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At last some rays of sun broke through the darkness. Keme crawled out and looked around. From the position of the sun, he could tell he was on the east side of the river. If only he could tell if he was north or south of the old camp site. There were no signs of anyone, except a deer. It lifted its head and paused, looking at him as if it knew him. It lingered, then went off as if Keme was no threat at all. His head pounded from lack of sleep and no food.
Keme needed clothes and took his father’s leggings and tunic, hanging them on a branch to dry. Without knowing how close he might be to anyone, native or outlander, he couldn’t try to start a fire, so he dug with his hands and sticks for hours, determined that his father would have a decent burial. As he worked, the day warmed up. Keme pulled his father’s body into the shallow hole and covered it with dirt and leaves. He could only imagine the lies Chapa was telling the others at this very moment.
All he wanted to do was sit by the grave and stare, but he remembered his father had said they had to get back and not let Chapa lead the tribe to ruin. His father wouldn’t want him trying to find Leotie, but Keme couldn’t rest until he knew what happened to her. He was in no condition to hike in the wrong direction. He needed food, water and supplies before starting out, but he found it difficult to get moving – the shock of losing Leotie and now his father filled his thoughts with rage.
Stop whining and get up. You have work to do.
Keme chuckled at imagining his father speaking. For so long he had hated how his father barked orders at him, and now he was gone and Keme longed to hear his voice again, even if it meant being scolded.
He stood on tired legs, but pushed on and explored the area, looking for flint and rocks to mold. Keme needed a spear and a bow, and worked all day gathering twine and making arrow heads. As he worked, he also looked for a place to build a shelter. Keme dreaded the idea of another dark and possibly wet night. The shelter needed to blend in with the forest in case he ever had to hide. He found a group of small trees, collected long sticks and wound them to hold bigger sticks together, then used pieces of bark for a roof.
Keme also made a spear out of tough stick. Before going down to the river, he checked in all directions. It was clear. He waded in and, having done this many times, soon had a large fish. Keme took it back to the shelter, got the fire going and put the meat on a stick and cooked it. Bit by bit he ate the fish and worked on his bow. At least it was summer time and he didn’t have to worry about freezing to death.
After a long day Keme huddled in his shelter, still without a blanket. Daylight just didn’t last long enough. He couldn’t stand being damp in the dark for another night and, against common sense, lit a fire again. A light breeze pushed the heat his way, and it felt too good to put it out. He tried to plan for the next day. With the bow done, he could kill a deer and use the hide; although tanning without good tools was going to be difficult.
As he lay on a pile of bark and leaves, he couldn’t see this as any sort of life. His eyelids slowly shut. Keme tried to get his mind off things by imagining himself hiding in a tree and aiming for Chapa’s head.
