Long strips of meat covered the rocks. One Who Cries worked by Green Water, splitting long bones, helping pile
the rich marrow on the greasy hide to be rendered for fat. Dancing Fox tended the hot rocks, carefully pouring liquid fat into intestines the way Green Water had taught her. It was such a tricky process; she couldn't let the gut bag burn, but she had to get the fat hot enough to run.
"Hey!" Singing Wolf snapped where he slashed at the thick hide with a sharp bifacial tool, flaked on both sides to create an acute cutting edge. A cur ducked his backhanded blow and jumped lightly to the ground, panting with excitement. The other dogs ran, yipping and snarling at each other, despite bellies which practically dragged the ground.
"Maybe we were better off without 'em," Singing Wolf growled, threatening the beasts.
One Who Cries looked up and grinned. "You'd rather carry everything on your back, huh?"
Singing Wolf sighed and shrugged. "No, and this time the dogs can sniff out bears for us, too. Guess we won't have to worry so much about being eaten alive."
One Who Cries sucked his upper lip, nodding. Pensively he looked up at the thick clouds rolling in from the north-, west. Already they'd had snow, but the grasses had grown this year, curing brown on the stem. The fat on the mammoth's back where Singing Wolf exposed it was a foot thick, the meat beneath rich with the white deposits. Bloody, fat globules sticking to his forearms, Singing Wolf bent to his task again.
Green Water shook her head, looking up at the hunter as she whispered to the women working beside her. ' 'You know, I believe Blueberry's stories about the Mammoth People. Even if Raven Hunter says she's lying."
One Who Cries listened pensively, nodding slightly in agreement.
Dancing Fox changed the position of her bulging bag, air starting to expand with the heat. Deftly, she let off some of the pressure. "I told you he was crazy."
"Singing Wolf isn't convinced. He might be heartsick at the things Raven Hunter led the young men to do but he's not convinced Raven Hunter's wrong in fighting for these lands."
"He's going to get himself killed."
"He's going to get all of us killed," One Who Cries added furtively.
As silence descended, he turned his attention to Sunshine and Curlew Song, who sliced long strips of meat from the shoulder, laughing as they walked to lay them across the willow tops. There, the meat would freeze-dry for the next couple of weeks, the heavy water weight sucked away by the cold wind.
From the corner of his eye, One Who Cries watched Curlew Song. Young and pretty, she kept glancing up at Jumping Hare where he worked to peel the thick hide back from the mammoth's rib cage as Singing Wolf continued to cut at the stringy gray tissue that bound the hide to the body.
She kept the young man's spirits up, kept a new shine in his eye to make up for the loss of his mother, Gray Rock. He'd taken her for a wife upon his return from warring with the Others. She'd come from Buffalo Back's camp: a woman of the Seagull Clan. He'd wanted her as a first wife. Then he had married Moon Water, a captive he'd taken in a raided camp.
Moon Water bent to her burden, looking sullenly up at Jumping Hare, a smoldering fire in her eyes. She'd be trouble; One Who Cries could feel it. Nevertheless, her lithe body and the way she moved with undulating grace drew his eye. A brief fantasy of stripping her, running his hands over her high full breasts, parting her firm legs, played through his mind. He felt himself—
The vision popped as an elbow punched his ribs. Startled, he shot a quick glance at Green Water. She doubled her fist, eyes knowing.
"Just daydreaming," he muttered.
"Sure," Green Water growled under her breath; but she couldn't keep the twinkle from her eye.
One Who Cries grinned sheepishly and went to gather another armload of fat as Singing Wolf cut it loose.
Everywhere, camps of the People had taken in the new women captured from the Others. The elderly women worked hard to teach them the legends and myths, to make them one with the People—even though they would always be second-class wives. The captives learned. They remained for the most part sullen, angry, servicing their new husbands with resignation. Still, many continued to try to run away.
"How long?" Green Water wondered, looking at the
growing pile of fat as One Who Cries dropped the greasy slab.
He stood, easing the crick in his back, trying to wipe the gobs of fat from his thick fingers. "Another week? Maybe two? The freeze will be hard in the ground by then. Snow won't be that deep and we can walk into the deep cold. There'll be good travel then."
' 'The sooner the better. Singing Wolf is worried.''
"And I'm worried," One Who Cries agreed. "They'll strike back. According to Blueberry, they have to."