Coming Home

[FOTH]

Dec 27, 2013 17:35:53 GMT -6 pacnorwest said:

Thank you FOTH,
You have met the challenge of writing an excellent story.

Thank you. I know you're a writer, yourself, and appreciate hearing that!

Dec 28, 2013 13:40:44 GMT -6 felicia said:

I have learned so much in the area of bushcraft from reading about Einar's struggles.

I hope you have a Liz at home.

I am not fit company for man nor beast, and I know it.


Glad you've found the story educational.

_______________________

Though Einar seemed quite ready to be done with the conversation that had begun outside, Liz did not want to let the subject drop, not now that they’d begun discussing it and he seemed, for once, not only willing to consider the possibility that some major changes needed to be made, but ready to recognize that he could not indefinitely continue on the way he’d been going. She wanted to seize the moment, make something of it. But would have to keep him awake, if she really wanted to get anywhere. Already he appeared to be nearly dozing in the warmth of the fire, arms wrapped hard around his knees and head bent, eyes half closed.

Einar, in fact, was not anywhere near dozing off, the absentness Liz had taken for near-sleep resulting instead from a fierce struggle with a sudden sense of unreality that had begun creeping in around the edges of his mind, jungle trying to pull him in, sights and smells already beginning to drown out the world around him so that he felt trapped by the cozy confines of the parachute shelter, desperate for air, space, the freedom of the wide, windswept woods beyond this little world of family and firelight. For some reason—dimly remembered promise, perhaps, to wait until the storm had passed—he made no move to leave, pressing himself instead into the fir boughs that made up the floor of the shelter, eyes closed and teeth clenched as he fought to remain at least somewhat in the present, failing, swamp-stench rising around him and the feeling of the bamboo beneath his body, hard ridges against raw-injured skin, bone, ropes on his arms cutting off all feeling as they raised him, all hope of escape, all life, pretty nearly, so that soon he was struggling for air, gasping and twisting in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure, allow his lungs to expand. Wasn’t working.

Liz was watching, crouched beside him and spoke his name, and when he looked up at her she could see the trouble, a certain vacancy in his wide, white eyes, a distance. He clearly did not know her, perhaps did not even see her, and she reached out to place a hand on his knee, but pulled it back, bad idea, best stick to words.

Her words, though spoken softly and insistently, did not seem to be having much effect, Einar glancing frantically at the walls, up at the parachute above his head and leaving her little doubt that he would do whatever necessary to secure his “escape,” should he see something that looked like a way out. Right overtop the sleeping Will, should it come to that, out into the storm where he’d surely be lost and where she might not find him again before it was too late, if things continued for him as they presently were. Without hesitation Liz grabbed the pot of half melted snow-water from beside the fire and in one smooth motion splashed its entire contents over his head where it ran in wet, slushy globules over his face and slipped icily down the back of his neck and along his spine.

Spluttering and shivering Einar was on his feet, ropes somehow mysteriously and entirely removed as he discovered that he was able to unbend his body, to rise, fir boughs beneath his feet and—strangely, no explaining—Liz there with him in the cage, reaching for him, blotting the icy water from face and neck. He reeled backwards, trying to get away, not right that she should be in here with him, not possible, but there was nowhere to go, solid mass of the back wall bringing him up short so that he stumbled, fell heavily to his knees and crouched there staring at her, at the fire and the top of little Will’s head where he lay nestled in the sleeping bag. Sight of the child finishing the job the cold water had started, and he looked away from her, knew what he had done.

Liz was beside him, leading him back to the fire and trying to help him off with his wet, icy clothes. “I’m sorry about the water. You were…somewhere else.”

“Water’s good. Thanks.”

“It may have been good, but these clothes are going to start freezing on you if we don’t get you into something dry.”

“Don’t mind if they do. Might help remind me where I am.”

