Free Manly Wade Wellman - Hok 01 by Battle in the Dawn (v1.1) Page A

turned to Hok, and it was at him
it blurted a sudden gutteral sound of defiance. Then, turning upon broad, flat
feet, it made off with awkward speed. It dropped into a fold of the meadow,
remained invisible for moments, then reappeared
beyond, well out of javelin range, to plunge into a thicket.
                 Zhik,
the youngest, recovered his high spirits first. “Gnorrl!” he shouted after the fugitive, in imitation of its
throaty cry. Hok laughed, and repeated, “Gnorrl!” A new word was born into man’s
language, a word that would be used often and fearfully in days to come.
                 All three moved forward, tensely cautious. It was as though
they expected the slain deer to spring up, alive and savage. But it was dead
enough. The
                 Chief
turned it upon its back, then drew a knife of ground
buckhom. Hok knelt to help him open the belly and peel the hide, but Zhik gazed
searchingly around the horizon for long moments.
                 “That
Gnorrl left a bad stink here,” announced the Chief. “Let us drag the meat
away.” They did so, but still smelled, or fancied that they smelled, the
vanished monster.
                 The
rest of the party came up as the butchery went on—first Asha, latest wife of
the Chief, a plump, handsome young woman in a doe-skin tunic, with a naked
boy-baby straddling her hip; next Barp and Unn, half-grown sons of Zhik’s dead
mother, carrying on their unwilling shoulders part of the camp-luggage; after
that Eowi, full sister to Hok, a slim and agile maiden also loaded with
bundles; finally Asha’s other child, the little girl Nohda, old enough to walk
but not to carry any burden save her clout of hare’s fur and a necklace of red
seeds. As these arrived, they helped in cutting up the meat. Under the Chief’s
direction the four quarters, the loin and tenderloin, the heart, the liver and
the kidneys were detached and wrapped in the new hide. The ribs, head, shins
and entrails remained for hyenas and ravens.
                 BY
now it was mid-afternoon, and the party went no further than a willow-fringed
creek before the Old Man uttered the laconic order “Camp.” At once Hok and Zhik
produced axes and cut long, supple willow poles. Several of these were thrust
into the ground and bent together for central lashing. Over them Asha and Eowi
drew the tent- cover of sewn hides. Barp and Unn gathered kindling and heavier
wood, and the Chief reverently produced from his belt-pouch the long, charred
fire- spindle. A piece of soft, punky wood served as hearth, and upon this he
twirled the spindle-point, crooning the while the ancient prayer to the fire
god.
                 When
a bright blaze had been kindled, the meat was apportioned. The Chief got, as
was his right, the tenderloin. Next choice, a steak from the rear quarter, went
to Asha. Hok’s turn came third, and he cut slices of liver and impaled them on
a green willow withe. As he put them to the fire, his sister Eowi came and
squatted beside him.
                 “What
happened?” she asked. “None of you have told, but—”
                 “Gnorrl!”
cried Zhik, whipping himself erect and standing at gaze.
                 They
all saw it then, far down the stream. It had crept up to watch them, and at the
chorus of bewildered shouts from the campers it now shrank back into a little
clump of bushes—a broad, repulsive shagginess that blended into the leafy
shadow.
                 Hok
had dropped his liver into the fire and had sprung to where javelins were planted, tip in earth, for a quick snatch. His back tingled
and crawled, in the place where, with his long-ago ancestors, a manelike strip
of hair had bristled. His eyes measured the distance to the bushes. He ached to
throw a spear.
                 Eowi
came to his side again. She had rescued his dinner from burning, and was
touching it with a