Tor's head swirled with thoughts as he stumbled down the blood spotted snow trail he had left coming up the mountain. He could no longer feel anything below his knees, but the cold wind and snow, now on his back, was more tolerable. What to do? What would he do? First things first; he had to get warm. Tor had  to find the cache. But the landscape had changed. The snow made it look different from when he came through with his father two moons earlier.

But Tor had been taught by Tsen well and had come this way twice before. He saw the cliff on his left just as the snow stopped and the rain began, and veered off the trail on the slippery leaves uphill again to where the cliff reached the lower slopes of the mountain. Here, a few minutes later, he came upon the time-tested small cave that Thal raiders had used for as long as stories told to stash their high pass heavy clothing, implements and weapons… Even sometimes, food.

Tor carefully removed the rocks and the ancient log that concealed the hiding place. A musty smell greeted him. He would have to travel heavy, not only for himself, but for the girls, if they were to survive cold weather. He found suitable boots, shook them out to remove any vermin, and then put them on his bleeding feet. They immediately felt better, warmer. He found a bearskin cap like the old man wore, and put it on. Once again, immediately feeling warmer. He gathered two smaller hoods and boots made for captives for going over the passes and stuffed them in a bag. And then, he found a heavy winter coat that his dad wore, and put it on. He slung the bag over his shoulder with his bow under one arm and arrows and fire making equipment in the bag.

The stop to gather his breath at a lower and warmer, if still raining, elevation had energized and warmed him. Tor left the cache open and, weighed down by the load, started off with regret for his next stop. The camp where his father and the others lay dead. As he worked his way down the slope, careful not to slip on the wet leaves, Tor kept trying to think what he would do when he got there. He had to plan. His father had done all the planning before and all he had to do was follow. He had to think of what to do next and not make any mistakes. His survival depended upon it. No one was there to help him if he failed.

Tor arrived to find crows already on the bodies. They were pecking away at the eyes of Org and Hath as he yelled loudly and scared them away. Wolves, bears and other predators would arrive soon. Crows giving their distinctive calls not only brought in other crows, but were a signal to all that there was fresh meat to be had, already dead.

When he arrived at his father's side, Tor took Tsen's bloody headband and retied it tightly over his eyes, all the while, crying as he did, apologizing. "Dad, I know if I had been here, I could've saved you all. I'm a light sleeper and would've heard someone coming into camp. If it's any consolation, I killed the old man who did this." All his words met were silence, deadly silence now that the crows were gone.

By that time, Tor was crying so much his eyes were smarting from the salt in them and he had to admit to himself that there was nothing more that he could do. He took his father's flint axe and obsidian blade and put them in his bag. Leaving the bag behind, he gathered up possessions from the men and made two trips back to the cache to store them away. These tools and weapons took too long to make and were too valuable just to leave with the bodies for scavengers to find. Each time when he came back, the crows were back, pecking away, opening gaping wounds in the already, stiffening bodies.

The campfire had long died out in the rain, so there was no retrieving embers for him to use to make fire the following night. Tor took one last look at the massacre scene that one man had done, and started back down the trail to find the girls. But before he did, he had to make one more stop.

The sun came out, momentarily. It was past the zenith. The day was halfway through and he had to find the girls before dark. Up ahead, he saw it where he had thrown it off… the buck. The crows had all settled on the massacre site so there were no varmints when Tor came upon it. There was no way that he could carry that deer, even as young and strong as he was. Now warmer and stronger at this lower altitude. The feeling in his legs and feet were back. He could even feel the rocks underneath through the deerskin boots.

With his father's obsidian blade, he quickly cut through the buck's hide and skinned it. With the help of the girls, it would make a nice cover for night. Then, he cut the two hindquarters off the deer, cut the tendons at the knee and broke the legs and hooves free… Casting them aside, he took a strong leather strap and tied the two knees together.

Finally, he found a tree next to the trail, and tied the deer's remains from a branch so that anyone coming along the trail would see it, and perhaps, need the meat. The bears were hibernating soon and would probably find it first. He took the heart, tongue and liver and put them in his bag. He would eat some of it raw if he couldn't get a fire started that night.

It took some doing to sling the two hindquarters around his neck to hang on either side in front and then get the bag, overly heavy, on top of the greatcoat of his father. Already, he was sweating. But it was better than being cold and wet. He was just wet and steaming from exertion. Tor staggered  at first under the heavy load, but soon found his gait on the well-worn trail. He knew the girls were up ahead. They wouldn't leave the trail. It was the only way that they would get back home. To stay on that trail no matter what. Tor was counting on it. 

Copyright 2019 © Ronald W. Hull

6/16/19