“You’ll remember, now. Here, give me those and I’ll hang them to dry by the fire. They’ll be ready for morning.” Einar complied, reluctantly gave her the freezing clothes and got into the dry set which thankfully had remained in the items Bud and Susan had sent along, but refused to wear the extra layer Liz was trying to give him. It would, she insisted, help him save energy, keep him from being so very cold all the time, but he did not want to do it, insisted that such measures were only for days when it was well below zero, which—despite the ice in his bones—that day did not seem to be. She stopped insisting, but would not give up on the original conversation.

“Do you remember what we were talking about? Before the jungle got in the way, I mean…”

Einar remembered. “Yeah.”

“What do you think? Willing to give it a try? Eat more, start stepping back a little from that ledge you’re always teetering along, and see how it goes for you?”

Feeling trapped. Wished she would have saved the discussion—which he knew was inevitable—for another time, because to be quite honest, all he wanted to do right then was to head out into the snowy timber and stand for a week without protection or sustenance of any kind, simply to refute the cage. To refute what he had been, in there. Instead, he kept silent for a long moment, watching the soft rise and fall of the sleeping bag where Will dozed, gurgling and laughing in his sleep.

“Yeah, I’m willing.”

“Thought you might be. How about some more soup, as a start.”

“That’s part of the trouble, though. If I’m really going to do this, have to do it kind of slowly at first or I’ll run into a lot of trouble. Probably already in trouble after the two bowls I had earlier. You remember how it was before, person gets real sick, loses all the strength in their muscles—including the ones for swallowing and breathing. Not a good situation. Can mostly avoid it, if I go slow.”

“Ok, we’ll go slow. And go easy on the starchy things, because that’s where the trouble comes from, isn’t it? From your body re-adjusting to burning starches for energy, after being without for a long time.”

“Right.”

“But this time…well, you’ve been eating some. I was hoping that might not be so much of a problem this time, so you could eat more sooner, and start doing better. What do you think?”

“Think I’ve been losing some more weight lately, so had better go slow.”

She didn’t want to believe that, but knew he was probably right. “Well, you were at 66 that time we checked at Susan’s, when we first got there. I don’t think you’ve gained any since then, have you?”

Einar shrugged. Didn’t really think so, not the way things had been going. “Oh, what am I saying? I know you’ve lost some since then, I can see it. Several pounds, at least. That’s a really scary number, you know?”

“Aw, doesn’t bother me much.”

“That’s the scariest part…”

“You want me to be bothered?” He was starting to laugh then, saw the look on her face and stopped.

“No, I just want you to eat more soup. Here you go. Have this, and I’ll start some more.”

[felicia]

Thanks for the new chapter.

[FOTH]

Will have a chapter ready for tomorrow.

I want to wish each of you a happy and productive New Year!

[homer]

May you have a happy, healthy, and productive new year too FOTH.

[FOTH]

Thank you, Felicia and Homer!

___________________

That night, storm finally moving out and the stars burning with a cold, unblinking intensity in the clear, frigid sky, Einar slept well and soundly for several hours despite the chill, his decision made and mind more at rest than it had been in some time. Later the dreams came, jarred him from sleep and left him half wishing he could reverse his agreement and seek solace in the harsh joys of cold and deprivation which had always seen him through such difficulties and kept his feet on the ground when they threatened to sweep him away, but instead he turned to Liz, arm around her and chin resting on the top of her head, and closed his eyes. The dreams would pass, life would pass, all things would pass, but for the moment he was here with this woman who was his wife and the child they had together brought into the world, and he drifted off to sleep with tears in his eyes and a determination to be present with them in this life for as long and in as full a sense as he was able. Not going to be easy, but none of his paths had been easy, and this one—quieted his own breathing, listening for little Will’s, finding it—was certainly as worthy as any upon which he had ever embarked, and far more than most of them.

