Coming Home

[FOTH]

2medicinewoman, sounds really nice getting up there where there are lots of wild critters, and no other humans. I'm sure you enjoy that.

Spent the day in a similar sort of place myself, intended to get back in time to finish the chapter I started writing last night, but it did not happen that way. So, hope everyone can wait for tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

[FOTH]

Though effectively limited by snow conditions to the area immediately surrounding the shelter that day, Einar made the best use of his time, setting rooftop spring-trigger snares for the squirrels whose endless skittering sometimes disturbed their rest early in the mornings and working to add insulation to the shelter walls in areas where drafts frequently found their way through the already-existing chinking. Much to the relief of both Einar and Liz the morning was a quiet one, no planes save a solitary, high-altitude jet disturbing the quiet of the little basin. The sharp chill of the dawn hours abated quickly as Einar worked, stretched out across the roof and shivering himself warm in the newly-arrived sunlight as he struggled to turn nettle cordage into the snare-loops which would hopefully be providing them with a supper of squirrel.

Suddenly sleepy in the sunlight he shook his head, tried to focus on the task before him. Not easy to do. Body wanted to keep still, absorb the sunlight and sleep like that of some giant reptile just crept out of its den and waiting motionless on a rock until its body temperature might reach a level conducive to useful activity. He was not a reptile though, but a warm-blooded creature who ought to have been able to generate his own heat and move about whenever and however he chose, and just to prove the point he rose, rolled from the roof and got to his feet on the packed snow in front of the shelter, wishing conditions were such that he could take off up the ridge for an hour or two just to prove to himself that he was, indeed, still quite capable of such movement. Snow was worse than ever though when he tested it, rotten just beneath its crusty surface and collapsing beneath the weight of one foot. No traveling the ridge that day, not until and unless he was certain the planes had completed their ferrying out of bat camp residents, and no one was returning for a last look at the area. Such certainty would take a day or two, he supposed, to really establish, which meant he’d better resign himself to spending some more time close to camp.

Back onto the roof then, and finish your snares. You can stay awake. You’re not a member of some giant, mostly-extinct species of lizard, you’re at least nominally human and despite evidence to the contrary you’re a warm-blooded critter and can indeed stay awake and do useful work while lying in the sunlight, or the snow, or just about anywhere else, if you make the effort.

It was not for lack of effort that Einar eventually succumbed to sleep, he having been in the process of rolling once more from the roof to go sit in the snow in the hopes of bringing himself back to more through wakefulness when it overtook him. It was there, one heel hooked on a branch near the roof’s crest and unnaturally long-looking limbs draped over the structure like those of some strange, sleeping sloth or lemur, that Liz found him some time later on emerging from the shelter with Will—better there, she told herself, than in the snow where she had more often found him—his shivering nearly ended and an unaccustomed glow of peace and relaxation easing the hard lines of his face. She left him to sleep, knowing the sun would bless the structure with its direct rays for a short time only due to the surrounding trees and their low horizon, and wanting him to enjoy it for as long as possible. Even though he would be irritated at her for not waking him. She smiled, glancing back at Will where he sat in her parka hood and giving him a conspiratorial wink as they silently eased past the sleeping Einar and into the timber, where she meant to gather usnea lichen.

Einar woke with some difficulty nearly an hour later, sunlight having left head and shoulders and he beginning to shiver again despite its remaining warm on his back. Head felt all thick and confused with sleep and sunshine, and freeing his heel so he could complete his earlier-attempted roll to the ground he crouched in the snow, rubbing the stuff over face and neck until he felt a bit more alert. Silence in the shelter, and he did not know where to find Liz and the little one, until, listening intently, he caught a hint of a delighted giggle from somewhere off in the timber. Will, for certain, and slightly unsteady on his legs after spending so much time sprawled out in an odd position on the roof, he started off in search of his family.

Busy explaining to Will the best way to identify usnea lichen and differentiate it from other, similar types which might be found growing in the dark timber—the stretchy, white elastic-like fibers found in the center of each tiny, gnarly stem were the surest way to tell—Liz did not hear Einar coming until he was within feet of them.

“Not too optimistic about the success of my squirrel snares, are you, if you two are having to collect usena for our supper!”

“Oh, it’s not to eat. Hopefully. We just use it for so many things—Will’s diapers, chinking in the cabin walls, padding and insulation in our mukluks in the winter—that I thought it would be good to have a bunch set aside for whenever we need it, since it’s so plentiful here. And look—Will is helping me collect it!”

“Well, never too early to start learning good identification and gathering skills, is it? He’ll need those one day.”

