---Raala’s perspective---

  “Nnnnnnnnnnnngh…!” groans the man sleeping face down on his flat fronted chest who, not half a Moon ago, I watched bash another’s brains out of his head on a rock!

  “We need to get up and get moving, outlander!” I snarl down at him.

  “Wen’ke tse weh-teshal nuuuuuur!” he jabbers without opening his eyes.

  “What?” I sneer.

  Eyes still closed, he corrects “Oh… sorry… fifty more breaths… Please! I’m so waaaarm!” pathetically.

  “Mother Mammoth! NO!” I say, incredulously “By the Maw! I should’ve known better than to let you take first watch last night!… You proved what a bad idea it was to give you anything but last watch on the first morning!… If you don’t get up, we might not make it to my grandmother’s hearthstead before noon! Then there won’t be enough time for the preparations and you’ll need to wait until tomorrow for your ceremony!”

  “That’s fine… I’m alright sacrificing a day for a bit more sleep…”

  “YOU might be but I’m not! Wuurlo’s already out hunting for your feast! You really want to embarrass us by getting there after him!?”

  “Yep… I’m at peace with that…” he states, lazily.

  I scowl down, struggling to believe the absurdity of this man being defeated by his bed on the day he’s going to be named a Bane!

  I decide I’m not having it!

  “Woah!” he objects as I seize the scruff of his neck, dragging him out of bed and across the floor by his collar.

  I fling the doorway curtain aside, revealing that the Sun’s already a full twentieth of the way across the sky!

  I hurl him out of the entrance to land face down in the snow.

  He emits a very unattractive shriek at the sudden cold… but does scramble to his feet.

  “CYCLE, Raala! I’m up!”

  “Good… Eat something quickly! I’ll dig your blood flask out of the snow and we can be on our way.”

  ---Ksem’s perspective---

  Our feet crunching through the snow is the only constant sound as we walk through the Wintery hills of Raala’s grandmother’s territory.

  Given how surly she’s been whenever I’ve initiated conversation with her while we’ve travelled, I’m content to be silent unless she wants to speak to me… which she rarely does… except to rip me out of bed at the crack of dawn(!)

  This is the first time we’ve been alone together since the night she took my bow…

  I think Wuurlo was sent with us mainly to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t try to do anything to Raala like Qrez and Re’lem tried to do to Lashra!

  It seems as if, in the time we’ve been travelling, I’ve either satisfied him of my decency… ooooor satisfied him that I’m such a comparative weakling that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to Raala which she wasn’t prepared to allow(!)… Or maybe some combination?

  Anyway, it seems Wuurlo was happy to go hunting for my feast and leave me alone with her.

  I did offer to go hunting with him last night but was laughed at by both of them for the apparent absurdity of suggesting that I might catch my own naming feast dinner(!)

  One of 1,728 things about the local culture that Old Red never taught me, I suppose!

  There’s so-

  “Sooooo…?”

  I turn my head to look down at the woman who just interrupted my train of thought.

  Her face is contorted, thinking hard.

  “…you don’t believe in Mother Mammoth at all, then?”

  Ah… that conversation!

  “I… don’t know if She exists, Raala… but I don’t believe she birthed the world, no.”

  “What about the Great Eagle? The Forest of Plenty? The Great Elk? The Laughing Otter? The Bloody Speartooth? The Black Winged Bat? The Swift Hare? The Ravening Wolf and His Maw?” she rapidfires.

  “Don’t know, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know but, as with the Forest of Plenty, pretty sure I’m not going to end up there when I die!” I return, mirthfully.

  “Sooooo… what? Do you think we’re all stupid for believing in them… or are we lying then?”

  “Ooof!” I laugh “Tell me you’ve never met someone of a different religion without telling me you’ve never met someone of a different religion(!)… I don’t think you’re stupid or lying about what you believe, truly!… Like I said; I don’t know if what you believe is even wrong! I could be right, you could be right, we might neither be right or we might both have got parts right about the nature of the metaphysical world! You don’t think I’m stupid or lying for not sharing your religion, right? For believing as I believe?”

  She frowns “I don’t have any clue what you believe, outlander!”