Morning, chill getting to Einar despite the sleeping bag and Liz’s presence, and not wanting to disturb her he crept out to make a fire. Plenty of wood from the night before, and soon he had a small blaze going, crouching over it, warming himself and trying to plan the day’s work. Dizzy, head feeling all light and strange and limbs cramping up in the oddest places so that he had to keep shifting position—arches of his feet, hands as well as legs—muscles not cooperating at all, and he knew that while Liz had possessed the best of intentions in insisting so strongly that he go on eating mug after mug of her split pea soup, he’d managed to get too much of the stuff and was noticing the effects. Too much starch. Needed more protein and fat to help ease him back into things, into eating, and instead of raiding the food bag at that point as someone else might have done—thought didn’t even occur to him—Einar banked the fire, took a few things from his pack and set off in search of some four-footed protein.

Not much going on out there on that cold, frigid morning, most creatures still hunkered down in burrows and brushy shelters against a slight easing of the chill, but the rabbits were out. Einar saw their tracks, trails, in fact, where already several animals had passed on the same path over the newly fallen snow, leaving behind the distinct markings of their hind feet as well as droppings and the bits of flaked-off dry vegetation—curls of grass, a brittle, shattered leaf here and there, a shred of willow or other bark—which told him the rabbits had been finding things to eat. A good place, it appeared, to set some snares, stick a few twigs in the snow at a narrow part of the trail which formed a natural chokepoint, and check back in the morning to see if he’d had any success.

Taking two of the ready-made locking snares—gift of Bud and Susan—from his pocket Einar did just this, feeling the spool of wire he’d also slipped in there and determining to come back to this trail later that day and make a few more snares of his own, these with triggers and branch-springs which would, upon release, quickly sweep the animal up off the ground and eliminate the need for locking to prevent its escape. Good for the future, these snares he was setting, but he wanted a rabbit now. Needed one. Had a very distinct feeling that he couldn’t wait until the following morning.

Following the trail, off to one side so as not to mar it with his own tracks, Einar kept his eyes sharp for any sign of movement, for the mottled brown fur that would reveal to him a potential meal, and when he did come on the rabbit it saw him, took off but froze not six feet past the spot where he had, himself, frozen still in the snow. Thinking itself invisible now that it had stopped moving the rabbit did not budge as Einar eased closer, careful not to direct his eyes or even his thoughts too pointedly at the animal, lest it sense his intention and take off in the zigzagging course that might have saved it from a hungry fox or coyote. Einar wished he had a spear, or, lacking that, a bola which he might have thrown to tangle and secure his quarry. Lacking either of these at the moment—he’d brought the pistol, but had no intention of wasting a shot on a rabbit, or of alerting potential enemies with the noise—he balanced the hefty section of pine branch that rested in his right hand. A rabbit stick, and he smiled at the thought of what Liz might do with the thing, visually measured the distance between himself and the rabbit, and let it fly.

A solid hit, animal knocked two feet to the side where it flailed a bit, kicked twice and was still. Hurrying in to pounce on his quarry as if half afraid it might get to its feet and take off again—might have been able to secure it even had it been able to do that, soft, deep snow greatly inhibiting rabbits’ speed and making them more vulnerable to longer-legged predators—Einar crouched there beside it in the snow, lifting, inspecting, rabbit quite thoroughly dead and a fairly large one, too, plenty of meat. Tucking the animal into his shirt—very warm against his skin, and he shivered at the contrast—Einar retraced his steps back to the shelter, only then stopping to clean the rabbit. Did not want to lose or leave any of the refuse from this process, intending to use everything they did not eat as bait in the pursuit of larger creatures. Not immediately necessary, perhaps, given the abundance of supplies they’d brought with them and the several hundred pounds of moose meat frozen and awaiting their return in the canyon, but his instincts as a hunter and long experience with conditions under which obtaining the next meal was seldom a sure or a quick thing dictated that he must always think ahead.

