Winter in Eden

Paramutan way. Endless conversation, interrupted only by quick mouthfuls of blubber and rotten meat, was the only manner in which to settle important matters. When the meat in one paukarut began to run out the conference was moved to another one. People came and went, some even fell asleep, and when they returned or woke up, they had to be told what had happened in the interim so even more discussion was needed.
    Yet the decision had been made. Most of the ikkergaks would cross the ocean to catch ularuaq. But this was a long voyage and they would not be back until the end of autumn, might even have to wait until next spring, and food would be needed in the paukaruts before then. There were fish that could be found in the coastal waters here—so it was decided that one ikkergak would venture south to see what could be caught there, while at the same time it would carry the Erqigdlit visitors back to their own land. This was something new and exciting and all of the Paramutan wanted to go, but they also accepted the fact that Kalaleq would command the ikkergak since he was the one who had the foresight to bring the Erqigdlit here in the first place.
    Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    Once the decision had been made no time was wasted. The ice was beginning to break up as the sun warmed and the days grew longer. The summer would be short—then winter would be upon them once again. With almost unseemly haste, after the protracted deliberations, supplies were struggled out to the ikkergaks. They were stowed aboard and one by one, with much shouting and laughter—long faces and tears would guarantee bad luck on the voyage—the vessels got under way. Angajorqaq hid when their ikkergak was ready to leave, but Armun stopped them from sailing and went back to find her hiding under the furs in the rear of the paukarut.
    "You are being foolish," Armun said, using her knuckle to wipe the tears from the brown fur of the other woman's face.
    "That is why I hid from you."
    "Among the Erqigdlit it is a sign of good fortune to be unhappy when someone leaves."
    "You are strange people and I do not want you to go."
    "We must. But we will return soon."
    Angajorqaq's eyes widened and she whistled softly, a sign of great respect. "You must be able to see through the ice and through snow and into tomorrow if you say that. I did not know."
    Armun had not known herself—the words had just come as naturally as talking about something sure and certain, Her mother had been able to do that, lift the darkness of night a little and see tomorrow before anyone else could. Perhaps she could do that herself. She patted Angajorqaq's face, stood and left her.
    The ikkergak was waiting, and they all shouted for her to run—and she did. Arnwheet jumping up and down happily and Harl shouting. Even Ortnar looked pleased. Only Kerrick still had the black expression that had captured his features ever since the decision to leave had been made. He tried to control it, to smile and to talk lightly, but he never succeeded for long. The look was always close by, ready to return.
    At night Armun could make him forget the future for awhile when he held her—but in the morning it always came back.
    Until the voyage south began. The novelty of being at sea in the ikkergak kept his mind and his body occupied, for it was like nothing he had ever seen or experienced in his life before. Crossing the ocean in an uruketo had been completely different, trapped in a living, leathery compartment with smells and stinks and constant semidarkness, nothing to see, nothing to do. The ikkergak could not have been more different. Now they moved over the sea, not under it, sea-birds crying out, winging close, with the creaking of the ikkergak's structure all about as the big sail was spread and they rode before the fresh wind. Here he was not a stupefied passenger but played an active role in the ikkergak's passage. There was always water to be pumped out and he never tired of working the handle and watching the gush of clear water over the side. He puzzled over it, but never quite understood the mystery. It had something to do with the air, like the popping toy, but just exactly what he was never sure. It did not matter—it was Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    enough to know that with a pull of his arm he could lift water from below his feet and send it back into the ocean.
    Setting sail was less of a mystery. He could feel the wind on his face, saw it fill the leather sail,