Liz nodded, but not before a brief shadow passed over her face at the thought of the uncertain future that awaited their son in the coming years. Einar, busy watching Will study a clump of lichen and not particularly astute at deciphering the nuances of the human face in the first place, missed her moment of dismay and set to helping her collect the soft, grey-green tangles of lichen, adding his offerings to the nearly full bag which hung from her arm to allow full use of her hands. Will helped in his own way, which just then consisted of dissecting one strand of lichen after another and studying its stretchy inner cores, rather than participating in the harvest. Einar did not mind. Let the little guy learn at his own pace, and before long, he would be more proficient than either of them at the many skills and abilities that made life possible in the high timber.

For some time they worked together in silence, Einar content to have empty skies, a quiet day and a task to accomplish, but Liz still troubled, silent, and eventually Einar realized she was not acting quite herself, looked up and tried to figure out what might be the problem. She had stopped working and stood with one hand on Will’s head and a faraway look in her eyes, and when Einar asked her what was the trouble, she remained silent for some time.

“No trouble. Just thinking about Will.”

Einar stared at his son, seeing no obvious sign of distress or injury and not understanding. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Nothing! He’s doing so well, changing, growing up in a hurry. That’s the trouble. Sometimes I just get to thinking about the kind of life we’ve brought him into, the dangers he’ll face and the…well, just the uncertainty of everything, of every little thing in our lives, and in his, and it’s hard to think about, you know? Hard to know where it’s all going for him.”

“Oh, there’s a lot more certainty than you might think, really. Winter ends, spring comes and things are green for a couple months before we get to do it all over again…been that way an awful long time, and a person can always kind of count on it to keep things in order if they start feeling a little lost, now and then.”

“Yes, the seasons. That’s not really what I meant, though they do bring their own uncertainty, don’t they? Like right now, with us wondering where the next meal will come from. It’s nothing new, really, and I guess nothing to be too concerned about because it’s all he will have ever known, our little mountain man.”

“Right. He’ll be better fitted for this life than either one of us are, even, and I’d say we’re doing a pretty fine job of it, all things considered. Wouldn’t you say?”

[2medicine woman]

Nice chapter. Einar is right though. Will, having grown up in this environment, will know no other way to live. My people have 3, 4 yr olds doing things that would make some cultures cringe. They are raised in a certain manner, they know no other way.

You make it easy to visualize the shelter and the surrounding country side. I appreciate that.

Thanks for another great addition. Hope you are doing well and enjoying your spring/summer.

[FOTH]

Sorry for the long delay. I've been up in the high country for a few days--where on Saturday evening it clouded up and snowed hard for several hours. That's June in the mountains!


___________________

Einar’s rooftop squirrel snares proved a good investment of time and effort, one of their spring triggers tripping while the family was still collecting usnea in the evergreen grove. Thinking at first that his workmanship must have been somewhat substandard and allowed the trigger to trip prematurely with a gust of wind—he had, after all, been in the process of falling into an unwilling but irresistible sleep while constructing the things—Einar went on collecting lichen upon first hearing the spring-tree right itself. Only when they started back for the shelter, collecting bags stuffed to overflowing, pockets bulging and both of Will’s fists full of lichen which he was finding to be a most suitable teething aid, did Einar realize his snare had been a success.

Skipping ahead like an excited child—and nearly ending up flat on his face when his legs protested the sudden move—Einar hurried to free his prey, a fat, sleek-coated tree squirrel who had clearly stored up plenty of pinecones and had a fine, well-provisioned winter. The meat, he knew, would barely be enough for one good stew, but the success was encouraging, a sign that they could indeed provide for themselves even in the lean spring season and without relying solely on the acquisition of a large hoofed animal whose presence in the high country was no sure thing, so long as deep snow remained on the ridges. Struggling for breath as he held the newly caught meal aloft, Einar waited for Liz and Will to emerge from the timber, silently showing them his prize.

“Hey, look at that!” Liz was every bit as pleased as Einar with the quick success of his new snare. “I’d say we’re having squirrel for supper, and now we won’t have to wonder what’s scurrying around on the roof every morning before daylight, either!”

“Well, not unless there are more of them. Probably are. The other two snares may take care of that, if I leave them set. Kind of hate to snare everything, right here so close to home. Would be better to leave some to raise families this spring and keep the local population up in case there’s ever a time when we just can’t get out and run a trapline out away from home. Save them for a time of need.”

“This is a time of need, though. We’re almost out of food, and we need to eat.”

“So I hear. Well, that’s why I rigged the snares. Can leave them for now, take a couple more of the critters if they’re out there.”