  “Well, you could always ask, Sunbeam(!)” I observe.

  Her face screws up like she's just bitten into an unripe doum fruit(!)

  I give her about 12 heartbeats to relent and ask before sighing and gesturing up at the Sun.

  “You know how the Sun, the Moon, the stars and the planets all rise in the East, set in the West and return the next day? You know how the Moon waxes to full then wanes to new before waxing back to full again?… You know that every year, Spring follows Winter, Summer follows Spring, Autumn follows Summer and Winter follows Autumn?… You probably don’t know that, back where I’m from, every year, the 144 Channels would all burst their banks, late every Spring, and stay flooded until the end of Summer… You know how animals eat food, it passes through their guts and becomes dung, then nourishes the plants that those same animals eat?… You know how babies become children, children become youths, youths become adults, adults become elderly and then die, having had children of their own if they were lucky?”

  “Yes! I understand all that!” she sulks, impatiently.

  “Great…” I beam “…then you understand the Cycle!… All of that… that’s my faith.”

  Frustrated, she says “No! It can’t be that simple! How did the world begin?!”

  “Who’s to say the world had a beginning? That the Cycle hasn’t just always been cycling?”

  “What about when you die! What happens to you then?”

  “Weeeeell… I’ve obviously never died, so I can’t know for suuuuure but… I believe my essence, my awareness, just goes back through the Cycle, same as my body does.”

  “And… that’s whether you’re good or bad?” she asks, suspiciously.

  “Yep… Whether I’m good or bad.”

  “Ha! Then you have no reason to ever be good!” she declares with premature triumph.

  “Oh yeah?” I smirk.

  “YES!” she doubles down “If you don’t believe there are consequences for doing bad things and rewards for good, you have no reason to do good or not to do bad!!!”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “So… the only reason you ever do good things is to get yourself into a forest where it’s always Summer after your dead(?) To enjoy the overflowing game and forage for the rest of time(?)”

  Her scowl deepens.

  “Aaaaand the only reason you don’t do bad things is because you don’t want to spend eternity being chewed on by a gigantic hungry wolf?… Doesn’t sound particularly good to me(!)… Sounds a bit selfish actually(!)… Take away the promise of the Forest of Plenty and the threat of the Ravening Wolf’s Maw and you’d just be running around killing, stealing and being an all round reprobate(?) Sounds like I’m the ‘good’ one of us because I’m the only one who does good without believing I’ll get anything for it in return(!)” I tease.

  With her typical adorable acidity, she folds her arms and turns away from me.

  “Don’t feel too bad for losing, Sunbeam(!)… Discussing the merits of his religion against ours was one of Old Red’s favourite pastimes… So, I have a 19 Winter headstart on you in religious debate(!)” I tease.

  “Kinda sounds to me like you outlanders don’t even have a religion! Like you only believe in the world of your senses! Maybe like you think you’re the Gods…!”

  “Well, that’s not so! I certainly believe in love, friendship, justice, life after death, spirits, gods and many other things my eyes can’t see and my hands can’t touch! I just believe that all those things exist as parts of the Cycle.”

  “Hmmph!” she huffs, irritably.

  ---Dirleya’s perspective---

  “Ma’am?” says my assistant, baby on hip as she enters the herb hut.

  “Yes, Wulra?” I acknowledge, putting down my wormwood infusion.

  Her eyes flick to it and she says “You might want to put that aside for today… Your granddaughter is here…”

  Oh…

  Another Bison death… I know it shouldn’t but it always stings a little more when it’s my birth clan that-

  “…and she’s with the leader of the outlanders! You probably want a clear head to talk to him!”

  That stops all my thoughts dead in their tracks as fear swoops through my belly.

  “The… leader of the outlanders… He’s here now?!” I ask, getting to my feet and trying my best to ignore my every aching joint.

  “He’s sat at the hearth with your granddaughter.”

  As quickly as my arthritis allows, I pick up my headdress and place it over my head.

  “How do I look, Wulra?” I ask, turning to her.

  “Very venerable, Ma’am.” she replies, handing me my staff.

  Satisfied with that answer, I hobble out of the hut.

  I look across the fire to where the man sits with my granddaughter.

