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“Oh, well, the humans can read, so I thought we could post a skin with a schedule on it at the longhouse, and then maybe do pictures for the sa-khui?” She bites her lip. “It’s not a great answer, but I can’t think of another way to do it other than going house to house and reminding everyone what the next day will be.”
“We can do both,” I assure her. “I will help you.” The more I think about this, the more I am determined to help Claire make this a success. It is a big task, but I am looking forward to it.
The day breezes past as Claire and I make plans, and by the time the suns slide into the horizon and the chill in the air grows too deep to ignore, we have many more scribbles on Claire’s skins, many plans, and have drunk many, many cups of tea. Claire invites me back to her small howse to eat leftover stew, and I join her. She lives in one of the small howses closer to the long-howse, where the floors are warm under the feet and the walls are decorated with strange figures. Her home is cozy but bare, much like my own, and I ca
As we settle near the fire with our bowls, Claire stifles a yawn. “So tomorrow we go out and start talking to everyone about the Secret Gifting celebration, right?”
I nod. “It will give people time to prepare their gifts. Even small ones must be created by hand, and everyone will want to participate and make sure their tribesmate receives things they will enjoy.”
She chews, nodding her head. “We can start telling people about it, hit up the hunters when they come back, and then start the celebrations at the begi
“It sounds good.” I hold up my bowl. “This is good, too. Thank you for sharing.”
Her smile is shy but proud. “It makes the food go further, and I don’t put in too many roots because I know Ereven isn’t a fan of them. And I like the company. It gets lonely when my mate is out on the trails all night.”
I am absurdly pleased that she enjoys my company. I have enjoyed the day spent with Claire. She is quiet and thoughtful, unlike some of the other humans, and genuinely wants my opinions. She makes me feel…needed. Perhaps Hemalo is not the only one that has felt lost all this time. “It is good to have a friend,” I tell her, and when she agrees, I think I am not the only one that feels this way. We chat quietly over the food, and then spend a bit of time sewing by the fire, until Claire’s yawns become more frequent. I send her off to her furs and promise I will be back early in the morning so we can start on our plans.
When I leave her house, I am happy. It feels strange and yet welcome to have a purpose—and a friend—again. The other humans have been friendly, of course, and my own tribesmates would perhaps not understand the difference between merely lingering by the fire next to others, and feeling truly and genuinely welcomed.
Or perhaps it has all been in my mind all this time. It is hard to say.
I return to my own little howse and find the fire is nothing but embers. Farli has not returned, and probably will not until the hunters do. Even though I complain about her company and that of her smelly pet, it feels too quiet to be here by myself. The temperature is bitingly cold, but since I am the only one in the howse, it seems a waste to make a fire for only one sa-khui. I pull a few extra furs out of my store, pile them onto my bed, and crawl under them, waiting for my body heat to warm the blankets.
As I do, I stare up at the ceiling. In the darkness, I can just make out the thick stitching on the seams, where the hides have been pulled together tightly and made to form one large covering. I think of how good I feel, how I am humming with plans and thoughts, not sadness. And I think of Hemalo and how he needs to feel needed. How I have not given that to him. How strained things are between us.
I get up out of bed, move to the wall, where the teepee top is tightly lashed down, and begin to pick the seams apart.