“We could use them. Maybe the hides can be turned into Will’s first pair of summer moccasins. What do you think? He won’t be walking for a while, but they could keep his feet warm as he crawls all over the place, and ought to last him the whole summer if I make them a little large…”

“I think you’re a real fine mountain woman, Lizzie. That’s what I think. Squirrel moccasins will be great for him. I’ve used the hides of good-sized squirrels to cover my own feet when I had nothing else, and on him, they ought to come up past his knees, if you want them to. Protect his legs from the nettles and rocks and all while he’s crawling.”

“Crawling through nettles! I hope not! What about his little hands and face?”

“Oh it’ll make him tough. Either that, or give him a real good start on identifying plants and their various characteristics! Or maybe both.”

“Maybe there are other ways of teaching those things, at least when it comes to nettles. Not everything has to be learned by experience!”

“No, not everything. Got to hope some of it can be learned in other was. Though for many things, no amount of teaching and talking can compare to actual, first-hand experience. They’re each one of them a part of who a person is, who he’ll become, and they’re all useful. Even the ones that leave a mark. Wouldn’t give any of mine back, that’s for sure, even if I could.”

“Really? Any of them?”

He nodded, eyes growing dark for a moment, distant, before he almost visibly shook himself back to the present. “Yeah. Any of them. Even those. No way I would have made it through some of the things that have come my way over the past few years, if those other times in the jungle hadn’t come first and prepared me.”

Maybe, she wanted to say, you wouldn’t have had to… Maybe without some of those experiences life would have been a little more settled for you, and for us, and we could be living at that little cabin of yours that you called home before all the chaos of this search started, living in the woods like we both want to do but not forced by circumstances to avoid all outside human contact, and just maybe it would be a good thing, you know? No telling who you would have been without your time in the jungle and all that came after it, but I think I would have liked to meet him. Just once. Just to know what he would have been like, what our life might have been.

A ridiculous line of speculation and she knew it, for had it not been for those prior experiences of his, and the kind of man they had made of him, surely the two of them never would have met, little Will wouldn’t exist and the entire thing would be one big moot point. She did not want it to be a moot point, and did not—though some days she might very easily convince herself otherwise, were she to try—want Einar to be anyone other than who and what he was, and of course he was right about the nettles, and Will, and the sorts of lessons that tended to stick with a person. Right, and she felt badly for wishing those things away, wishing, even if only for a moment, that he might be someone else.

Besides which, he was looking at her strangely as he waited for an answer, the thing she saw in those cold, unreadable blue eyes of his probably just distance, absence; he was almost certainly looking right through her as he struggled to keep back the memories and remain in the present, but it felt as though he might instead be looking directly into her soul and seeing her thoughts. Hastily, she turned away lest he see too much.

“Well,” she responded almost in a whisper, her throat tight, “life will bring him plenty of his own challenges to learn from. Maybe the nettles can wait a year or two.”

A grin from Einar as he touched Will on the cheek with the tip of the squirrel’s tail, ducked into the shelter and emerged with the stew pot. “Nettles can wait a year or two maybe, but this squirrel sure can’t, and neither can little Snorri’s moccasins. I better get the critter skinned out so the hide can dry, and you can fix us some soup.

[2medicine woman]

I was married to a man who couldn't or wouldn't express his feelings/emotions. It is a lonely life for both people involved. I'm not sure that is what Einar is doing but sometimes, it seems like it is. He appears to hang on to his jungle capture & flight to keep him sharp (alert) Perhaps this is needed in his situation. In some ways I understand his thought process on that. I also see the decision to stay in his general area. "Know your poison" - - - But, the U.S. is known for it's wide open spaces. . there are many places to disappear. I myself disappeared 400 miles from my home for reasons that will remain nameless. It can be done. I too had a baby/toddler when I went on the lam. Anyway, I do ramble

Thanks for the latest post. Another one that gets my old brain to thinking.

[FOTH]

Jun 17, 2014 14:17:53 GMT -6 2medicine woman said:

I was married to a man who couldn't or wouldn't express his feelings/emotions. It is a lonely life for both people involved. I'm not sure that is what Einar is doing but sometimes, it seems like it is. He appears to hang on to his jungle capture & flight to keep him sharp (alert) Perhaps this is needed in his situation. In some ways I understand his thought process on that. I also see the decision to stay in his general area. "Know your poison" - - - But, the U.S. is known for it's wide open spaces. . there are many places to disappear. I myself disappeared 400 miles from my home for reasons that will remain nameless. It can be done. I too had a baby/toddler when I went on the lam. Anyway, I do ramble

Thanks for the latest post. Another one that gets my old brain to thinking.

Twomedicinewoman, you have lived an interesting life. And no doubt lived it well.

