really bothered her. “Those things they wear on their feet… at first I
     thought they were made of bark, but it’s really thick leather tied on with grass cords. Why don’t they have real moccasins?
     And when I was in their cave, I didn’t see any sleeping skins.”
    “They don’t know how to cure hides.”
    “What?” she said in disbelief.
    “That’s right. I was going to teach them, but after they made me a slave, I refused.”
    “What do they do with hides?”
    “Once in a while they cut off pieces and leave them in the sun. They get hard and curl up, and that’s what they put ontheir feet. Mostly, they throw hides in a stinkpile with guts and bones, and let them rot.”
    “How wasteful! How stupid!”
    “It’s not their fault. Coyote Spirit never taught them. You’ll be surprised at what they don’t know, from roasting food in
     the ground, to washing smells from their bodies.”
    “It’s a good thing we have a lifetime to do this,” Ashan said. “We will need at least that long.”
    Against the cliffs, in flat places and on ledges, the Shahala made temporary shelters with wood from the Great River and hides
     brought from the ancestral land.
    On a fog-shrouded day—the coldest so far—the Tlikit people stayed inside their cave.
    Ashan approached a group of Shahala women. They sat with their backs to the cliff, bundled up in furs, passing a wooden bowl,
     dipping purple mush into their mouths.
    Ashan joined them, and tasted some.
    “Mmm. I wonder what these are? They’re almost as good as huckleberries.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,”Tenka said. “But they’re very good.”
    Ashan took another bite and passed the bowl.
    “We’re lucky,” she said. “I don’t know how much longer we could have lasted. Little ones and old ones were getting weak. But
     with all this food, they’re getting fat now.”
    The women nodded, smiles on stained faces.
    Ashan said, “Our new sisters are kind to share their food with us. I didn’t even have to ask them.” She paused. “We came to
     Teahra Village poor in food, but rich in cured hides.” She hoped someone would get her meaning, but no one did.
    “Did you notice that they stayed in their cave today? Do you know why?”
    The women shook their heads.
    “It’s too cold out here. They don’t have anything to wear except those grass mats.”
    “Why?”
    “Coyote Spirit forgot to teach Tlikit women to cure hides as he taught Shakana, the First Woman.” Ashan didn’t mention the
     other things Spilyea forgot to teach them.
    The Shahala women felt sorry for their new sisters. How could something so
ordinary
as curing hides be unknown?
    “It doesn’t matter,” Ashan said. “What matters is that Coyote taught
us.
We have plenty of hides. They have shared with us. Now we should share with them. When hunting begins in spring, we’ll teach
     them how to make leather for themselves.”
    “Oh,” they said. “We see.”
    Over her deerskin dress, Ashan wore a robe made from two goat hides. She stroked the long gray fur.
    “I’m going to give this to one of them, I think maybe the woman who acts like their chief.”
    “It’s a fine robe, Moonkeeper,” Kama said. “Anyone would want it. I have some old