---Kroln’s perspective---
My scowling daughter and I step out of the forest with the two men of Wolf and the man and woman of Moufflon, walking towards the alarming camp of hundreds!
I’ve never seen anything like it!
It’s just as they said; unfamiliar, alien designs, sounds and people… if they even are people and not something… else…
I feel more anxious approaching this gathering (larger and stronger than any I’ve ever joined or heard of) than I would if I were facing a full pack of wolves alone!
I feel an itch that I can’t scratch in the hand I don’t have anymore as we draw near.
Seeing the unnerving, flat faces of these aliens turning as they notice us at the edge of their encampment, my stomach swoops like I’ve dived off of a tall rock into a river!
As the six of us draw close, the few we saw quickly lose interest and return to their work.
I suppose, if what Raala told me of what their leader told her is accurate, they’ve been walking for a year to get here and, most of that time, in our people’s lands… They’ve had a long time to get used to our looks…
Still, they seem at ease with us in a way I don’t think I’ll ever be with them…
It maybe helps their comfort that we are only six to their hundreds!
Easy to feel safe in those kinds of numbers!
We come between the tents and all but my daughter get our first up close look at the eery, dark skinned folks.
They’re so… flat!
Tall, I was prepared for!
Slim? Sure, no problem!
The dark skin, the black hair, the uncanny babyfaces, the chin prongs… all about what I was expecting from what Raala said but… those flat faces and flat torsos? The flatness visible even through their unseasonably thick clothes? It makes me more uncomfortable than anything else here!
My mind tells me no creature should be able to live with that little space in its chest for its lungs, heart and stomach!
At that moment, a woman notices us.
Grinning a manic grin and bearing a mouthful of miniscule teeth, she strides towards us in a weird, rolling gait, her heels striking the ground first and her foot rocking along its length to push off an arc of toes.
“Hi hi! Bwey! You here for brother?” asks the slim, curly black haired woman (as tall as Wuurlo!) holding her right palm up with the fingers pointed skywards, close enough to me for her pleasant, sour tang to reach my nose.
I match the gesture with my remaining hand and hers closes the distance to press into it.
Mother Mammoth!
I feel her heat against my palm!
She’s like a fire rock!
Why do they need to wrap up like this when they’re naturally so warm!?
“Kroln.” I introduce myself “Your brother is ‘Ksem’? The leader?” I ask.
“Yes yes! Ksem is brother! I take you him now!” chatters the woman from lands so far I’ve never even heard tell of them!
---Ksem’s perspective---
I pick up the flake of glossy stone the locals call ‘obsidian’.
Bringing it to my face, I press it to my jaw.
Sliding it through the lubricating layer of fat, I begin to peel away the stubble that’s accumulated over the last few days.
It takes a while but, right as I’m about to finish, I hear Bwey’s voice from outside the tent.
“Ksem? The locals are here to see you… Shall I bring them in?”
Shit…
“One moment, Bwey… I’m just finishing washing and shaving! I’ll come out when I’ve got my top back on!” I answer, hurriedly scraping off the last of my stubble.
I put down the black stone blade and run a hand over my lower face.
Not feeling any patches I’ve missed, I splash some water over the razorburned area, grab a buckskin towel to dry off, then get properly dressed.
I stand and walk to the door.
I pull back the curtain to see six of the pale skinned, redheaded (bar one brunet), green eyed locals.
All of them start back from me and go wide eyed as I draw up to my full height; a full head taller than the brunet with the broken nose and face scars, the tallest among them.
Standing at the front, beside Bwey, is an austere looking man, about 50 floods old, with a missing hand, a visible, receding chin, a thick moustache and sideburns and a dagger made of a long, sharp tooth at his hip.
Just behind him is the woman I met the other day, utter disdain on her face now as it was then.
Behind the locals stand Qrez (allowing what a waste of time he thinks it is to negotiate with our new neighbours to be fully visible to any who care to look) and Kseley, doing a slightly better job of looking respectful.