  His chest is flat, his limbs and extremities are long and slim, his skin and eyes are brown, his ropey hair is black.

  His face has an uncanny mix of the handsome of a young man and the underdeveloped flatness of a baby (accentuated by the overall roundness of his head), only a light layer of black stubble covering his strange spurred chin.

  On seeing me, he shoots to his feet, revealing himself to be shockingly tall and slim indeed! By far the tallest man I’ve ever seen!

  As I draw close, I determine that his elbow comes up to almost eyelevel on me!

  Even still “…Disappointing…” I observe.

  Perturbed, the man politely clarifies “Ma’am?”

  I gesture him up and down and say “I thought you’d be taller(!) The rumours I’ve been hearing were of a group of 4,000 outlanders descending on the plains(!) The heads of babies and skin as black as pine pitch(!) Each the height of a bull elk and led by a man as tall as a longtusk(!)… You look fairly normal compared to what I expected(!)”

  A genuine smile breaks over his strange, handsome face as he laughs “Ah!… Sorry to disappoint you, Ma’am(!) But yes, none of that is true… There are just over 400 of us, not 4,000, this is what our heads look like, we only get a bit darker skinned than this and this is as tall as we come(!)”

  I laugh at the charming boy’s answer.

  He speaks our language well, though he does have a noticeable accent.

  “Shamaness Dirleya of Golden Eagle… It is my pleasure!” I greet, holding out my palm to him.

  His eyes sparkle and he holds out his own hand, letting me know that this detail at least was accurate!

  He presses his long, spindly palm to mine, fingers pointed skyward (though they get nearly a palmwidth closer to the sky than mine do(!)) and replies “Ksem of the 144 Channels… the pleasure is mine, Ma’am!”

  “Lovely! … So… what brings you to Golden Eagle with my granddaughter? This isn’t an elopement, is it(?)” I grin.

  My boorish descendant lets out a disgusted scoff and the boy chuckles “I… err… I don’t think your granddaughter would be very receptive to that… No, Ma’am…”

  I extend my staff past the boy to poke the surly girl in the ribs, managing to take her by surprise, and observe “You could do a lot worse than a leader of hundreds at your age, girl!… You aren’t getting any younger and I want great-grandbabies before I’m flown to the Forest of Plenty(!)” earning myself a scowl from her.

  I take a moment to enjoy the red ochre flush I can see in her face.

  Then I turn back to look up at the looming man to repeat “So… what are you here for then?”

  “I’m here to be named, Shamaness… I have killed the cavebear that took two of Bison this Summer past. I ask to be made a Bane and have you endorse my honorary membership of the six clans… Raala of Bison is my witness and carries my blood flask, Wuurlo of Bison hunts for my feast.” says the man, seriously.

  Stunned, I spend a few moments scrutinising him… trying to work out if this might be a tasteless joke…

  Finally, I turn to my granddaughter and ask “Is this true, girl? This man killed the bear that took your brother and intended from us?”

  The outlander’s reaction informs me he did not previously know the identities of those whom he avenged.

  “It’s true, grandmother.” she scowls, ungratefully.

  “HOW!?” I cry, incredulously “Don’t take this the wrong way, boy, but… the one thing the rumours didn’t exaggerate is your apparent frailty! How did you slay a beast so mighty?!”

  “He did it with this, grandmother…” explains my granddaughter, extending her right hand to tap the strange, curved stick the outlander holds in his left “…it’s a powerful outland weapon that let him kill the bear at fifty paces!”

  “That… that beggars belief!” I frown, bewildered.

  “Shall I demonstrate?” the man asks, sincerely.

  I hesitate… then “Please!”

  He looks around before pointing to the North, out of the hearthstead.

  “You see that treestump out there?” he asks.

  “No… not from this distance… My remaining eye isn’t that good at my age… but I know the one you’re talking about… The old hornbeam.” I respond.

  “Well, that’s what I’m aiming for.” he states, taking a wide stance and reaching over his shoulder with his right hand to pull out a long rod, tipped with a miniscule stone blade on one end and a rosette of feathers on the other.

