portions of food. Most days, I try to include a little something else that might be useful to them, since Raven pointed out that they have nothing. Sometimes it's an extra fur skin that someone messed up on and I can wrangle away, or a carved spoon that doesn't turn out the way the carver intended. I snatch all these things up and dole them out with my care packages. It's difficult to get things sometimes, because even a badly cured hide has its use, and an ugly spoon can still hold soup. No one likes to waste anything. But I also remind people that we can make more spoons, and why can't I have this ugly one, and isn't it all an investment in another tribe member anyhow? It's not really tossing things away. It's simply finding them a new owner that will use them more than the old one would.
I'm pretty good at repositioning things like that, if I do say so myself.
Today's present, well, it's something I made. It's taken me a few days, but I managed to stitch a ball together out of hide. It's made from layers and layers of wadded hide stitched together, and the exterior is made from scraps of colorful skins that Brooke tested some dyes on. There's a green stripe and a pink one, and a brilliant swath of red. It's not the prettiest ball in the world, or the roundest (it actually looks a lot like a really ugly football), but I think of little Pak, whom I've never seen, and I suspect he'll love it.
I head out to the designated rocks with my package, glancing behind me to see if anyone is following. No one is. I've made it quite clear that I don't want anyone to come with me. No other scents except for mine. They need to build trust, and I intend to build that trust. I want Juth and Pak to know that when they smell me, they're safe.
As usual, the rock itself is deserted, no signs of yesterday's donation of dried meat and two starchy roots. We never give them a huge supply of food, because I want them to keep coming back. I'm afraid if we gave them a huge slab of meat they'd just head off and we'd never hear from them again. So I deliberately keep the meals small. It sounds cruel (and feels it, to be honest) but I have to remind myself that it's all part of the process. I make sure there's enough for them to eat, but not so much that they don't have to come back the next day. I dust off the spot where I normally place the offerings and set the food down. There's no one nearby, but my skin prickles and I wonder if I'm being watched.
I get that feeling, sometimes, when I'm out here. Like someone's staring at me. I hope it's Juth and Pak. I hope they see me leaving stuff for them.
"Today's food," I call out loudly, taking great care to set down each item. A big fish, the head still attached, the innards hollowed out and the entire thing smoked and rubbed with herbs. "I promise this looks gross but tastes amazing." I set down a handful of strips of dried dvisti meat. "The usual jerky, of course." And then I add something that's been hard for me to give up—a cookie. Sweets are difficult to come by, and hraku seeds are highly prized. Brooke and Gail made a batch of cookies with the last of the hraku seeds brought from Croatoan, and I saved my cookie so I could bring it out here today. It's made from mashed seeds and some not-potato so it's not a hundred percent like a cookie, but it crisped up nicely and it's been making my mouth water all night just thinking about it.
I hope they appreciate it, because it's hard for this fat girl to give up her cake, so to speak. I gesture at it, setting it down on the rock. "Cookie," I say loudly, and then I pause, wondering if they'll even know what it is? It smells sweet, and I hope they don't think it's rotten. I reach over and break it in half, and then pick up one side to give it the tiniest of nibbles. "You eat it."
Oh god, that's a damn good cookie. I stifle a pang of distress—the last thing I need is another cookie going