The First Tribe Read Free Page B

continuously bent position. The heat, even though it was early first season, made her uncomfortable. This short time in the full sun made Sabra grateful that her tribe spent the rest of the year in the shade of the mountains and forests.
    Sabra’s mind wandered while she gathered her plants. She turned nineteen at the end of fourth season, and this year she would be married to Zifan. As far as commoners went, Zifan was not a bad match. At five foot seven, he was tall for one of their people. Most of his height had been spent on long legs and arms, and Sabra thought he resembled one of the peras, swinging from the limbs of the trees.
    Zifan was an adequate hunter and he provided his family with many skins. These were used for clothing and repairing their canopy and supplies. The tribe did not eat meat, and they only took skins from aged or debilitated creatures. The hunters thanked the animals and spoke ritual words, leaving the carcasses for other beasts. The tribe believed the offerings kept the people safe from being harmed by the various ferocious animals with which they shared their forest home.
    Chabil looked over at Sabra. Her friend was frowning again, and Chabil was certain she was considering her upcoming joining with Zifan. Secretly, she not only thought he resembled a pera, but what she envisioned the offspring of a utansa would be like. Whatever height the ungainly man achieved had sucked his intelligence. He was boring, with monotonous chatter, and Chabil felt sorry for her friend. Her own mate was to be Pasal, and he was already a leader among the hunters his age.
    Chabil watched Sabra stand and rub her back. The two young women were the same height, five foot four. They were slightly taller than average, but it was the only trait they shared. Chabil had cropped, curly dark hair, flashing dark eyes, and a dainty figure. That was how Pasal described her, in lieu of pointing out she was basically flat chested with slim hips and practically no indication of a waist. Chabil was hoping childbirth would enhance her figure. No doubt Pasal held those same thoughts.
    Sabra, gosh , to have her extraordinary looks wasted on the likes of Zifan was a shame. Chabil had hinted as much to her friend. Sabra’s hair was a deep red and her eyes were as green as the tipila leaves. Her figure was a series of rounded curves from her chest, tapering down to a narrow waist, and then rolling out to womanly hips and a rounded bottom. Even her legs, though muscular and strong like all Vastara women, were swelled and sloping with nice lines. Chabil’s thin legs were angular, and the muscles pronounced instead of softened by a layer of fat. Sabra’s babies would be chubby and pink… if not for Zifan as their father.
    “What are you gathering?” Chabil called over.
    “Lipsa. I’ve already collected veran.” Sabra thought of Chabil, struggling with the rooted temur. “If you collect the temur for me, I’ll collect enough lipsa and veran to share with you.”
    Chabil thought for a moment. Although the temur was more difficult, she would save double the bending for the two plants Sabra would gather for her. “Okay. My hands are already reeking,” Chabil laughed. “Have you seen any fistal?”
    Sabra nodded. “There are a few plants by the veran. I’ll cut some for you.” The fistal leaves and buds had an astringent, soapy value that seemed to offset the smell of the temur. They were purportedly named after an ancient tribe called Fista that used the delicate lavender flowers as an aphrodisiac and an adornment. Other than a full washing by the cave creek, it was the best the gatherers could do to cleanse the odor of the temur.
    The rest of the morning passed quietly, and Chabil and Sabra sat together for lunch, splitting their harvested plants. They returned to the field and began collecting shafrung together, with Chabil holding the tall stalks straight so Sabra could glide her sharp blade down the stem, cutting the orange buds