Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
She giggles at my words and shakes her head, indicating her own heavy furs. Then she points at a male walking past with his female. He is one of the four-armed strangers with blue skin and very small horns. He wears nothing but a vest and leggings, whereas the female at his side is heavily bundled like Tia.
Then she points down the way, where the golden-skinned male stands and stretches, completely naked. The male yawns and scratches his gut, then his backside, before wandering away.
I look over at Tia, who rolls her eyes in the amused way that others do when one of the old uncles does something foolish.
“It is different for all, then?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment and then nods. Then she takes my hand and gestures back at the cliffs behind us, and I let her lead me away. Tia brings me to a group of people seated near a large fire with a pot over it. There is not enough warmth coming off of the fire to ease the cold, but it is clear from the cluster of people chatting and eating that this is not the purpose. This is a cooking spot, a gathering place much like the one in our village. It makes sense, as many mouths can be fed with less work and less meat. I am given a bowl with a hot, warm stew of fish and strange roots, and a hot tea to drink. We sit together on a large flat stone near the fire, but Tia does not engage the others in conversation. She is friendly enough, but it is clear she is here for food alone.
I watch the others as I eat, noting the many children—both male and female—that race around the gathering. I watch them for sickness, too, but everyone seems to be healthy, their cheeks flushed with vigor. The tribe seems to be made of many that look different. Some are of the same people as Tia, whereas others are the blue strangers I have been warned of in the past. Then there is the gold one, who has something to do with the great golden beast we saw before. And there is a green one with scales.
I do not know what kind of people he is, nor the big gray male that they call “Gren.” He is like nothing I have seen before. In some ways he is similar to my people and yet very, very different.
I wonder also at how many they have here, but it will probably seem troubling to ask. Better to ask Tia in a quiet moment.
We finish our food and rinse our bowls and cups, and Tia takes a moment to thank the male and female who cooked it, and then she grabs me by the hand again and takes me back to her hut. She pulls out a short, fat bone with a pointed end and hands one to me, then takes one for herself.
And then she directs me onto the sands and towards the waters that roar and roar. For the first time since emerging from her hut, I get a good look at them. The waters back home in the underground lake are calm and still. They move up and down throughout the day, like a pot being filled, but they do not tumble in constantly like this water. It rushes toward the sands repeatedly, only to taper off and retreat, and then repeats the exact same motions again. It is the source of the constant roar I hear.
Just like the cold, the sight of the water is overwhelming. It stretches for as far as I can see on both sides of the horizon, and when I peer out, I cannot see the other side. “How far does this go?” I ask Tia, stunned. “I cannot see the other side.”
“Verrafar,” she tells me, gesturing and indicating that it keeps going and going, well beyond our sight. I have never seen so much water in all my life, and yet I have grown up fishing the underground lake. Yet this…this is completely different.
Once again, the world above shocks me with how strange it is.
I must wear my shock on my face, as Tia takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. While holding the stick, she tries to mime the tap on her chin. “S’okay.”
I nod. She is here with me, and I am reassured. This is not something to be feared, if their people live this close to the wild, constantly moving waters. It must be a source of food for them. Are the waters sweet, then, I wonder. They churn like a sludgy porridge, large chunks of white and a strange pale grit covering them. More frozen water that falls from the sky, I realize. A massive piece the size of a mountain drifts by far off in the distance, floating atop the waters, and I stare at it in fascination.