Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
AIDY
I'm so grateful for the chance to sit down for a while. Corvak hands the bag and the dead animals off to me, so I decide to start cooking. One of the snow-people comes forward with handfuls of roots, offering them with a little bow. It makes me uncomfortable to see how they're acting like worshippers, but it just emphasizes that I need to learn their language so we can communicate better. I start a fire—not the easiest task even with a fire-starting flint—and set up the cooking tripod and the smooth, hand-sized stones I use for heating the water.
It's hard for me to butcher the meat. I have to pause several times, gagging, but I manage to get the hides off and the organs out of the carcass. The whole thing goes into the pot, and when someone creeps up to snatch the discarded organs, I let them. It turns into another fight between two juvenile males, complete with hissing and snarling and angry hoots. One of the females steps in fearlessly and slaps each one on the back of the head, and the fight ends as quickly as it began. They slink off with their prizes, and I kick a bit of snow over the butchering spot.
I roll the skins up because I'm not sure what else to do with them, and then move to the edge of the water (all the reed piranhas are gone, thank goodness), and wash my hands. As I do, the female lingers nearby, watching me and my hands, a puzzled expression in her large, unblinking eyes. She reminds me a bit of an owl. The female gestures at my hands again, and I realize she thinks I'm trying to say something. "Oh. I'm just washing," I tell her, and mime cleaning myself. "Wash."
Her expression remains blank. Maybe…they don't wash? I don't know. The smell of them indicates that they don't, but what do I know of their people? Seems kinda mean to assume. Then again, I look at the dirt crusted on her fur, the food stains near her mouth, and wonder if I'm not far off the mark.
"Wash?" I ask, and flick my hands in the water again, then rub my arm. "Wash?"
She makes the hand gesture for confusion.
Right, well, maybe I should start with communicating about basic things before I move on to hygiene. If it hasn't killed her yet, I guess she can stay smelly for a few more days. I move back to the fire and use some of the long, clean bones we'd taken from the supply den to carefully move a hot rock from the coals and into the bag. "Cook," I say, and make a stirring motion with my hand above the pot. I'm going to try adding hand signals to my words in the hopes of us communicating faster. "Cook."
She mimics my motions and then makes the "eat" gesture near her mouth.
"Yes!" I'm excited at the progress. Now we're getting somewhere. "Cook to eat!"
She hoots with excitement, then covers her beak as if she's done something naughty, and I laugh.
For the rest of the afternoon, I cook soup to feed everyone and work on words with Pinkie. Her name gesture is a subtle tap of her pinky finger to her beak, so Pinkie she is. Pinkie picks up words as quickly as I give them, and I learn some of their gestures, too. I've never been good at languages in the past (at least I don't think so) but something about this seems…easy. Obvious. It's like I've been given a superpower to grasp their language suddenly. After a few hours, I'm able to start stringing together gestures to talk with Pinkie and some of the other women.
I can't help but notice that I've been left by the fire to cook for the men—the females only eat roots, so I'm basically cooking for the guys. It feels downright sexist, and I add it to my list of grievances to complain to Corvak about. It's going to go right below the whole "You belong to me" thing I need to talk to him about. For now, though, people are getting fed and my feet are no longer throbbing like hot coals, so I'll do a bit of cooking.
Two more snow-people arrive, these two scrawnier and filthier than the others. They hoot loudly as they approach, until Pinkie makes the "quiet" gesture to them. Quiet. Food. No quiet, no food.
They immediately go silent, crouching nearby and watching the food get ladled out.
I pinch my fingers together, almost like a shadow puppet of a duck, in the symbol that means family. Pinkie family? I ask, gesturing at the two newbies. I don't recognize them, but that doesn't mean they haven't been here. Their dirt patterns might have changed (sadly that's the best way for me to tell them apart).