Chapter Thirteen

Salivating aromas wafted out of the hut, borne deliciously upon the wind. Tarn smelled fire-roasted venison and honey bread, light and sweet. The dual scents caused his mouth to water as he pushed the hide flap aside and stepped into the flavourful hut. He immediately noticed that Marta occupied the seat where he normally sat. Marta had prepared the man's seat which faced the entrance for him. For as many years as Tarn had dwelled in the hut, Marta had occupied that seat. Now his hut-mother sat in a subordinate position on one side of the fire and Shaurii on the other, having bequeathed the representation and protection of the hut to Tarn.

Marta saw his puzzlement and proclaimed, "Thee be all but a junior smith and perform a man's work. Be seated in thy proper place and eat."

It was no surprise that the news had preceded him. Such were the intimacies of a village with less than six hundred inhabitants. Although her voice left no question as to who governed the hut, he detected a shift in responsibility. From this point forward, his opinion now contained weight. Marta had relinquished the protection of the hut to Tarn. For all his great strength and size, his mother's steady gaze cut him in two and he would not gainsay her word.

"Aye, mother. I be hungry enough to eat the hut itself."

"Then thee be going hunting, lad. The cold pit be running low and winter is near upon us. Thee be eating for two men of late." Wearing a contemplative look, she added, "I warned thee about possibly having to stock additional winter stores. 'Tis uncommonly cold for autumn. Mark me well, son, in a seven-day, the pit will freeze its stores. Let us carve out another few feet of earth and stone and lay down an added layer of straw."

Tarn glanced up with concern etched on his young features. Although he was scheduled for sword training in the afternoon, he bit back his reply. He had indeed procrastinated, waiting to learn if Marta's forecast would prove accurate. After all these years he should have known better. Marta was seldom wrong in her seasonal weather predictions and more than a few villagers routinely verified their own forecasts with a visit to Marta for confirmation. The older her bones became, the more accurate her broadcasts, or so she claimed. Resigned to his fate of hunting and digging out the cold pit, he accepted a large, tender piece of venison and an equally large chunk of honey bread from Shaurii with an obedient nod to Marta.

"Oh, don't look so glum, son. Thee may play with thy wooden stick today so long as thee hunt before the moon chase begins. Deepen the cold pit before a three-day passes. Though the longer thee wait the more difficult it will be."

Instantly happy, Tarn tore into the tender meat like a pack of ravenous wolves, gulping it down in great swallows. Shaurii glanced sideways at him through reproachful eyes. Between bites, he caught her disapproving gaze. Around a full mouth, he said to her, "Put some bread in my trail pouch." Wearing a mischievous grin, he whispered loudly, "I'll take it with me lest mother eat it all ere I return!"

Shaurii's eye sparkled shared laughter, appeased by Tarn's compliment and acknowledgement of her efforts to produce a meal worthy of celebrating his accomplishment. A hard blow fell on his right wrist from the heavy spoon that was never far from Marta.

"Thee still not be too old for me to twist thy ears, ungrateful and thankless wretch that ye be!"

Tarn leapt straight up and over the fire, denying Marta's second blow its mark.

"'Tis a good practise that I hunt for two men or we would certainly starve!" laughed Tarn, flinching surprise when an airborne spoon hit him squarely in the back on his way out the door.

He reached into the hut and snatched up his father's sword, hearing Shaurii's laughter as Marta extolled his lesser many virtues. Tarn jogged to the practise ground smiling. The crisp, fresh-fallen snow crunched under his feet as he ran.