Those last few hundred yards before the shelter were somewhat difficult ones for Einar, legs cramping up to a degree that made his progress over the numerous downed, snow-buried trees that lay crisscrossed on the ridge above their sheltered little basin quite a challenge, but he made it, wishing he might crawl those last few yards, but keeping on his feet. Rabbit cleaned, skinned and ready for cooking he did crawl into the shelter, standing probably still possible had he really given it all his effort, but legs barely responding anymore. Liz, fortunately, did not notice his predicament, as the parachute flap which served as door necessitated that one crouch quite low to enter, besides which she was busy doing something over the fire. The odor left Einar little doubt. Moose stew! Guess this rabbit wouldn’t have been strictly necessary, would it? Still glad I went. Fellow has to keep making an effort, doesn’t he?

Liz glanced up, glad to see that he had returned. “Where did you go?”

He held up the skinned rabbit. “Went after some breakfast. And to see about trapping possibilities, now that the storm’s over. Set some snares.”

“Want me to add your rabbit to the stew, or should we save him for later?”

“Figure we can just roast him over the fire, this time. Know we lose a little juice and stuff that way, as opposed to boiling, but with a rabbit being so very lean, it’s not like we’re losing a lot of fat that we would have otherwise used, or anything. Just sounds good that way. Then we can turn the bones and scraps into soup for another time.”

“Sure! It won’t hurt to have both to work on, today.” What she did not mention was the fact that she was entirely delighted to see him taking some interest in food again, and actually planning to eat more than she had intended to offer him. Could only help. Like the soup must have helped the previous day, if he’d had the energy to go out hunting that morning…

A misconception which was soon laid to rest when Einar attempted to stand, and fell. She was at his side, but he waved her away, gave it another try and this time managed, but with obvious difficulty.

“What’s wrong? Did you get hurt out there this morning?”

“No, it’s ok. Just my legs. Muscles giving me some trouble. Your stew will help, and so will the rabbit.”

“Just your legs…?”

“Uh…that’s the most noticeable, I guess! Affects everything. Not having any trouble with breathing yet, and shouldn’t, if I take it slow and kind of stick to fat and protein. Like your soup.”

“I’ve never seen you take anything slow!”

“Sure, when I take days stalking something…or someone. That’s slow. And getting used to sharing a shelter with someone. That was real slow!"

He dodged as she playfully swung the rabbitstick with which he had taken their breakfast--didn't even know she had seen the thing--smiled, lowered himself heavily back to the ground beside the fire and used a stick to lift the lid from the bubbling pot, gratefully inhaling its steam and handing a pinecone to little Will, who had smelled the stew, himself, got curious and crawled out of the sleeping bag.

[se209]

Thanks for the new chapter ,have a happy new year.



SE209

[icefire]

Well, FINALLY! Einar has finally determined to eat, gain strength, and be around for Liz and Will. Now that he's put his mind to it, I'm sure he will be on the road to recovery. He just had to WANT it enough.

[FOTH]

Jan 1, 2014 20:12:14 GMT -6 se209 said:

Thanks for the new chapter ,have a happy new year.



SE209

Happy New Year to you, also. And thanks for reading!

Jan 1, 2014 20:24:36 GMT -6 icefire said:

Well, FINALLY! Einar has finally determined to eat, gain strength, and be around for Liz and Will. Now that he's put his mind to it, I'm sure he will be on the road to recovery. He just had to WANT it enough.

Yes, guess he figures he'd better do what he can to make sure he sticks around for a while.

_______________

Between Liz’s moose stew and the hard-earned rabbit which Einar roasted over the fire with delightfully aromatic and crisp-edged results, no one was wanting for breakfast that morning. Even little Will got to try out some of his new teeth on bits of roasted rabbit skin and meat. This clearly met with his approval, he hoisting himself to his feet and clinging with one hand to a knot in one of the logs on the back wall while waving a bit of crispy rabbit skin in the other, babbling loudly with all the words he knew, and quite a few that he did not.