“Friends!” I beam down at the six with every scrap of warmth I have in me to give them “I’m delighted you’ve come! I am Ksem and I welcome you to my people’s camp!… Is this all six clans of the Eastern Plateau represented here?” extending my right hand to the stern man.
He frowns up at me, slowly bringing the palm of his only hand to meet mine while maintaining unblinking eyecontact.
“No… it isn’t…” he starts “…only three clans are represented… Who told you there were six? Not my daughter, surely?” gesturing to the pretty, scowling, freckled woman I met before.
“Ah! So you are the Sunbeam’s father, are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you… erm… May I have a name?”
“Kroln of Bison Clan… Now answer the question.” he says simply, letting me know that my charm is as ineffective on him as it was on his daughter(!)
“Well, Kroln, it wasn’t your daughter, no… I actually learned it from an old friend, unfortunately no longer with us… the same man I learned about the Basin itself from, actually!… Though, his information will be about as old as I am by now so I’m glad it’s still accurate! Would you like to come inside? We can talk and I can answer all of the many questions I’m sure you have!”
I stand aside and extend my left hand into the Main Tent.
The one handed man hesitates one more moment before walking forward.
The younger five follow his lead and Kseley and Qrez file in last.
Bwey’s about to come in when I hold out my hand and, in a low tone, ask “Could you find Eshker and Zgrizeh and bring them here?”
Her curious expression morphs into a smirk as she realises why I want them.
She nods and turns to walk off, looking around to find the pair.
I turn to see Qrez on the right (my left) of my place, Kseley on the left and the six uneasy looking locals arranged around the small firepit beneath the skylight.
I walk to the far side of the tent, rounding the backs of the brunet, the girl who isn’t Sunbeam and Qrez.
Qrez and Kseley aren’t looking at me as I go but the other six all follow me with their gaze.
I sit down in my seat and look out, across the fire, at the people I’m hoping to make friends and allies of.
I smile warmly.
“So… I am Ksem, as I’ve said, and I am the leader of the people of the Great River Delta… This is Qrez. He is our chief… hunter…” I hesitate over the inexact nature of the translation of Qrez’s actual position, made necessary by this language’s lack of a word for ‘warrior’ “…and this is Kseley, our medicine woman and spiritual advisor… I know Kroln of Bison Clan, the rest of you would be…?”
“Kordau of Moufflon Clan.” states the scarfaced brunet.
“Lashra of Moufflon Clan.” follows the tiny, timid little redhead girl, causing Qrez’s head to twitch to her.
“Vortlug of Wolf Clan.” says one of the two young men at the far side of the circle, nearest the door.
“Mogratro of Wolf Clan.” provides the other.
My attention rests finally on Sunbeam, the only one who hasn’t given her name yet.
A moment more’s hesitation follows before she truculently relents “Raala… of Bison Clan.” sneering and not meeting my eyes.
“Wonderful!… Fine names all!” I beam, ignoring her antagonistic attitude before gesturing to the man on my right and the woman on my left “Now, I’m afraid these two here don’t yet speak much of your language, so I’ll be the one you’ll be talking to. I apologise in advance for any time I need to spend consulting with them in my language during this meeting… Shall we start with your questions for me?”
“Yes.” growls the oldest man “Where are you from? You said ‘the Great River Delta’? I’ve been to the mouth of the Great River… The people there did not look like you… I have to assume, if your people had taken up residence there any time in the last 30 Winters, word of that would have reached here by now!”
“Ah! Yes, I see…” I say, reaching behind me for a painted plank of wood.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I bring it in front of me and orient it with the ✴ star mark at the top, the painted side facing toward my audience.
I see frowns of confusion replaced by looks of alarm as they recognise the shape of the chalky ring beneath the star and, from that, understand the scale of the map.