As to Einar and his way of expressing himself--it is all he knows, and who he is, and does not lead to his being lonely, at least so far as he is capable of understanding. Probably is that way for Liz. She must have a tremendous amount of patience, to be willing to put up with him.
________________

Skinning out the squirrel and hoping all the while his snares might procure another before suppertime--these alpine squirrels, even at the height of growth and good health, were not terribly large--Einar found himself daydreaming of the bacon and other things he’d seen in the coolers in the bat biologists’ camp…and then something perhaps a bit more obtainable, for his thoughts turned to that last grouse they’d had, roasted over the fire until crispy on the outside and steaming most deliciously when finally they had sliced it and eaten… While the grouse roasted (since he was dreaming, and suddenly rather keenly aware of being hungry) he would make up a batch of the lightest, fluffiest flaky-topped biscuits with the last of the flour sent them by Susan, find some stout willow sticks and twist the dough around them for rising and roasting over the fire, and as the biscuits baked to perfection he would make gravy from the grouse drippings, season it with wild garlic and add a little bear fat just for good measure. Grouse, gravy and biscuits. Sounded better than just about anything else he could imagine just then, and he realized with a start that he had halted his work and sat there with hands idle, all but drooling over the images he’d created in his head.

Silly creature, he chided himself, getting back to work. Ought to be very grateful indeed for the squirrel stew which would instead make up their supper, for even had they a grouse and the means to whip up a batch of biscuits, he knew he would have had to take care just how enthusiastically he allowed himself to participate in such a repast. Already since returning from his journey along the canyon rim he was beginning to experience a fair amount of swelling in his lower legs and feet, in what he knew was the first sign of a potentially dangerous trend. He knew a good bit of the difficulty was result of his body struggling to adjust to being given something close to an adequate amount of food again now that he was back at home and eating Liz’s cooking instead of living off the random scraps he’d allowed himself on his journey, the simple solution being to stop eating for a few days, give things time to settle down. Knew he couldn’t do that this time, though, mustn’t do it, lest he fail to start eating again at the end.

Spring was coming and he had big game to take for his family, a little boy to bring up in the ways of the woods and high, windswept ridges, and he knew from recent experience that these thing might not be physically possible for him, if he did not somehow manage to reverse the trend of increasingly complete starvation to which he had over the last months and years been subjecting himself. Most times, he had been able to very effectively put its negative effects aside, draw strength from the struggle itself and from the knowledge that he was persisting despite what were at times rather dire effects on his physical existence; he was not giving in, and that, at the very core of his being, was often the thing which mattered most. Sometimes, when the nights grew long and he began losing his place in the world, it seemed the only thing that mattered. The only one he could remember, fall back on, the thing that kept him in this world.

Now, though, he remembered the way things had been on the last days of his recent journey, he barely able to stay conscious at times—had deliberately refused to let his mind dwell on the incident in which the two men had stumbled across him down in the canyon, but it was always there, reminding him just how dire things had become, and what their consequences might have been, might still be—and his core muscles giving out to the degree that he found himself having a difficult time getting up into a sitting position again whenever he did lie down. Scary enough on their own, these effects--though he had always found such things a good deal more fascinating than frightening, at least when observing them in himself--but when viewed in the context of a search and pursuit which could at any time go active once again…this potential inability to move his body and rely on his muscles as needed took on some rather terrifying implications.

He had to persist, then, in eating, manage the difficulties—both mind and body—as well as he was able, and hope he had something left at the end of the process with which to carry on and build a life for his family. Really didn't know how that would go. Body he wasn't worried about, as it had always lived up to the demands he placed upon it, and usually exceeded them, but the other...well, seeing as the starving and deprivation were, themselves, his main tools for keeping his thoughts in line, and always had been, he was not entirely sure what to expect. Not that it mattered too much. Was only one direction in which he could go, considering his duties and obligations. Besides which, when had he ever shrunk from the prospect of an adventure? This, if he could just bring himself to look at it in such terms, had to be the ultimate adventure, really... Squirrel skinning finished, he took the animal to Liz, began scraping the hide. His son's first summer moccasin.

Liz had gone inside while Einar worked on the squirrel, freeing Will from her parka hood and searching for a place to stash their newly-collected supply of usnea lichen, a bounty which would surely be put to many uses as the spring went on. Lichen securely tucked up under some of the roof-logs where it would stay dry and out of reach of a curious little boy who would no doubt take the greatest delight in separating each little frond and scattering them across the shelter, Liz set about laying a fire, tinder bundle, kindling and a few slightly larger sticks, but once finished she left the arrangement as it was, not wanting to kindle flame until she'd seen what Einar thought of the idea. It had been some hours since they'd heard the last plane, no air activity, in fact, since that morning, but still she knew he might want to wait. Hopefully not too late in the evening though, for much as she liked squirrel sushi, a good hot stew sounded far more appealing.

