Winter in Eden

Before we go you will be shown how to use the hèsotsan, to hunt and to fish. And when I return from the north I will come for you. Meanwhile all you have to do is stay alive." They trembled with fear. "A female could do it," he added maliciously.
    Ortnar cut branches with his knife to make a shelter, then cut poles to place them upon. The two Yilanè watched him with great interest.
    "I could do that as well, even better," Nadaske said. "Ustuzou hands are clumsy, not enough thumbs."
    "Try it then," Kerrick said, passing over his flint knife. Ortnar saw the motion and jumped away from them, his own knife ready before him. Kerrick sighed.
    Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    "Ortnar—it is only fit that they build their own shelter. I think your skills would be better used if you took your death-stick and hunted some fresh meat for us."
    "That I will do," Ortnar said, happy to be away from them. Nadaske and Imehei were equally pleased when he left.
    "Waxy-uncommunicative," Imehei said. "And I fear the stone tooth on the stick."
    "He is hunting for us—so let us finish this work. Take my stone tooth and cut more branches. We will use them to finish the shelter. But first I will show you the secrets of the hèsotsan so you will be able to defend yourselves and kill fresh meat. There are fish and shellfish in the lake and they will be easy to catch—if you know how."
    Kerrick finished the instruction on the hèsotsan well before the hunter returned, knowing that Ortnar would have reacted strongly if he had seen the Yilanè holding weapons. They were hidden out of sight in the completed shelter before Kerrick issued his final instructions.
    "Only use the preserved meat when there is no fresh meat or fish, since there is not a big enough supply to last very long."
    "Pain-in-hands, fatigue-of-body," Nadaske signed. Imehei flashed palm colors in agreement. Kerrick controlled his temper.
    "Forceful-demand for all of your attention. You must do as I have said—or you will die of starvation. A slow death as the flesh wastes away, the skin hangs in loose folds, the teeth decay and drop out…"
    Nadaske's wail of agony and movements of submission meant he had their attention.
    "That won't happen if you are wise, for there is plenty of game about. Your biggest danger may be the female Yilanè who will find you unless you take precautions." He had their wide-eyed and silent attention now. "You know of the birds that fly and return with pictures. So keep under cover as much as you can—and look out for the large birds. When the boughs on the shelter die replace them with fresh ones.
    Do these things, and you will not be found and returned to the hanalè—and the beaches."
    Kerrick and Ortnar left at dawn, the two Yilanè watching their departure with widened, fright-filled eyes.
    Yet they were here by choice. Kerrick had done what he could for them, supplied them with food and weapons. He hoped that they would learn how to hunt before the preserved meat ran out. If it did, they at least had a choice the Tanu did not. They could return to their own. Enough. He had done what he could for them. Now he would think of himself and the long trek ahead of them. Think of Armun somewhere in the north, somewhere there. Alive.
    The lake and the shelter vanished behind them, hidden by a curve in the trail.
    Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    efenabbu kakhalabbu hanefensat sathanaptè.
    This Ugunenapsa said.
    Life is the balance of death, just as sea is the balance of sky. If one kills life—then one kills oneself.
    Enge had woven a shelter for herself from the broad leaves of the palms, then had secured it between the tree trunks to protect her from the nightly storms. The rainy season had begun here on the coast of Entoban* and the ground under the trees never dried out. To keep off the damp she had also made a platform of branches and was sitting on this now, facing out into the sun-filled clearing. Large and colorful dragonflies, each as long as her arm, drifted through the air before her—yet she did not see them.
    She was looking instead inside herself, at her memories of Ugunenapsa's words, at the multilayered truths behind their apparent simplicities. She had water in a gourd from the nearby stream, as well as food that her followers had brought from the city. She needed nothing else—not when she had the words to examine. She was grateful for this opportunity for uninterrupted meditation, day after warm day, and