  He brings the feathered end to the cord, hooks his light brown fingers around it to the top and bottom, raises the whole thing over his head and stretches his arms apart (with what’s clearly a heaving effort) as he brings it back down while tilting it upwards.

  *Fwoom* cries the weapon as the miniature feathered spear disappears from it.

  Half a breath later, a woody *thock* echoes back.

  “Wulra: Give Korbu to Raala, pace out the distance, confirm the weapon struck the stump and retrieve it for our guest.” I instruct.

  My assistant hands over her baby to my granddaughter who gives the infant a rare smile.

  She paces away, counting.

  I see her blurry shape as it stops over (presumably) where the hornbeam stump is.

  She spends about 20 breaths there, doing… something? Something my eye can’t discern at this distance.

  Finally, she returns and, addressing the tall man, apologises “I’m sorry, Sir, I was able to confirm the hit and I counted 159 steps there and 157 steps back… but I couldn’t get it out of the stump… It was wedged too deeply and I didn’t wish to risk breaking it.”

  The suddenly terrifying man smiles “Oh, no problem! I’ll get it.” before jogging away in a strange, rolling gait.

  “By the Maw!!!… 160 steps!?” I whisper as soon as I judge him to be out of earshot.

  “Eeeeeeeyep!” replies my granddaughter, flippantly, bouncing the baby she holds and not taking her eyes off him to meet mine.

  I watch the lanky outlander’s blurred shape as it stops for the briefest moment where Wulra was before returning.

  As his face unblurs with the proximity, he starts “So-?”

  “With this demonstration and Raala’s testimony, there can be no doubt.” I preempt “You have my deepest gratitude and I will immediately have preparations made for a naming ceremony at dusk… Raala, you may leave his blood flask at the fireside to thaw.”

  ---Ksem’s perspective---

  Drums boom as three pairs of thick fingered hands impact them.

  The haunting tune of a wind instrument made from a thick leg bone keens out over the dusky scene.

  The caribou Wuurlo killed for me has been butchered and roasts over an absolutely roaring fire in the hearth at the middle of the village…

  The shamaness stands between me and the flame, staff in her right hand, flask in her left.

  I’m supposed to be naked for this ceremony but, once I explained my situation (that the sight of my manhood was meant only for the woman who would be mine), the shamaness relented and allowed me to wear a loincloth.

  I slowly walk toward the fire, the ground and air both getting less and less intolerably frigid with each step.

  I loom over the absolutely tiny old woman for a moment before dropping to my knees and holding my arms out to the sides.

  I’m still slightly taller than her!

  She thumps the base of her staff on the hard stone ground and the music ceases.

  Her eyes, one the same vivid green as her granddaughter’s the other blind, milky and cataracted, peer out from beneath her headdress of bone and feathers.

  The old woman extends the staff to give it to her assistant (the future shamaness, I believe) and, that hand now free, unstops the flask.

  “Ksem of the 144 Channels! You and none other slew the beast that had slain two! This is true?” she intones, surprising power to her aged voice.

  “It is true, Shamaness.” I answer, careful not to shout.

  “This flask contains the blood of that beast, bled from it by your hand! This is true?”

  “It is true, Shamaness.”

  “You wish to be named for your deed! You wish to take that which you have earned! This is true?”

  “It is true, Shamaness.”

  “Do any here call this man a LIAR?” she challenges, casting around.

  No answer comes.

  After several agonising heartbeats, she continues “Then, as the shamaness of the six clans of the Eastern Plateau, in the name of Mother Mammoth and all her children, I anoint you!”

  I close my eyes as she brings the flask to my forehead.

  I feel the viscous blood run down my face and onto my chest, the salty, gamey smell filling my nostrils.

  Her right hand comes to my chest, spreading it to every patch of skin.

  The flask emptied, she hands it off, using both hands now to apply the thick, strong smelling fluid.

  I open my eyes and see that the week old blood has turned nearly black, despite being frozen for most of that time.

  Satisfied with the coverage of my body, the old woman takes back her staff and flask (somehow only having blood on her palms) and names me!

  “ARISE, KSEM ‘BEAR BANE’!”

  Ksem & Dirleya

  Wen’ke tse weh-teshal nuuuuuur! =

  432 more heartbeats pleeeeeease!