Will, who had been watching her every move and knew exactly where she had deposited her supply of springy, chewy, fascinating lichen, had pulled himself up to a standing position against the wall, and was stretching, reaching, lifting on little foot as if certain he could climb the wall with enough effort, determined to retrieve the prize. So determined, in fact, so focused that he noticed not at all when his stance began growing less steady, and by the time he did discover the trouble, he was already lying face down on the floor, side of his nose skinned on one of the firepit rocks. Much to Liz's alarm the little one did not immediately cry, she fearing lest he had been knocked unconscious or otherwise seriously injured. Rushing to kneel beside him and calling for Einar, she saw that her alarm had been premature--or at least misplaced--for the child was indeed conscious, appearing unharmed save for a deep graze down the side of his little nose and cheek. Appearing more puzzled than disturbed, Will ignored Liz's ministrations to grab at his injured nose with hand, studying his tiny digits intensely when they came away red with blood. Einar had by then ducked inside, crouching breathlessly beside the pair, knife in hand as he glanced about the dim interior of the shelter for the cougar, wolverine or other similar creature which he supposed must be present for Liz to cry out in such alarm.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's ok. It's Will. He was standing against the wall and fell on the rocks, and I thought he'd knocked himself out, injured his head or something, but it's just a scrape on his nose, looks like."

Einar stared, Will staring back and holding out a hand to show him the smear of blood. Einar picked him up, balancing him on one knee as he inspected the injury. "What's the deal, little guy? Couldn't wait a couple of years for those nettles we were talking about, huh? Oh, well. A lesson is a lesson. Now you know that gravity works, and rocks are hard. Think you'll remember it the next time, and maybe land better?"

Will made no answer, once more fascinated with the patterns made on his hand by the smear of blood. Liz sat down beside them, her voice belying some degree of consternation. "Do you think he's ok?"

"Sure, he's fine. It's just a scratch, really. We'll just clean it up with some berberine water to get the gunk out, and I don't think it will even need bandaging. See? Mostly quit bleeding, already."

"Right, but that's not what I meant. He isn't crying."

"Why should he be crying? It's just a little scrape."

"Because he's a baby, and he fell a long way--for him--and that had to hurt! Most babies would be crying. A lot."

Looking puzzled, Einar shrugged, began cleaning Will's face with a bit of dampened usnea lichen. "Guess maybe we're just a little different, Snorri and I. He'll be good as new in no time. Almost got him cleaned up. Looks like it's only an hour or so from dusk outside, an no planes recently, so what do you think about a little fire to heat water for the berberine, and for our stew?"

Liz, still troubled at what she had witnessed but thinking a fire sounded like a great idea, had her little tinder bundle lit before Einar finished speaking.

[2medicine woman]

hmmmm, wonder what the deal is with wee Will? Might be nothing. If he hasn't seen others react to pain perhaps he won't either.

I like how Einar sorts things out in his mind. At least he remembers the last starvation reaction. That could have went so many horrendous directions for him and his family. It's rather eerie that Einar goes through some things I experienced. I have diabetes but not the "normal" kind. I battle low blood sugar all the time. One morning I woke up (thank God) but could not move. I laid there and vaguely remembered my blood sugar. It took intense thinking and effort to get up and grab some juice. I sat down, drank some and then checked my blood sugar. It was 29! 29 is a death sentence. At 50, organs are already shutting down. I kept drinking and praying. Well, with my stubborn ways and God's grace, I am still here. Einar had no fuel to function.

I do ramble. Sorry. Good chapter Chris. Thank you very much!

[icefire]

Mmmmmm...roast grouse, gravy, and biscuits. Yummy! At least Einar is realizing that his NOT eating is at the root of a LOT of his problems, and he's determined to start addressing that deficit. Viewing it as another type of challenge should help him to stay on track with FINALLY getting some nutrition into his skinny hide so that he can stick around for Liz and little Snorri/Will. That seems to be the key for him...the more of a "challenge" something is, the more likely he is to tackle it headlong.

Thanks for the latest "installment" in the saga, Chris!

[FOTH]

Jun 21, 2014 15:34:58 GMT -6 2medicine woman said:

hmmmm, wonder what the deal is with wee Will? Might be nothing. If he hasn't seen others react to pain perhaps he won't either.