Einar understood anyway, joining in Will’s regalement of delight as he swept the little one up in his arms to dance around the fire, the two of them carrying on in their own ways about the wonders of moose stew and roast rabbit, the joys of half-completed shelter in a new place far from the watchful eyes of their pursuers, the wonder of life itself, hopping and stomping circles around the flames until Einar was out of breath and the child was laughing aloud.

Stepping in to catch Einar before he fell, Liz took Will from his arms and watched in delight as the little one whirled himself around in a circle on hands and knees, shaking his head and babble-singing in continued delight, his half-intelligible cacophony of words and sounds finally dissolving in another peal of laughter. Liz scooped him up, set him on the sleeping bag where he would be a bit farther from the fire, should he continue with his wild carryings-on.

“What is with you two? The stew wasn’t that good, was it? Or was it the rabbit?”

“Both, I guess! But he sure was moving like a rabbit, wasn’t he? Hopping and jumping around like that. Ought to be on his feet and running before too long, if he can move that way. Climbing trees, cliffs, swinging from the tops of spruces…”

“Oh, no! I’m not in any great hurry for that time, though I know it’s coming! It will be good to have him able to move on his own, and especially good when he doesn’t have to be carried everywhere anymore, but if he has anything like his father’s sense of adventure, I can’t imagine how I’ll be able to keep up with him!”

“Oh, I’ll help. I’ll take him adventuring with me sometimes, get him out of your hair.”

“That’s what I was afraid of!”

“Aw, come on. My adventures always turn out alright in the end… I’m still here, anyhow.”

Liz sighed. “Yes, you are. I can’t very well dispute that.”

“Nope! Not going to be here for long, though. Not right here, at least, because I’m going out to work on that roof. Want to join me?”

“Sure! It’ll be good to have something more solid over our heads. Will make it seem more like we’re really staying.”

“Will be good not to have that big, glowing globe of parachute material over our heads at night too, now that the storm has cleared out. Too much risk of someone seeing that—from the air if not from land. Think we’re pretty well hidden from land. From the canyon and anywhere people are likely to be, at least. But from the air…was thinking a lot about that last night, thinking we really shouldn’t have any more fires in here in clear weather, until we get that parachute covered.”

“Well, let’s get to it! First step is to take down the parachute I guess, so it doesn’t interfere with putting up the logs?”

“Yes. Can put it back up later, once the roof is done. Will make things brighter in there because of how it’ll reflect the firelight, and trap a good layer of air for insulation, too.”

Working together they took down and rolled the parachute, Liz stashing it in a corner of the shelter and doing her best to put away or at least cover their other possessions in the hopes of preventing them from ending up all covered with aspen bark and snow during the building process. Despite having increasing trouble keeping his legs under him as the morning went on—muscles just kept giving out, dumping him on the ground—Einar cheerfully launched himself into the roof-building project while Liz took care of things in the shelter, sorting the aspens they’d hauled in for that purpose, shortening a few with the ax so they would all be similar lengths and leaning them—sometimes with Liz’s help and sometimes, when she was feeding or otherwise tending to Will, on his own—against the back wall to form the beginnings of the solid roof that would replace the parachute material to cover their shelter.

It took eight of the small aspens to mostly cover the length of the shelter, good solid construction, so far as Einar was concerned, but he wanted to be able to enclose the remaining area made available to them by the back wall, knowing they would all benefit from having a bit more room to move about, especially now that Will was becoming so much more active and needing to explore. Pausing for a long minute with both elbows hooked over the back wall for support, he glanced over their progress so far, watched the spruce tops waving and bending gently in a stray breeze that had not yet found its way down to their level and squinted at the sun where it hung low in the sky, but much higher than it had done a month or two ago. Spring coming. And afternoon, too. No time to stand around taking needless breaks, not if he wanted to haul in the rest of the trees, get them trimmed up, shortened and stacked before dark. Which would be a good thing, for its concealment would allow them to have a fire with a bit more safety, and perhaps he and Liz could even get the parachute-tapestry-insulation put up on the inside that evening, if he got the roof all finished.