I begin explaining “Sooo… this isn’t going to be perfect… but it’s a rough representation of the world as we know it. The ochre is land, the grey clay is water, the chalk is snowy mountains. This little mark at the top here is Polaris, so, ‘North’ is ‘up’. Just below that, it seems you’ve recognised the shape of the Great Basin, as provided by my departed friend. Then here…” I run my finger along the grey line from the South side of the Basin, turning East and flowing to the grey sea, its other edge smudged to indicate that what’s on the far side is unknown “…that’s the ‘Great River’ you know… but it’s not our Great River. For that, we need to keep going South, until we get to what you call the ‘Southern Sea’ but, to my people, was the ‘Northern Sea’… Once you reach the coast, you travel East a little, then follow it South, past all these small islands, then turn East again for a looong time before turning South again for about as long before, finally, turning West… Then you get here…” I tap on the large fan of grey lines meeting my homeland’s North coast, all emanating from the one thick, grey line that runs from the bottom of the map “…this is where we’ve come from. We think it’s about four or five times as far South of the Great Basin as the Basin is from North to South but, because we’ve had to come around the coasts here, the distance has probably been about twice as long for us to walk. It’s taken us around a year.”
“No!” disputes the one who gave his name as Vortlug “There’s no way you could have come so far in just a year! Even if you never rested, you’d still have had to stop to replenish your foodstores!”
“Oh, we did…” I smile “…we probably spent two days stopped for every one we spent on the march.”
Four of the redheads and the one brunet exchange looks of confusion with eachother.
Only the Sunbeam doesn’t react.
“As I told Raala here when I met her the other day, my people are a little different from yours… and I don’t just mean in the way we look! You can see we’re taller, slimmer and darker than you are… but we have other differences that are less skin deep… For one thing, we are nowhere near as strong as you!”
I reach out to clap my hand on my chief warrior’s shoulder.
“Qrez here is the mightiest among us but, my guess is that he’d only be about as strong as Raala… if that!”
The six of them look surprised and not a little sceptical!
“However, the main difference is that we can’t run like your people can… we’re much slower than you but, to our advantage here, we can last much longer!… Travelling over long distances isn’t as much of a problem for us.”
“Yes…” frowns Kroln “…my daughter tells me that, when you met, you made the claim that your people don’t hunt in forests? That you kill your prey by exhausting them to death out on open plains?! Is this true?”
“It is.” I confirm, prompting a brief flurry of muttering between them.
“Can you show us?” asks the old man, voice flat.
“Not today, unfortunately…” I say with regret “…I’d be happy to show anyone who wants to see… uhm… the day after tomorrow is my next scheduled hunt. If they come here before noon, I’ll accompany them myself.”
“Hmmm… The Wolfs and Moufflons here must report back to their clans… Raala will come though.” says the old man.
His daughter looks disgusted at being volunteered but otherwise doesn’t object.
“May I ask…” starts the scarred brunet in a deep voice “…how many are you in this camp? How many clans are gathered here? Why did you come so far to get here?”
“Of course! Most of those gathered here are originally of my clan, 224 to be exact, but 193 are splinters of other clans from the Great River Delta. So, there are 417 survivors in total… As for why we came here: After what happened, we all wanted to get a long way away from there… I’d been hearing stories of this place since I was 6 Winters old… I knew the way, I knew the language and I’d been told that the Basin had lush, bountiful plains with no one using them… which seems to be correct.”
“Sorry…” says Kroln, raising his hand “…what do you mean ‘survivors’? Survivors of what? What exactly was it that happened?”
“Ah, well…” I begin, taking care in choosing my words to explain concepts like ‘war’ and ‘invasion’ to these people before pointing back to the map “…you see this land here, West of the Great River Delta? In my great grandparents’ time, it was a ‘savannah’; lush grasslands teeming with game, fresh water and edible plants. It’s said the rains fell steadily then, year after year. But, over time, the rains slowed… then stopped! The land dried up, turned to dust, became a ‘desert’; a hot, barren place where life could no longer thrive.”
I pause here, checking their faces as they listen.