I like how Einar sorts things out in his mind. At least he remembers the last starvation reaction. That could have went so many horrendous directions for him and his family. It's rather eerie that Einar goes through some things I experienced. I have diabetes but not the "normal" kind. I battle low blood sugar all the time. One morning I woke up (thank God) but could not move. I laid there and vaguely remembered my blood sugar. It took intense thinking and effort to get up and grab some juice. I sat down, drank some and then checked my blood sugar. It was 29! 29 is a death sentence. At 50, organs are already shutting down. I kept drinking and praying. Well, with my stubborn ways and God's grace, I am still here. Einar had no fuel to function.

Glad you're still here. Scary to wake up and not be able to move. Glad you kept going until you got what you needed that time, and hope you've found a way to make things work a little better for you now. Einar does not have diabetes, but certainly has experienced difficulties due to what he assumes must be very low blood sugar, all the same. It's a strange feeling.

Jun 21, 2014 22:01:21 GMT -6 icefire said:

Mmmmmm...roast grouse, gravy, and biscuits. Yummy! At least Einar is realizing that his NOT eating is at the root of a LOT of his problems, and he's determined to start addressing that deficit. Viewing it as another type of challenge should help him to stay on track with FINALLY getting some nutrition into his skinny hide so that he can stick around for Liz and little Snorri/Will. That seems to be the key for him...the more of a "challenge" something is, the more likely he is to tackle it headlong.

Thanks for the latest "installment" in the saga, Chris!

Thanks for reading, Icefire!

Yes, Einar does tend to manage pretty well when he sees things as a challenge.


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Sleepy and something close to satisfied after their meal of squirrel stew, Einar and Liz sat near the warmth of the coals as darkness became complete outside and the cold of the night closed in, Will dozing on Liz’s lap after enjoying his own supper and Einar leaning back against the wall, eyes half closed. He had, before Liz began working on the stew, heated a small quantity of water and broken into it two dried yellow Oregon grape roots they had previously dug and stashed aside for such purposes, carefully washing Will’s scraped nose and cheek with the resulting antiseptic solution. The scrape would heal up just fine, he had no doubt. Still didn’t understand Liz’s concern, supposed it must simply come with the territory of being a mother. Which he was not, so perhaps he was not entirely equipped to understand. No matter. The little one would be fine. Drowsy, dozy as he stared into the embers of their supper fire, Einar startled back to wakefulness when Liz spoke.

“Feels like it’s getting colder. Do you think the snow will be more solid in the morning?”

Einar nodded, flexed stiff fingers over what remained of the fire. Had thought he might well have been alone in feeling an increased bite in the night air as it crept in under the door, stiffening muscles and unsteadying his voice just a bit. “Yeah, ought to help for sure. Rotten as that snow was today, we’ll need a number of hours well below freezing before it will hold our weight, but looking like we may get that tonight. Morning may be the time to run that trapline.”

“I hope so. Another squirrel or two would be a good thing to help tide us over until things start melting out a little better and we can be more mobile.”

“I’ll give it a try, first thing in the morning before things have a chance to start softening up.”

“Oh, let me do it. I know you’ve got to be tired from your trip still, and that way Will could spend some time with you here at the shelter, while I’m gone. He missed his daddy while you were away.”

Einar smiled at the sleeping boy. “Sure, I’ll spend some time with him tomorrow. But how about if it’s after I do the snares? That snow isn’t going to be any too certain, as far as allowing one of us to pass without collapsing here and there, and I think I may weight just a little less.”

“A little! You certainly do underestimate things, don’t you? Ok, guess it makes sense for you to go, so long as you’ll eat plenty of whatever you may find in those snares, so you can start working your way back up to weighing a more reasonable amount. Is it a deal?”

“Oh, I intend to eat. Got to keep going.”

Satisfied about the sincerity of Einar’s intentions, Liz began preparing for bed.

Awakened in the night by the need to reposition knees, elbows and ribs in such a way as to ease the painful pressing of bone on bone which seemed with increasing frequency to disturbed his sleep those days, Einar lay listening to the night. Still, silent, only the faintest whisper of a
Breeze through the spruce-tops, and reassured by the quiet, he might have tried for a few more hours’ sleep, but instead lay wide awake testing the air with his nose and attempting thus to roughly determine the outdoor temperature. Somewhere below freezing, he was pretty sure, though how far below he was finding difficult to determine from inside the shelter. Far enough, he hoped, to have caused the rotten snow to form a hard crust which would support his weight, allow him to travel a little more easily without sinking in up to his hips with every step. In addition to being dreadfully inefficient, energy-wise, such movement left a great deal of highly visible sign should anyone fly over before either the next big snow had come along to conceal it, or all the snow had finished melting out.

