Soon winter was gone and the two old women spent more time hunting game. They feasted on the feisty little squirrels that bolted from tree to tree and on the flocks of willow grouse that seemed to be everywhere.
With the warm days of spring came the time for muskrat hunting. The women long ago had been tutored in the skills and patience required. First, special nets and traps had to be made. A willow branch was bent into a circle and bound securely at the ends. The women wove thin strips of moose leather into the frames until each formed a crude but sturdy net. Then, on a sunny day, they set out in search of a muskrat tunnel.
They walked a long way before they came to a cluster of lakes with signs of muskrat life. They picked out a lake with little black lumps of muskrat houses still showing on the rotting ice. After locating the muskrat tunnel, the women marked each end of the underground pathway with a stick. When the stick moved, it meant a muskrat was coming through the tunnel and when it emerged from the opening, one of the women would snatch it with her net and end its life with a blow to the head. The first day, the women caught ten muskrats. But they were worn out by the stress of bending down and waiting, so the walk back to camp seemed long.
The spring days brought little time to talk or to reflect on the past as the women kept busy catching more muskrats and some beavers, all of which were smoke-dried for preservation. Their days were so full they hardly took time to eat, and at night they slept deeply. When they decided they had caught more than their share of muskrat and beaver, they packed everything and hauled it back to their main camp.
Still, the women felt vulnerable. The area was rich in animal life now, and they felt in time other people might come. Normally, other people meant their own kind. But since being left behind on that cold winter day, the women felt defenseless against the younger generation and had lost trust that they knew they never could regain. Now, suspicion left them wary of what might happen if anyone were to come upon them and find their growing store of food. They talked about what they should do, and in time they agreed they should move to a place less desirable—a place other people would not wish to explore, perhaps a place where it would be hard to manage the mighty swarms of summer insects.
The women did not relish having to face the many blood-thirsty mosquitoes that awaited them in the thick willow bushes and trees. But their fear of people was greater. So they packed all they had and began the unpleasant trek to the hiding place. They decided to work in the heat of the day when mosquitoes seemed to hide. At night, they sat near a smoky fire to protect themselves. It took days to transfer the camp, but at last, the women stood by the creek and took one last look around, wishing a wind would blow away any hints of their presence.
Before deciding to move, the women had torn large amounts of birch bark from the trees. Now they recognized their mistake. Although by habit they took pieces of bark from trees spaced far apart, the women knew that any alert eye would take notice of this detail. But they also knew that nothing could be done about it, and in resignation they left the camp for their less desirable place within the thickets.
The two women spent the remaining days of spring trying to make their new camp more hospitable. They put up their shelters under the deep shade of tall spruce trees and hidden among many willows. Then they found a cool spot where they dug a deep hole that they lined with willows. There, they laid their large cache of dried meat for the summer. They also placed a few traps atop the ground to scare off any sharpnosed predators. The mosquitoes were everywhere, and as they worked, the women relied on long-used methods of shielding themselves to keep from being eaten alive. They hung leather tassles around their faces and their thick clothing to keep the small insects from biting into their skin. When it seemed as if they would be carried away, the women covered their skin with muskrat grease to repel the masses of flying pests. Meanwhile, they charted a small hidden path to the creek where they got their water and, with summer nearly upon them, made their fish traps. Once the traps were set, the women had no trouble catching fish and found they had to move nearer to the creek to keep up with the task of cutting and drying. In time, a bear began helping himself to the fish the women had stored. This worried them, but in time they reached an unusual agreement with the bear. They carried the fish guts far from the camp where the greedy bear could laze about and eat at his leisure.
Too soon, the sun lay orange and cool on the evening horizon, and the women knew summer was dwindling. About this time, the spawning salmon began to find their way up the little creek, much to the women’s pleasure, and for a short while they were busy with the reddish fish meat. The bear disappeared from the area, but still the women disposed of fish innards far down the creek. If the bear did not eat them, the ever-present ravens would devour them soon enough. The women also were frugal, and they preserved many inside parts of the fish for other uses. For instance, the salmon intestines could be used for containing water, and the skin was fashioned into round bags to hold dried fish. These tasks kept them so busy they were up from early morning until late at night, and before they knew it, the short Arctic summer passed, and fall crept upon them.
When the season changed, the women retired from fishing and hauled their large supply back to the hidden camp. There they found a new problem. They had collected so much fish that there was no place to store it, and with the approaching winter there was no shortage of small animals searching for winter food. Eventually, the women made standing caches for their fish, and they placed great bundles of thorns and brush beneath them to discourage animals from bothering the fish. Perhaps this method worked, or perhaps it was just their luck, but animals kept away from their caches.
Far behind the camp was a low hill that the women had not had time to explore. One day, with their summer hunting finished, Sa’ found herself wondering what bounties might lie on that hill or around it. So she took her spear and bow and the arrows the women had made, announcing that she would visit the hill. Ch’idzigyaak did not approve but could see that her friend would not be deterred.