Day just about half gone, Einar headed out in search of the additional trees he now saw would be needed to complete the foundation of the roof, Liz staying behind this time to give Will some much-needed time out of her parka hood. Einar was glad for a bit of time to himself, feeling hungry, exhausted and body wanting badly to shut down and drop him in the snow right where he stood, and the presence of his family making it more difficult, somehow, to fight that feeling as the hours wore on. Eyes wide, staring as he worked to muster a bit more energy he remained standing, he did not curl up on the ground but instead set off in search of the trees, two of which he had seen in his earlier wanderings. They would have their roof, and would have it before sunset, if he had anything to do with it.

[FOTH]

Nothing for tonight, but I'll be back with a chapter tomorrow.

Thanks to all of you who are reading.

[FOTH]

Einar had his trees, all three of them, choosing carefully and glad to find that one of the trio had so rotted at its base as to be fairly easily pushed down, instead of chopping. The other two he had to chop, brow furrowed in concentration—strengthen my arms, guide my hands—as he sought to send the ax true and avoid slipping, hitting a glancing blow and taking a slice out of his leg. Succeeded, felling first on and then the other of the dry-dead trees, one already grey-bleached in the sun, bits of inner bark hanging from it in shreds, but otherwise bare. A good, solid tree, Einar expected, for the ravages of sun and wind would have gone a long way towards preventing rot and keeping it sound inside. Inside that last tree though, he found something a bit unusual. Instead of the solid grey wood he had expected to find, the tree’s core was mottled with black, wood dry and seeming as sound as ever, but riddled with passages which were half filled with bits of chewed-up wood.

Chopping a piece of the end for further inspection he found that some of the passages were filled with the fast-asleep and very sluggish members of a large family of what looked like some sort of winged ants, though Einar could not immediately identify the species. In any case, the tree no longer seemed the best choice for a roof timber, but he did know what to do with the antlike creatures. Shaking three or four of the half-inch insects out onto his hand he inspected them briefly—not the first time he’d eaten such things, nor the first continent on which he had done so—and popped them into his mouth, chewing with satisfaction. Yes, definitely worth having!

Hauling the tree downed trees back to the shelter in succession, Einar last brought the one infested with what were over the following days to come to be known around camp as “snack ants,” little beasties all peacefully sleeping their winter sleep, unaware of the doom with which they were about to meet. “Got to go back for one more tree,” he shouted over his shoulder to Liz as he turned to go. “This one’s got extras…”

“Extra what?” she called after him, but he was already gone, anxious to finish his work before too much of the day could pass—still had to stack the things, after all, get some sort of a roof over their heads, even if the process wasn’t completed that day—or before his legs would choose to give out and stay that way, and he knew it was anyone’s guess which would come first. Ah, best not to give it too much thought, he told himself. Only slow you down. Now. One more tree. Wasn’t there one up there in that little grove of firs that looked promising when you passed it, before?

Seeming to remember such a tree he made the short climb, glancing amongst the dark forms of the dense, low-growing firs until he spotted the single resident aspen, long-dead, remnant, no doubt of a small group that had grown there at some time in the past. The tree was not terribly sound at its base, as Einar could tell by pushing on an area several feet above and seeing how the tree swayed up top, restless, moving a bit too far, possible, perhaps, to push over, given enough effort. Einar tried, slow, steady shove and then, when he could not take that far enough, tried rocking the tree, attempting to build up the momentum which would hopefully carry it a bit too far out of balance on one end of one of the swings, snap whatever rotten root still held it in place, and bring it down. But with no success. Well. That’s what the axe was for, and he used it, brought the little tree down in pretty short order. Not as short as he would have liked, but at least he hadn’t sliced off any extremities in the process. So that was something for which to be thankful, and he was, bracing himself against the fallen tree and struggling to slow his breathing, take measure of the job before him.