Unable to relax again into sleep at the thought that he would be wasting his opportunity to get out on some more stable snow—was still not comfortable; seemed to be no position in which he could lie where some part of him was not digging into another and hurting rather insistently after a few minutes, and he didn’t know how Liz could stand to be near him when they slept, for surely he must make her uncomfortable, also—Einar after some minutes eased out of the sleeping bags, doing his best not to disturb Liz and grabbing his boots before slipping out the door. Definitely below freezing out there, Einar somewhat surprised at the efficiency of their shelter in maintaining a temperature significantly higher than that of the outdoors, even though the fire had been cold for hours. Overhead the stars arced brilliant and unblinking above a softly swaying curtain of spruce boughs, looking almost close enough to touch and shedding enough light, once Einar moved out from beneath the trees, for him to travel without stumbling. A good thing, for the snow, though cold-crusted and solid underfoot, was riddled with pitfalls and uneven spots where the actions of sun and nearby stones or fallen trees had accelerated the melting process, and even with the starlight, it was all Einar could do to stay on his feet.

Picking his way over the crusty snow and striving to avoid spots which would have been shaded by evergreens most days and not sun-softened so they could later form a crust in the cold, Einar headed up the ridge on which lay the snares, hoping to be able to bring home a squirrel or rabbit for breakfast.

[2medicine woman]

That was a peaceful addition. Will is not going to know any other way of living except the "woods" way, the survival way. Liz will have to accept this or keep struggling to make Will fit into her rather "civilized" way of what she deems childhood to be. *Thank you for the latest chapter of a great story!

[FOTH]

2medicinewoman, did you draw that picture of little Will in his buckskins, learning to walk and ready to explore the world? It's great!

_________________________________________________

Einar was not the only one out taking advantage of the improved snow conditions that morning, as he soon discovered. Rabbits, squirrels and other small creatures had been able to move across the surface with little difficulty even when the snow was at its most rotten, but animals even slightly larger than these had been struggling, along with everyone else. Now Einar saw the sign of fox and coyote, tracks not showing on the hard crust of the snow but the spots where they had taken their prey giving them away, fox piercing the crust to pounce on a mouse and coyote lying under a spruce to enjoy his meal of rabbit. Only a few shreds of fur remained from the coyote’s repast, and these Einar tucked into a pocket, thinking to use them in making a bobcat lure for one of his snares, someday. Up the ridge, still staying easily atop the snow, and then Einar was near its crest, sparse firs around him and a wide, sweeping view opening up as he looked down its less heavily-timbered far side.

The elk was struggling, too heavy to stay on top of the crust which that morning supported all the smaller mammals, and when Einar first spotted it out in the open some distance down the slope, there was a trail of blood on the snow where the animal had been breaking through. Ragged and raw-boned after a long winter spent up high, the bull was missing hair in patches, head down as he fought to free himself from the clutches of a rotten snowdrift. Too far away to risk a shot with the pistol, but Einar knew he would be able to track the animal down, if he returned with the rifle. For that matter, why risk a shot at all? He knew that in the Altay Mountains of Mongolia, tribesmen had for thousands of years hunted elk in winter by running them down on skis, pursuing them through the deep snow until they reached exhaustion and could be approached, lassoed and taken with spears or even a knife.

There in those snowy mountains, not too different in either climate or flora and fauna from his own high country world, petroglyphs of hunters on skis had been dated to at least three thousand years old, and it was widely believed that skiing as a mode of winter transportation might well have been invented in the Altay. Einar did not have skis, but he did, he reminded himself, have the advantage of being able to run across the surface of the snow while the elk broke through with each step and had to struggle to break trail through the impossibly crunchy, rotten snowpack. The elk appeared exhausted already, surely wouldn’t be able to move more quickly than he could, himself.

Well, Einar kept moving toward the elk, keeping well hidden in the firs, I’d kind of hate to lose my chance at this fellow by going back for the rifle, especially when I probably won’t be willing to risk the sound of the shot, anyway. Got thirty feet of parachute cord here in my trapping pack, more or less, and that ought to be plenty to lasso the critter by the antlers, snub him against a tree and make my move. Could use the pistol, but will probably find the knife adequate.

Right... he laughed silently to himself. At himself. And just how much experience do you have lassoing anything at all, let alone an angry and terrified bull elk who won’t be any more than twenty feet from you at the time? Which is assuming you can even get that close. Snow may not hold your weight by the time you work your way in close enough, or he may head deeper into the timber when he realizes he’s being pursued, which means the crust won’t be as hard and you’ll have one heck of a time swinging that rope. And seriously, paracord? It’s rated to hold weight like that and all, but how likely is it that you’ll be able to hang onto your end, with that elk struggling and straining and taking off running in the opposite direction? You’ll only lose him, and the rope, and go home empty-handed. He doesn’t look like that much meat, anyway. Half-starved after this winter, and was probably in pretty bad shape before that, to be off by himself like this in a place that’s so far from ideal. Surely you can do better, for meat.

