hearth. She should put aside her sorrow, seek another mate, and make her own hearth again. She quietly dusted the crushed leaves off her hands.
Raven had just decided that no more bison would push through the canyon when a noisy blend of grunting and snorting drifted over the wind. A group of cows with several large calves trotted around the curve, seeking the main herd. They sped up, determined to pass. Again, the Longheads shunted the animals away, and as the last group had, the bison hugged the wall opposite the kill and lunged through in single file. The last one gave a bleating bellow upon smelling the bloody meat and bucked its way down the canyon.
The Longheads turned to watch the bucking bison, and Bear’s group used that distraction to surge down the outcrop and dart from the lower ledge. His spear jerking forward, Bear headed the charge across the gap.
Caught unaware, the Longheads ran, spears abandoned along with the butchered kill, but after scrambling a short distance down the riverbed, they rallied. The largest one picked up a big rock and threw it. It hit the ground, tumbling to a stop in front of Leaf—who immediately flew into a rage.
The scout writhed and ranted. Shrill, singsong words poured from him, strange and without meaning, while his arms and hands contorted oddly. At this spectacle, the Longheads started like spooked stags and dashed away, not stopping that time. Raven realized with amazement that they’d been unnerved by hearing their own words pour out of the twitching scout, who sounded like some dying bird. Leaf’s noisy deluge trailed off. She stared at him, pressing her tongue distractedly against the back of her front teeth. The young man intrigued her. She would like to know him better and hear his story.
The group finished what the Longheads had started, bundling the meat into skins before binding leather straps around the packets in preparation for back-hauling and were almost done when Raven took advantage of the others’ preoccupation and sidled over to the lifeless Longhead. The men had already taken a look at him during the time she was bringing their skins, pouches, and other things from the outcrop. After she’d come down from one of her trips, she found Leaf urinating on the prone body’s stomach. When he spotted her, he reddened and quickly adjusted his loincloth before rejoining the other men.
She stopped a few steps away, repulsed but fascinated by the elongated skull top of the dead Longhead and the hue of his deeply muscled chest, which was as pale as birch except for the irritated skin where the bison had hit him. He was young. Bright, reddish-brown hair covered his head and chin, and his skin was clear and unwrinkled.
Her nostrils twitching from the distinct smell of Leaf’s urine, she bent over to get a better look at the upturned face, with its huge, projecting nose and taut cheekbones angling almost to the mouth. His eyes were widely spaced and open, and the thing that surprised her most was that the irises gleaming under the heavy brows were as green as new-growth grass.
She tried to gather the bits and parts of him into an overall impression but was unsuccessful because the eyes kept snaring her attention, disturbing her. It did not seem possible that eyes could be that color. Raven lowered her head even more, looking into the large, sunlit orbs as if trying to find her reflection in a mossy pool. She suddenly felt as if he were looking at her just as she was at him—and then he blinked.
In one swift movement, she leapt up and back. “He is alive!” she shrieked.
The Longhead sat up, and then, with his back flattened against the canyon wall, he pushed himself upright so that he was standing. He felt his right shoulder, left hand probing, grimacing as he bent his elbow out slightly and attempted to raise the arm. He quickly lowered it again, giving a low moan.
Their spears aimed at the Longhead, the men made a semicircle around him as Raven slipped
Raven had just decided that no more bison would push through the canyon when a noisy blend of grunting and snorting drifted over the wind. A group of cows with several large calves trotted around the curve, seeking the main herd. They sped up, determined to pass. Again, the Longheads shunted the animals away, and as the last group had, the bison hugged the wall opposite the kill and lunged through in single file. The last one gave a bleating bellow upon smelling the bloody meat and bucked its way down the canyon.
The Longheads turned to watch the bucking bison, and Bear’s group used that distraction to surge down the outcrop and dart from the lower ledge. His spear jerking forward, Bear headed the charge across the gap.
Caught unaware, the Longheads ran, spears abandoned along with the butchered kill, but after scrambling a short distance down the riverbed, they rallied. The largest one picked up a big rock and threw it. It hit the ground, tumbling to a stop in front of Leaf—who immediately flew into a rage.
The scout writhed and ranted. Shrill, singsong words poured from him, strange and without meaning, while his arms and hands contorted oddly. At this spectacle, the Longheads started like spooked stags and dashed away, not stopping that time. Raven realized with amazement that they’d been unnerved by hearing their own words pour out of the twitching scout, who sounded like some dying bird. Leaf’s noisy deluge trailed off. She stared at him, pressing her tongue distractedly against the back of her front teeth. The young man intrigued her. She would like to know him better and hear his story.
The group finished what the Longheads had started, bundling the meat into skins before binding leather straps around the packets in preparation for back-hauling and were almost done when Raven took advantage of the others’ preoccupation and sidled over to the lifeless Longhead. The men had already taken a look at him during the time she was bringing their skins, pouches, and other things from the outcrop. After she’d come down from one of her trips, she found Leaf urinating on the prone body’s stomach. When he spotted her, he reddened and quickly adjusted his loincloth before rejoining the other men.
She stopped a few steps away, repulsed but fascinated by the elongated skull top of the dead Longhead and the hue of his deeply muscled chest, which was as pale as birch except for the irritated skin where the bison had hit him. He was young. Bright, reddish-brown hair covered his head and chin, and his skin was clear and unwrinkled.
Her nostrils twitching from the distinct smell of Leaf’s urine, she bent over to get a better look at the upturned face, with its huge, projecting nose and taut cheekbones angling almost to the mouth. His eyes were widely spaced and open, and the thing that surprised her most was that the irises gleaming under the heavy brows were as green as new-growth grass.
She tried to gather the bits and parts of him into an overall impression but was unsuccessful because the eyes kept snaring her attention, disturbing her. It did not seem possible that eyes could be that color. Raven lowered her head even more, looking into the large, sunlit orbs as if trying to find her reflection in a mossy pool. She suddenly felt as if he were looking at her just as she was at him—and then he blinked.
In one swift movement, she leapt up and back. “He is alive!” she shrieked.
The Longhead sat up, and then, with his back flattened against the canyon wall, he pushed himself upright so that he was standing. He felt his right shoulder, left hand probing, grimacing as he bent his elbow out slightly and attempted to raise the arm. He quickly lowered it again, giving a low moan.
Their spears aimed at the Longhead, the men made a semicircle around him as Raven slipped