“Just keep the fire going, and your spear nearby, and you should be safe,” Sa’ said as she set out, leaving Ch’idzigyaak behind shaking her head in disapproval.
It was a day of abandon for Sa’. She felt lighthearted for the first time in more years than she could remember, and like a child, she grasped greedily at the feeling. The day was beautiful. The leaves were turning a brilliant gold and the air was crisp and clear as Sa’ all but skipped along an animal trail. From a distance, one would not be able to see that Sa’ was an older woman, for she looked lithe and energetic. When she reached the top, she gasped in surprise. Before her lay vast patches of cranberries. Sa’ dropped to her knees and began to scoop handfuls of the small red fruit, stuffing them into her mouth. As she gorged on this delicious food, a movement in the nearby brush made her freeze instantly.
Slowly, Sa’ forced herself to look toward the sound, imagining the worst. She relaxed when she saw that it was only a bull moose. Then she remembered that this time of year a bull moose could be the most fearful animal on four legs. Usually timid, the bull moose in his rutting stage was no longer afraid of man or of anything else that moved or stood in his way.
The moose remained still for a long time as if he were just as surprised and undecided about the small woman who stood before him as she had been about him. As her pulse slowed almost to normal, Sa’ imagined the delectable taste of moosemeat during the long winter months ahead. In another moment of unthinking craziness, she reached for an arrow from her pack and placed it in her bow. The moose’s ears flipped forward at the movement, then it turned and ran in the opposite direction just as the arrow landed harmlessly on the soft ground.
Pressing her fate, Sa’ followed. She could not run as strongly as when she was young, but with something that looked more like a limp than a jog, Sa’ was able to pursue the large animal. A moose can outrun a human any time unless, of course, there is too much snow. But on a snowless day like this, the moose sprinted far ahead as Sa’, gasping for breath, barely caught a glimpse of his large hind-end disappearing behind the brush. The big bull stopped many times, almost as if he were playing a game with Sa’, and just when she almost caught up, he would saunter far ahead once more. Normally, a moose will run as far as he can from any predator. But today, the moose did not feel much like running, nor did he feel threatened, so the old woman was able to keep him in sight. She was stubborn and would not give up, although she knew that she was outmatched. By late afternoon, the moose seemed to grow tired of the game as he watched her from the corner of his dark round eyes, and with one flip of his ear he began to run faster. Only then did Sa’ admit to herself that there was no way she could catch it. She stared at the empty brush in defeat. Slowly she turned back, thinking to herself, “If only I were forty years younger, I might have caught him.”
It was late that night when Sa’ returned to the camp where her friend kept watch by a large campfire. As Sa’ sank wearily into a bundle of spruce boughs, Ch’idzigyaak could not help but blurt out, “I think many more years were taken from me while I worried for you.” Despite the admonishment in her voice, Ch’idzigyaak was deeply relieved that no harm had come to her friend.
Knowing that she had been foolish, Sa’ understood what her friend had been through and she felt ashamed. Ch’idzigyaak handed her a bowl of warm fish meat and Sa’ ate slowly. When a little of her strength returned, Sa’ told Ch’idzigyaak how she spent the day. Ch’idzigyaak smiled as she envisioned her friend chasing the long-legged bull, but she did not smile too broadly for it was not in her nature to laugh at others. Sa’ was grateful for that, and then, remembering the cranberries, told her friend about the great find and they both were cheered.
It took a few days for Sa’ to recover from her adventure with the moose, so the two old women sat still and wove birch bark into large round bowls. Then they went back to the hill and gathered as many berries as they could carry. By that time, autumn was upon them and the nights became chillier, reminding the women that there was no time to waste in gathering their winter wood supply.
They piled wood high around their cache and shelter, and when they cleared all the wood from the area around the camp, they walked far back into the forest, packing in more bundles of wood on their backs. This went on until snowflakes fell from the sky, and one day the women awoke to a land shrouded in white. Now that winter was near, the women spent more time inside their shelter by the warm fire. Their days seemed easier now that they were prepared.
Soon the women fell into a daily routine of collecting wood, checking rabbit snares, and melting snow for water. They sat evenings by the campfire, keeping each other company. During the months past, the women were too busy to think about what had happened to them, and if the thought did cross their minds, they blocked it out. But now that they had nothing else to do in the evenings, those unwelcome thoughts kept coming back until soon each woman began to talk less as each stared thoughtfully into the small fire. They felt it was a taboo to think of those who had abandoned them, but now the treacherous thoughts invaded their minds.
The darkness grew longer, and the land became silent and still. It took much concentration for the two women to fill their long days with work. They made many articles of rabbit-fur clothing such as mittens, hats, and face coverings. Yet, despite this, they felt a great loneliness slowly enclose them.