Einar was not sure that he could do better, though. Not anytime particularly soon. Knew he must do his best to take advantage of the opportunity before him, and careful to keep downwind of the struggling elk he moved down the ridge, beginning to close the distance. Sun still over an hour from peeking over the horizon, he hoped to be able to complete the stalking and lassoing portion of the hunt, at least, before its rays would have time to soften the crust and render him as badly crippled as the elk. No way he would be able to get the creature skinned out and a quarter carried home before the sun began interfering with travel, no way at all, but he could aim to at least have the chase done by that time. Might have, too, had one slight misstep not sent him sprawling in the snow where he caught himself against the extended branch of a small dead fir. Snapping under his weight, the branch gave him away. The elk stopped, looked up sharply in his direction and did its best to take off at a run, hooves plunging deep into a drift and body brought up short. Fighting the deep snow, going down once but quickly righting itself, the elk made for the nearest stand of timber, Einar scrambling to keep up and not lose sight of the creature. Sure, tracking would be easy through the rotten snow, but he wanted to keep the animal in sight if at all possible, hopefully manage to get a sense of where it was headed and save himself any unnecessary travel.

Headed for the ridgetop, it appeared, wily old bull instinctively acting to save itself by gaining elevation and seeking protection in the heavier timber, and Einar took off straight up the slope instead of following directly behind, wanting to cut out some steps and arrive in the timber shortly after the elk. Watching the creature jump-trot through the deep snow he could see its strength; it was not going to be a quick thing, this chase. Already the elk had disappeared into a close-growing grove of firs, Einar slipping every few feet on the hard, icy crust until he broke off a sharp-pointed spruce stick to function as an ice ax as he climbed. Good thing for the sharp-pointed staff, for, snow softening as temperatures warmed for the day, it wasn’t long before he hit a patch of crust that would not support his weight, going down hard before he realized the trouble, stuck up to his knees in hard-fractured fragments of icy snow and sinking deeper with every move into the quicksand-like remains of the winter’s snowpack beneath. Stop. Don’t struggle, you fool. You’re only going deeper, breaking up more of the surface. Now. Use the stick, get on your hands and knees and pull yourself up out of this. Elk’s gonna get away if you don’t start moving again pretty quick, here.

Staff did the trick, allowed Einar to spread out his weigh so he could successfully extricate himself from the area of broken crust and get gingerly back to his feet, sliding one boot in front of the other and testing carefully before ever trusting the ground beneath him. Better. Crust harder with a slight change in the angle of the slope, sun’s rays hitting it just differently enough to allow more soundness to remain, and he picked up a bit of speed, encouraged by the sound of the elk stomping and crashing in the timber not far above, blowing for breath after the steep climb.

Up then, quickly, for here was his chance to close some of the distance. Moving over the surface like a spider, weight spread evenly between feet and staff Einar made quick progress, up and over one drift after another, surface sometimes beginning to crack beneath him but he quicker than the spreading fractures, moving on ahead. Until, wanting to get a better look at the terrain above, he made the mistake of standing upright for a brief moment and then taking a step without first testing the ground. Down he went, falling in up to his elbows before he realized he had a problem, and every time he moved to climb back out the coarse, sugary snow only broke around him, beginning to fill in the hole but allowing his feet no purchase. Tried jumping, digging, thrashing arms and legs as if attempting to swim, but to no avail. Out of breath but unwilling to stop until he’d freed himself and was on course again he probed about for the spruce staff, found it, stomping and kicking until he’d reached the solid soil beneath. Bracing the staff he used it for leverage, half-climbing, half springing until at last he managed to extricate himself.

Solid surface beneath his body, solid but beginning to give, and he rolled over twice to get away from the bad section of crust, sprawling on his side in the snow as he fought for breath, nauseated at the effort, vision going dark. Not dark for long, as he woke a moment later staring straight up into the sun, squinted, looked away. Sun was high overhead. Too high. He sat up, testing the snow with his staff. Losing the crust, and with it any advantage he might have had over his would-be prey, but he didn’t want to give up, not with success so close, appearing so possible… On his feet, elk trail clear before him, Einar went on.

[icefire]

Oh, PLEASE let Einar harvest that elk (and then be able to get the meat home!) Einar and family REALLY need the protein and calories that the elk will provide. Plus, the hide would be very helpful, as well, for turning into clothing items, footwear, outer wear, etc.

Thanks for the latest installment, Chris!