Today's Reading

1

BROTHER

Sweat trickled down his back. He ignored it. A mosquito hummed in his ear; he ignored that, too. His body ached from being still so long; his feet were going numb again. Slowly, PiKa flexed his toes to get the blood flowing. 'A little longer', he told his body, even though he had been waiting more than four hours already. His heavy- lidded eyes gazed straight ahead, focused on the movement of grass, the shifting of wind. His body moved only when the grass did, so slowly did he creep up on his prey.

The largest bull caribou gave a snort. With a sigh, the bull dropped down in the tall tundra grass, his ears twitching. Several other caribou took the bull's signal and settled down, relaxing their guard. PiKa took note of which caribou were left standing, acting as sentinels for the herd, and crept forward again, slowly pulling his bow out and placing it in front of him. It had taken most of the day to get this close; he was determined not to let this chance slip away.

With a practiced movement, the boy nocked an arrow in his bow, pulled back, and released. It was timed, swift and sure, with the exhalation of the largest bull.

The arrow struck the bull with a soft 'thump'. Quietly, as though falling into sleep, the great antlered head lowered itself to the tundra. The bull made no other sound and lay still.

Methodically, the boy shot the other resting caribou, one after the other, with the same silent, deadly accuracy. When the last sitting caribou died, it let out a soft mewling noise, alerting the herd. Nervously, the others hurried away.

The boy straightened from his crouch and stood, stretching his cramped muscles. He walked over to the largest bull and ran his hand slowly over the tips of the antlers. They were almost as tall as the boy. A quiet smile softened his face.

Carefully, the boy set the bull's head so it faced the boy's home to the west. He bent down and whispered in the bull's velvet ear, telling the bull how to find him. He opened the bull's still-warm mouth and placed a pinch of lichen on the tongue, then he took his sharpest obsidian knife and severed the third vertebra, releasing the bull's earthbound spirit to be born again. He did this for each of the fallen caribou. These small gifts ensured that he would be remembered as a kind and unashamed hunter, and next time their spirits would recognize him.

The boy had caught twelve caribou. His mother and father would be proud. When he had finished honoring their lives, he began the task of butchering.

With years of experience guiding his hands, his knife found all of the familiar spots to slice and cut and pry, and soon the animals were quartered expertly, wrapped in their own skins to keep the meat clean of tundra debris. Later he would bury the bundles in rocks to keep them cool and prevent animals from getting to them. He carefully examined the meat and the organs as he worked, using all of his senses to look for signs of disease that would make the animal unfit for eating. One animal showed signs of having been attacked by a bear recently, and a couple of the wounds were not healing right. He could see the sickness spreading from the wound into other parts of the animal. He set that one to the side, making sure it did not touch the others. It would be fed to the dogs so it would not go to waste. The meat would not hurt the dogs, as their stomachs were much more robust.

The layer of fat on the largest bull's back was a finger length deep, showing how healthy and well-fed the animals were.

PiKa could measure the season and age of the animal by the width of the fat and where it accumulated on the body. He could see how time manipulated the bodies of the caribou, like the length of daylight. Every animal was bound by these changes in their bodies as the moons turned and seasons passed.

That night, the boy lay down on his mat under the cooling light of a stubborn sun. Thoughts, like panicked ground squirrels, scurried through his mind. He ran his fingers lightly along his bow, watching how the smooth wood gleamed in the light, pearlescent with the years of use. It had belonged to his two brothers; each one had carried it before him.

His oldest brother, Atau, had crafted it by hand. The boy had heard stories of how it had taken years to find the perfect piece of wood, with the right height, heft, and suppleness. His brother had chosen well. The sinew had to be changed often, but the wood itself never discolored or cracked. When Atau had disappeared long ago into the mountains, all that his parents found was his bow.

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