“But the Great River still flowed, as it always had, pouring down from the South and spilling into the 144 Channels of its delta. It remained as bountiful as ever. My people still lived there, flourishing, thriving. And the people of the West… they looked at us with envy!”
The six pale faces all stare back at me with rapt attention.
“At first, they tried to negotiate… We all knew the simple truth that the land could not support both my people and theirs… but we tried to compromise! We offered to take some of them in. We offered to help the others move elsewhere… but they refused. ‘Dispersal is our people’s death, just slower!’ they answered. Their envoys left and, foolishly, we thought the danger had passed… but we were wrong!”
I take a deep breath.
“In their desperation, they had already decided; if we wouldn’t leave our home peacefully, they would take it from us by force… and make sure there were too few of us left to ever take it back!… When they came down on the Delta, they came like a storm: in numbers we could not hope to match and with a ferocity that left precious few survivors… My people… though I’m sure we seem numerous to you, have been reduced to perhaps a twentieth of what we were just a year ago!”
I pause again, swallowing hard as the memories flare.
“My clan was lucky… We were camped in the far East of the Delta at the time, the furthest from their attack… The survivors fleeing toward us carried warnings of what was coming… At first, we prepared to fight but soon realised it would be futile. To fight would mean a certain death, so our only choice was to run… We gathered up all we could carry; Winter food stores, tools and medicines and we fled, fording the Easternmost channel as fast as we could… but even that wasn’t enough… A detachment of the Westmen found us, midcrossing. My father, Tses, led the older men to hold them back, to let the rest of us escape. He ordered the younger men to cross with the women and children… When I reached the far riverbank, I turned back and saw… saw him and all those he had taken with him fall… That was the day I became my clan’s leader… by one of the Westmens’ many acts of murder.”
Rightfully alarmed by what I’ve just explained, none of them speak for a few long moments.
Finally, the timid girl, Lashra, asks “And were these Westmen… your kind or… something else?”
Of course, the real question there is ‘Are you going to slaughter us and take our land like ‘your kind’ did to you?’
“They were… not exactly like us… They spoke a different language, they dressed in different clothing, they used different tools and weapons and they looked different enough that I think one of my people would probably be able to tell the difference even without all that context… but I don’t think you would. I think you would look at one of them stood next to me and say we were the same kind … However, I assure you, we are nothing like them in our character, in our actions! We want peace and friendship… We want our peoples to coexist harmoniously, us living on the plains, you in the forests. We have not come to these lands to bring strife with us, I swear!”
They seem mildly mollified by my sincere reassurance… but still not entirely convinced…
Kroln is the next to speak, asking the question I knew would come at some point.
“Who is the one who told you of the Great Basin?… Who showed you its shape and told you of the clans within it?”
“He…” I hesitate “…We… called him ‘Old Red’ because, though he’d had a name, he said it ‘didn’t belong to him anymore’. He was one of your people and taught me your language. He wasn’t the first of your kind we’d met but he was the first one from quite so far away from the Delta, the first Basinman…He saved my life when I was a child. He brought me back to camp and my father asked what reward he wanted to take back to his clan… He didn’t speak our language very well at that point but he managed to communicate that he had no clan… My father asked if he wanted to become part of ours… and, it seemed, he did… He was among those that stayed behind to allow us to make the ford last year… he fought bravely and mightily!”
I wince as I see the realisation dawn on the old man’s face.
“A transgressor!? You took an unnamed exile into your clan!? Do you even know what he did to earn his banishment?!”
“Yes. I do…” I state, calmly but firmly “…but, I’m afraid, that’s not my story to tell… Suffice it to say, though he violated your people’s laws, I don’t believe him to have been a bad man. If he honestly relayed the circumstances that led to his penalty (which, having known him most of my life, I see no reason to doubt) then I think what he did was as laudable as when he pulled me from the river…”
I sigh inwardly as I see different mixtures of dismay, disgust and alarm adorn the locals’ faces at my words.
I should really have found a more diplomatic way of phrasing it but I’ll be damned if I let them speak ill of my friend!
