cackled into the sky. “It’s power, to hide things from men!”
I didn’t understand but knew it was important to learn as much as possible.
“You must learn to weave, but you must keep exercising that leg of yours, too,” she said. “Go round the animals, speak to them, let the dogs know you are watching.” And I would follow the goats, bring them back down a spur, move the sheep in with the dogs. Nip helped, learning from Bar and Mak. When I jumped in a stream and felt my leg floating, I thought I could live happily in water. Each day was filled with new things.
We spun string out of a mixture of wool and hair, winding strands together from two balls, drawing it tight. Hagarshowed me how to make an angled hook from a scrub knot, hard as iron. I polished it to a point on a stone, set it with rabbit guts, and caught an eel. I speared trout. We ate the last of the venison chips, and Hagar showed me again how to braid cord for snares, how to twist a bowstring.
“When you can use a bow,” she said, “you won’t have to depend on snares alone.”
The metal arrows from Tayamoot were too precious. I shaved a shaft of straight-grained wood and fitted the strangers’ arrowhead. The other end I split and inserted the feathers, flights Hagar called them. They made the arrow fly true. As I coated the lashing with beeswax she said, “You make stone arrowheads like this.”
She held a rock the size of my fist and struck another, knocking off flakes which she cracked still smaller. “This grey stone chips better and holds a sharp edge. I don’t know any more about it.” She gave her dry laugh. “I was a girl; I learned a woman’s skills. You’ll learn by making your own arrowheads.”
I spent hours chipping flakes to neat heads, rubbed smooth and sharpened on gritty stone. My first arrows fell to bits in mid-air, curved away, did everything but fly straight. I cried with rage, but Hagar laughed. “To use a bow is a fine thing,” she said. “You can kill food and defend yourself – at a distance. A Traveller must be a hunter as well.”
Afraid of losing the stone tips, I practised with wooden-headed arrows that did not fly as far. At first I couldn’t pull back the string, but it was a knack that came. My arrows flew further and straighter.
One morning I crept close enough to a hare to see its mouth working. The bowstring twanged as it leapt. I ran back to camp, dragging the hare. I skinned it, gathered and added the herbs Hagar had shown me. As it stewed, I showed her again and again how it had leapt to meet my stone-tipped arrow.
After that I crawled along a stream after grey ducks, but a pair which Hagar called parries, one of them with a white head, circled above, calling noisily, warning every bird and beast. I lost my temper and shot at them. Although I searched the hillside, all I found were lizards flicking under rocks. It was a hard lesson.
“A good hunter learns to hide from the parries,” said Hagar. “You must control your temper.” I threw down my bow and ran away. It was bad enough losing a stone-headed arrow, one that had taken so long to make. I didn’t need her telling me what to do.
All that afternoon I hid, watching the camp. Nip was a dot, playing around Hagar. Bar and Mak circled the animals. I wanted them with me and wished I were down there but didn’t know how to go back. Towards evening I saw Hagar take down the tent, load the donkeys and move off. I ran then, and Nip came to meet me. Hagar didn’t notice. Later, as we followed the animals, she spoke.
“Some men boasted of shooting ducks on the wing. The only shots I saw them take was when the ducks were on the ground or water. They took care not to lose their arrows.” She was trying not to laugh. I did not say I had gone back and searched the bare hillside, that my arrow still hid itself there.
I stalked ducks, getting to know their habits, which way to crawl up on their pools, how to avoid the parries. When at last I
I didn’t understand but knew it was important to learn as much as possible.
“You must learn to weave, but you must keep exercising that leg of yours, too,” she said. “Go round the animals, speak to them, let the dogs know you are watching.” And I would follow the goats, bring them back down a spur, move the sheep in with the dogs. Nip helped, learning from Bar and Mak. When I jumped in a stream and felt my leg floating, I thought I could live happily in water. Each day was filled with new things.
We spun string out of a mixture of wool and hair, winding strands together from two balls, drawing it tight. Hagarshowed me how to make an angled hook from a scrub knot, hard as iron. I polished it to a point on a stone, set it with rabbit guts, and caught an eel. I speared trout. We ate the last of the venison chips, and Hagar showed me again how to braid cord for snares, how to twist a bowstring.
“When you can use a bow,” she said, “you won’t have to depend on snares alone.”
The metal arrows from Tayamoot were too precious. I shaved a shaft of straight-grained wood and fitted the strangers’ arrowhead. The other end I split and inserted the feathers, flights Hagar called them. They made the arrow fly true. As I coated the lashing with beeswax she said, “You make stone arrowheads like this.”
She held a rock the size of my fist and struck another, knocking off flakes which she cracked still smaller. “This grey stone chips better and holds a sharp edge. I don’t know any more about it.” She gave her dry laugh. “I was a girl; I learned a woman’s skills. You’ll learn by making your own arrowheads.”
I spent hours chipping flakes to neat heads, rubbed smooth and sharpened on gritty stone. My first arrows fell to bits in mid-air, curved away, did everything but fly straight. I cried with rage, but Hagar laughed. “To use a bow is a fine thing,” she said. “You can kill food and defend yourself – at a distance. A Traveller must be a hunter as well.”
Afraid of losing the stone tips, I practised with wooden-headed arrows that did not fly as far. At first I couldn’t pull back the string, but it was a knack that came. My arrows flew further and straighter.
One morning I crept close enough to a hare to see its mouth working. The bowstring twanged as it leapt. I ran back to camp, dragging the hare. I skinned it, gathered and added the herbs Hagar had shown me. As it stewed, I showed her again and again how it had leapt to meet my stone-tipped arrow.
After that I crawled along a stream after grey ducks, but a pair which Hagar called parries, one of them with a white head, circled above, calling noisily, warning every bird and beast. I lost my temper and shot at them. Although I searched the hillside, all I found were lizards flicking under rocks. It was a hard lesson.
“A good hunter learns to hide from the parries,” said Hagar. “You must control your temper.” I threw down my bow and ran away. It was bad enough losing a stone-headed arrow, one that had taken so long to make. I didn’t need her telling me what to do.
All that afternoon I hid, watching the camp. Nip was a dot, playing around Hagar. Bar and Mak circled the animals. I wanted them with me and wished I were down there but didn’t know how to go back. Towards evening I saw Hagar take down the tent, load the donkeys and move off. I ran then, and Nip came to meet me. Hagar didn’t notice. Later, as we followed the animals, she spoke.
“Some men boasted of shooting ducks on the wing. The only shots I saw them take was when the ducks were on the ground or water. They took care not to lose their arrows.” She was trying not to laugh. I did not say I had gone back and searched the bare hillside, that my arrow still hid itself there.
I stalked ducks, getting to know their habits, which way to crawl up on their pools, how to avoid the parries. When at last I
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