he meant as they had appeared that morning when he saw them leave the camp. “Where do they go? What do they do all day?”
Kit received back an image of the young males along with a sense of doing . . . of work . . . of dedicated labour—they make with purpose, was how he interpreted the concept; along with this came the notion of bestowal . . . of presentation . . . of offering allied to the personal designation—En-Ul.
Linking all this together, Kit tried out this interpretation: “They are making a gift for you?”
This received the standard grunt Kit associated with satisfaction—a yes. The old one held Kit’s gaze in his own, and with a slow, deliberate action, placed the flat of his palm on Kit’s forehead. The touch was rough and heavy, but warm. Instantly, into Kit’s mind came the image of a sort of house or shelter of extraordinary design—the most unusual dwelling Kit had ever seen: a house made all of bone.
“They are making a house of bones?” Kit said, half in surprise, half in question. “For you?”
Again, the grunt of satisfaction as En-Ul removed his hand.
They sat for a moment in silence, then Kit received the sensation he had come to associate with the interrogative—a question—and with it the concept of sight, or seeing. “Do I want to see it?” he said aloud. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I would see it.”
“E-li,” the old one said, his voice low as a rumble of thunder, and into Kit’s mind came the image of sunlight flooding the horizon, allied with the concept of something unseen, yet present, along with expectation bordering on certainty . . . the future?
This kept him occupied for some little while. “Tomorrow?” Kit guessed, holding in his mind the image of a rising sun—the new day that would be.
“Unh,” grunted En-Ul. The day that is soon becoming.
“I will go with the young ones tomorrow,” he confirmed, picturing himself leaving with the group as they went out the next morning.
“Unh,” grumbled the old chief again.
The next morning, when the young males rose and made ready to depart—arraying themselves with skins worn like capes and wrapping their feet against the snow and cold—Kit did likewise, joining them in their preparations. There were four of them this morning, and they acknowledged his presence with sniffs and nods, and the leader—a large male Kit had begun calling Thag for no particular reason other than he bore an uncanny resemblance to a cartoon character Kit knew—patted him about the head and shoulders in a gesture Kit had come to understand as a sign of friendly greeting; adults often used the same behaviour with the children. As soon as Kit was ready, they picked up their stout, stone-bladed spears and set off.
The track they followed down into the valley was well trod now, the shin-deep snow crushed down by the passing of many feet over the last few days, and it squeaked as they walked. Once again Kit marvelled at the easy grace of the big creatures as they strode along. The trail led down to a bluff only a few dozen yards above the river; the ice at the edges caught the light of the rising sun and gleamed. A few more days of such cold and Kit would not be surprised to see it frozen over entirely.
They paused to rest a few moments and to listen and scent the air. At first Kit wondered about this, but it came to him that this behaviour was a simple defensive action: they were making certain they were not being stalked by one of the large predators that roamed the valley—a lion, say, or wolves. But this day they were not to be challenged, so they moved on.
In a little while the narrow track began to rise, and soon they were walking next to the sheer limestone curtain. Kit enjoyed the exertion. It felt good to stir the blood, feel the cold air in his lungs, and move around after lolling around camp. Silent as shadows, save for the squeak of their feet on the crisp snow, they moved, up and up, following the contours of the undulating wall.
The trail grew narrow and steep, and soon they had climbed out of the valley altogether and onto the thick-wooded plain above. Thag paused at the rim of the gorge to scent the cold air and listen. The forest stretched before them, draped in heavy blankets of snow, softening all sound