Not a terribly large tree, as aspens went, nor an especially heavy one, considering the number of years it had surely been sitting there in the harsh, high altitude sun losing moisture, but when he crouched down and attempted to lift it to one shoulder, Einar could see that none of these factors were to prove adequate when it came to his ability to carry the thing that way. Going nowhere. Tried again despite that knowledge, results the same, and he supposed he’d have to go about it a different way, drag the thing, chop it in half, something to slightly redistribute the load. Dragging the tree, he knew, though possible, would prove a slow and laborious process considering all the downed evergreens he’d have to work the thing up and over. Much as he might have liked such a challenge at times, he really just wanted to be done, get the tree home so he could start assembling that roof. Which meant chopping it roughly in half, and he positioned himself beneath one end of the fallen trunk, prepared to lift and prop it for chopping. But, he never got the chance.

Liz had followed him, had left him to himself for a while, sensing that he would appreciate some time alone, but was now beginning to grow concerned, as it seemed no sooner had he finished one task that he managed to set another for himself and go at it with equal enthusiasm and determination, leaving her to wonder where it would ever end. Perhaps he had no intention of allowing himself ever to be done, meant in one way or another to make up for the “extra” he’d finally allowed himself to begin eating, and keep working until he quite literally dropped. She wouldn’t put it past him to try some such design, even if not entirely consciously or with full intent, and she hoped somehow to be able to interrupt it, if that was indeed the course on which he found himself currently embarked. Will on her back, she stepped out of the firs.

“Looks like you’ve found the last tree, there.”

Einar had heard them coming, wearily looked up but allowed a slow grin to creep across his face at the sight of little Will, mittened hands peeking out from beneath the fur ruff on Liz’s parka hood and grasping the supple little twig of a nearby fir with such force that it had brought his mother up short. “Will seems to think we need that one, too. Look! He’s got it all picked out.”

She laughed, gently tried to free the branch from his hands and when she could not, broke it off and let him keep it. “When he’s old enough to drag them home, he gets to start picking out trees. I’m sure it won’t be long, the way he’s growing! In the meantime, he’ll simply have to make do with whatever we bring home, won’t he? And it looks like you’ve got the last one we needed to finish the leaning part of the roof. Can I help you carry it? Maybe if we each take one end, we won’t have to cut it in half or anything.

Einar gave a silent sigh, had wanted to do the job himself, and had just about finished forming a plan for doing so, too but now here she was and it would be slightly absurd not to let her help. Remembering something, he flashed a sudden grin, squirmed out from beneath the tree and got as hastily as he was able to his feet.

“Sure, let’s try that. It’s time to be getting on home, anyway. I’ve got a surprise waiting for you there!”

[felicia]

Thanks for the new chapters.

[FOTH]

Thank you for reading, Felicia!

_____________________

When Liz saw the nature of the surprise Einar had waiting for her back at the shelter, she half-regretted insisting that she help him get that final tree home, thereby expediting the trip. Large winged ants, even if roasted as he was suggesting, hardly constituted her vision of the ideal snack—at least not so long as anything else was even remotely available. Something about the wings, the multitude of little legs and the way the things would surely crack and crunch when she bit them…well, it would not be the first time she had eaten insects, and as Einar had pointed out those other times, it was just protein. Fairly highly concentrated protein at that, and no way was she going to act anything less than excited about any food source Einar happened to bring in, just then. He was trying, and she could try, along with him. Still, the half-dormant little creatures, beginning to wake and wiggle a bit in the warmth of the shelter, did not strike her as terribly appetizing, and she wished there might be some way to stick to the leftover rabbit and moose stew.