“*ahem*…Perhaps we should move on? I would like to discuss the nature of our relationship with you, moving forward.”
“What’s there to discuss?” scoffs Vortlug “You know there aren’t enough of us to stop you doing anything you want here!… You’re just gonna dictate terms!”
I smile at him and correct “That’s not how I wish our relationship to be… Everything I’m about to say is to be taken as an offer that you are free to refuse.”
Glances are exchanged before Kroln says “Make your offer.”
Nodding in thanks, I start “I’ve already explained how my people hunt differently to yours… One of the upshots of our method is that our supply of meat is fairly predictable… we must work longer than you to acquire it but it’s less likely to slip away from us and far less likely to turn around and gore us! However, my people cannot live on meat alone… We need plants to eat as well; nuts, fruits, roots, mushrooms… all things that occur far more plentifully in forests than out here on the plains. We’re able to acquire some of our needs from the fragments of unclaimed forest territory out here but not enough… My offer is, for as long as my people make our home on this plain, you bring us vegetables and we will trade our meat for them… weight for weight…”
Twelve eyes go wide as I add the last part which I intentionally didn’t mention to Raala the other day.
“Sorry… I think I must’ve misheard!… You said ‘weight for weight’?! Like, we bring you a certain weight of nuts or whatever and you give us the same amount of meat!?” clarifies Mogratro, disbelieving.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” I confirm.
“How can you possibly hope to honour that?” asks Kordau, green eyes narrowing either side of his crooked nose.
“Simply because I know that, however much you bring, it needs to be split 417 ways and, conversely, I’ve got hundreds of hunters bringing in meat… I don’t foresee any problem meeting your demand… If there ever is… if we find ourselves drowning in nuts and mushrooms but without a scrap of meat left, we may need to renegotiate but, certainly for the moment, I think it’s achievable and I think it’s a fair deal, reflecting our gratitude for your agreement to allow us to become your neighbours, right?… I would also like to request temporary exchanges between our peoples if you were amenable?… We’d be happy to host any who wish to come here and teach us your language, customs, local knowledge and, if you wished, some of us could also come to you to share our knowledge. I’m sure we have much to learn from eachother!”
All except Raala and her father begin excited murmuring.
Speaking for the first time since she introduced herself, the freckled girl flatly asks “And what’s the longterm plan? Are you and your descendants just gonna keep bouncing back and forth from plain to plain, trading meat for veg with me and mine until the Ravening Wolf swallows the Sun?”
“Oh… well, over that kind of timescale, I’m assuming our two peoples will eventually become one?” I suggest with my best smile.
There’s a moment of stunned silence… followed by absolutely raucous laughter from the six!
“You’re…*hahahahahaaa*…delusional if you think…*hahahaha*…we can breed, outlander!” guffaws Raala, genuine mirth being a rather flattering look on her “We might…*hahahahahahah*…look vaguely alike but…*haha*…we’d obviously be like asses and horses or…*hahaha*…bison and aurochs! What makes you think…!?”
“Ooooh Kseeeeem…” singsongs my sisters voice from outside, speaking our first language “…I’ve got Eshker and his mum here? Can we come in?”
“Impeccable timing, Bwey. Come in!” I call back in Basinspeak.
My sister dramatically flourishes the door curtain aside, revealing an 11 flood old boy, his 45 flood old mother standing behind him.
His skin is light brown.
His dreads are a medium brown with just a touch of red in them.
His face is flatter than the locals’ but more projected than mine.
His shoulders are broader and his limbs thicker than would be typical for a boy his age.
Most strikingly though, peeking out from underneath his modest brow shelf, is a pair of bright green eyes.
What this boy is is immediately identifiable… but I say it anyway just to make the point “Everyone… this is Eshker and his mother Zgrizeh… Eshker is Old Red’s son… Say ‘hello’, Eshker.”
Uncertainly, the boy raises his palm to the room and, in his father’s language, greets “Hello everyone… it’s… nice to meet you...?”