Every Glistening Night

Chapter Two

That afternoon, I slip from camp before Audrel or the other tribe members find me, asking me for help with odd jobs, stealing away my time. The forest is still this time of day aside from the occasional scuffle from a rabbit or squirrel.

Most women stay at the camp while completing their afternoon tasks, often sorting the plants foraged in the morning. It's the prime time to share gossip, catch up on life even though the tribe is so interconnected, we practically live as one organism. I never took to their prattling, perhaps because I'm a discussion topic when absent. I can say that with almost certainty since some have dared to bring up my mother with me around.

My feet plod a little slower than usual over the decaying leaves coating the rich soil. The odd request Nal m'se asked of me weighs on my mind. Not only is it vague, I can't even begin to work on it. I don't have a timeframe or any gauge for the quality level of each parcel. Does the weave need to be tight and precise, worthy of trading? Or can it be made more hastily?

I sigh. I must patient like Nal m'se said. In the meantime, I have more important responsibilities to worry about, such as making the dyes for the next batch of robes we plan to trade with the Alkse tribe. Each flower I collected this morning must be soaked and pressed, extracting the precious few drops that each contains. It's long, tedious work that at first seems to yield little.

But every drop enables us to create the beautiful, colorful robes that the Alkse will trade large portions of salt and soapstone for. The Erdest, also, trade medicinal herbs, healing balms, and rocks sharpened into knives. With that perspective, the hours I spend pressing flower petals is worthwhile.

I wander a familiar path through the trees, landmarks embedded in the arcing and reaching tree trunks. There's a cluster of thin trees ahead, and beyond, a slight clearing where beige rock sits. I pause, squatting down as if that will hide me from an observing eye.

The forest doesn't offer up any noise. No footsteps crackle or snap behind me, whether they be animal or human. I release a breath and creep around the rock. Two bushes press against it, and I squeeze through. Twigs catch on the animal skin I'm wearing, scratching my exposed arms and calves.

I'm getting too big for this. It might've been fine when I was six, but eleven years don't pass without imposing some form of change.

The bushes shroud an entrance to a cave. I duck inside, another reminder that I'm not as small as I used to be. I blink rapidly to adjust to the dim lighting. Slowly, a figure comes into focus, huddled against the wall in the small room. A blanket I weaved for her drapes over her shoulders, painting her in a brilliant shade of pink. I spent so many nights on it, squeezing hundreds of flowers to get the bold hue, coloring the thread, and crossing each stitch in the weave.

"You've come," Mother says, her voice raspy with disuse. At least she isn't talking to herself, yet.

"I brought food," I say. My hand ducks into my pocket to retrieve the package of food I saved for her. "It was deer meat today."

My mother's gaunt face shrivels with displeasure. "More savory cakes." She lifts the blond, crumbly cake, sniffs it, then takes a bite. A damp square marks where it'd once been.

"It's the easiest to package," I explain as always.

"Too much salt," Mother says. I supply a skin of water, and she almost downs it in one sip. "I'll have to make my recipe for you sometime. You ought to eat better food than what they force down your throat."

I press my lips in a smile. She's said that for years, too. If only that dream could become reality.

Mother bites into the deer meat. Slowly, her head moves up and down, in sync with her jaw. "It's more tender this time."