Will possessed no such reservations, watching the winged ants in fascination and, after seeing his father snack on a few, whole-heartedly throwing himself into the hunt. Fingers nimble and eyes not too far from the ground, Will proved a better snatcher and eater of insects than either of his parents might have anticipated, Einar finally stepping in much to Liz’s relief and pulling him away from the log before he could entirely decimate its population of large winged ants. While she did not mind his trying one or two—the ability not only to forage but to eat and enjoy the results of said scavenging was, after all, essential to the life which lay ahead of him—it seemed wise to limit the little one’s first taste to a few insects only. Especially seeing as he was relatively new to the consumption of solid foods, in the first place.

Liz shook her head, corner of her mouth turning up at the sort of conversation she imagined mothers must have with one another down there in civilization, as they wheeled their too-clean, almost-sterile little children around the neighborhood in monstrous contraptions of plastic and steel which precluded the necessity—and greatly reduced the likelihood—of any actual frequent human contact between mother and child… What was your baby’s first solid food? They would ask. Yogurt? Applesauce? Mushed up sweet potatoes out of a little jar? And she would stop and think for a moment, maybe adjusting Will’s position in her parka hood before responding, oh, let’s see…was it a little taste of raw rabbit liver that his father gave him after a successful hunt, or some fresh moose marrow that he gnawed out of a bone we gave him to play with? One or the other, but I can’t remember for sure which came first.

At which time the other mothers—silly, civilized creatures—would open their eyes wide and make exaggerated gagging faces and go away before she even had time to mention that if you mean really solid stuff though, stuff that requires teeth, I guess it would be the time his father brought home an old aspen log and was going to use it as part of the roof, but changed his mind when he discovered that it was all full of tasty, crunchy winged ants, snacking ants, and Will got to pick those out of the rotting wood with his fingers and try them…

The Civilized Ladies were running by that point, tripping over one another in a mad dash for their strollers in whose Giant Cargo Compartments lay large stocks of Hand Sanitizer, Chemical Wipes, Germ Spray and all the other barriers with which they sought to prevent the slightest contact between their pampered offspring—poor pale things with their underdeveloped immune systems and stunted senses of adventure—and anything real or dirty in the world… Liz, laughing aloud, handed Will another ant, munched a few herself. Surely it couldn’t be so bad as all that, even down there in civilization. Could it…?

Einar was staring at her, glint in his eye and a hint of a crooked smile as he wondered what she could be carrying on about, and what could have led to such a dramatic and sudden change in her attitude towards the waking, wriggling snack in the aspen log.

“Well, better get on with roasting those things…unless you’ve really taken a liking to them that way, and would prefer leaving them raw!”

“Oh no, no need to do that. I’m sure they’re better roasted like you were saying. But you know, they’re not bad at all just like this! They taste kind of like…almonds. With a little hint of licorice.” She took a few more. “I could certainly eat them just like this.”

“Almonds with licorice. Never heard bugs described that way before, but guess I do see what you mean. The licorice flavor would come from the formic acid that all ants have to one degree or another. It’s ok to have some of it, but too much wouldn’t be good, so best to cook anything in the ant family if you’re really going to eat it in quantity. Heat neutralizes the acid.”

“It neutralizes the…” laughing again, tried hard to choke it back, not wanting Einar to think she was laughing at him, but she couldn’t help herself, thinking again of her imagined conversation with the Other Mothers, and how they would react to her telling that one must boil ants to neutralize the acid, before consuming any significant quantity. She was in tears by then, laughing too hard to stop, and Einar, somewhat confused, just shook his head, stirred up the fire and set a flat rock to heat for roasting the ants.

“If I’d known winged ants gave you such delight, I would have done my best to come up with some sooner…”

Which set her to laughing all over again. “Oh, it’s not the ants! It’s just…” she took him in her arms, startling him by squeezing so hard that he was pretty sure it bruised his backbone, but he didn’t care. “We really are blessed to be out here living this life together, you know? You, me and young Snorri, here. There’s nowhere I would rather be. Nowhere I’d rather have him grow up.”

Einar just smiled, offered her a handful of ants, by then roasted a nice golden brown. “If you thought they tasted like almonds before, just try them now… Gonna be pleasantly surprised.”