Page 11 of Feast

“Don’t call me that!” Ika shouted, and she swatted his hand away. “I don’t want to be little Ika anymore! I want to be big! I want to be an ukkur!”

Rolf flinched, astonished by her outburst.

Ika rose and stomped away across the den to her sleeping mat, where she threw herself down and lay facing the wall with her back to the fire.

“Ika…”

She didn’t answer. She was ashamed of herself, ashamed for letting her emotions get out of control. Ashamed of her eyes that leaked and the stupid high-pitched sound of her voice, so much smaller and weaker than Rolf’s.

Thankfully, Rolf seemed to understand that she needed to be left alone for now. Or maybe he just didn’t know what to say to her. She could hear him adding another log to the fire, then settling down on his own mat.

As she lay there, with a painful feeling stabbing at her heart, an idea entered Ika’s mind.

It would be dark soon. After Rolf had fallen asleep, she would sneak out of the cave and follow the tracks of the other ukkur in the snow. Surely they must be camped somewhere nearby. Then she would get a good look at them.

It would be the first time she disobeyed Rolf.

But if she was very careful, he would never know.

CHAPTER 5

That scent.

What b’gods was that scent?

Thusar leaned back against a boulder and contemplated this question. He and his pack brothers had made their camp for the night in a small clearing deep within the forest. They had a fine fire blazing now. The flames cast golden light and jumping shadows against the backdrop of snow-covered trees that surrounded them. The chilly air was filled with the pleasant aroma of charred wood and roasting krelk meat.

But those smells could not erase the scent that clung to Thusar’s sinuses like glue.

That crazy old bastard Rolf was hiding something up there in his cave. Thusar was sure of it.

That old hermit had always been a cagey one, for as long as Thusar could remember. Most free ukkur preferred to live together in packs as Thusar and his companions did. It was practical for hunting and defense, and it was nice to have friends to pass the time with. But old Rolf didn’t think that way. Apparently the old coot was content up there on his mountain all by himself. Every year, Thusar and his pack would stop by on their yearly migrations, and every year Rolf would greet them. But the hermit would never invite them into his den, and he was rarely interested in trading.

Today’s visit, however, had been different.

This time Thusar had caught a whiff of that scent, and now it was all he could think about.

He glanced around at his companions. If they had caught the scent too, they gave no sign of it now.

Gunnar was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire testing out a new, better method of binding stone arrowheads to the shaft. He stroked his sandy brown beard and studied his handiwork with intense focus, then shook his head with dissatisfaction, and took it all apart again. Gunnar was the smartest of the pack, and the quietest too. He was often lost in his thoughts.

Then there were Slaine and Muk.

Those two were the best friends among the pack, which was funny because their personalities were the most different.

With his blond hair and laughing eyes, Muk was the youngest of the group. He was always quick with a joke.

Slaine on the other hand never spoke. He was half-mad and terrible at following orders, but he was loyal and fierce in battle.

But Muk had a knack for keeping Slaine entertained, usually with a violent sparring match, which is what the two ukkur were engaged in at the moment, pummeling each other with brutal punches and kicks.

To an outsider, it would look like a fight to the death, but for Slaine and Muk it was all in good fun.

“Give up, skrik-breath?” Muk sneered after a particularly crushing blow had sent his opponent reeling.

Slaine bared his fangs in a bloody grin.

He charged, dropping his shoulder into Muk’s solar plexus, and the two sparring ukkur tumbled to the ground, sending up a spray of snow that spattered a very annoyed Gunnar.