suddenly pull back the draped hides and look out.
If you are tired, it doesn’t show on your face. Even in the reluctant light of sunset, your eyes still shine. If anything, they flash with impatience rather than fatigue. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Did I wake you?”
“I heard footsteps stop outside the door.. . . Do you want something?”
My eyes shift, unable to withstand the pressure of your gaze. They slide to your hand, gripping the hide in the doorway. Your fingers curl tightly around the edge of the bearskin, and I think of how I just hung this door today—I remember how I’d begrudgingly allowed the image of your face to invade my thoughts as I built this hut, imagining its walls protecting youas you slept.
“I know why.” These words come out in a hurried rush, as I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the need to retreat from this situation but also painfully aware that I can’t walk away until I’ve said what I came to say. “I know why our two clans almost went to war.”
“And?”
“And now I understand. A woman from your clan was killed. A careless throw by a man from my clan took her life.”
“Yes.That’s what happened.”
“And it makes sense to me now. Today, you thought it might all happen again. I hope you’ll forgive me for scaring you like that.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” You lean out of the hut a bit and look past my shoulder, back toward the place where everyone is still gathered. They are taking turns singing solos now, and I recognize my brother Pek’s voice singing a love song.It’s a song to the Divine, of course, but Pek isn’t a fool. He knows how the words can be interpreted.
You glance at the ground between us. It’s clear I’ve overstayed my welcome, if I was ever welcome at all.
Then I remember the small pouch I brought with me. “Take this,” I say, placing it into your hand. You hold it awkwardly, pursing your lips. Your eyes flit from the pouch to my face. “It’shoney. I gathered it last summer from several hives I was able to find—”
“No, thank you.” You hold it out for me to take it back, but I hesitate.
“It’s a gift,” I say. I feel my face flush, but I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger.
So much labor went into collecting this small pouch ofhoney. Every day last summer I got out of bed early, chanted prayers to the Divine and the Spiritof bees, and went in search of hives. The first I found easily—it was closest to the meadow—but the process of extracting the honey can be difficult and dangerous. Once the hive is found, the bees need to be sedated with smoke. That first hive was in a cluster of half-dead dwarf birch, surrounded by dry brush. I had to haul green kindling from young growth closer to camp. It took hours of effort,and yielded only small amounts of honey. That process had to be repeated over and over again.
“We have honey at home. Here in the north, honey must be extremely scarce. You should keep what you have for yourselves.”
I swallow and take a deep breath before I reply, striving to keep the anger from my voice. “I know our ways may be unfamiliar to you,” I say, thinking of the way you’d withdrawnat the start of the singing before the meal. “But I assure you, we don’t live in a barren wasteland. This may not be the lush south, but there’s plenty of honey on this side of the mountains. Finding it just demands a bit more patience.”
Behind me I hear laughter. I turn to find your brother, sister, and Pek just a few paces away. I take the honey from your hand and hold it behind my back, hopingthat the others won’t notice it.
I’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day.
I know I should stand in the doorway and exchange pleasantries with your brother and sister, but in this instant, my sense of social custom is no match for my pride. I nod and say a hasty good night.
Still, I can’t quite drag myself away, and I duck into the shadows between