Kim Robinson - Shaman

The fire was fine, and he placed another log on it and went out again in the other direction. Downstream, Lower Valley deepened but did not get wider, and its east ridge gapped where Lower’s Upper dropped into it. Lower’s Upper was a higher canyon leading northeast. Where the east ridge rose again, beyond that gap, a tall rock called the Skelk’s Antler overlooked a short broad cliff. Below the cliff a steep forested slope dropped to Lower Valley creek, still mostly snow-floored.

Loon headed down to the confluence of Lower Creek and Lower’s Upper, where a little frozen flat above an alder brake might have something interesting on it. There would surely be tracks.

A crashing among the trees on the slope froze him in place, and he was perfectly still when a young doe burst out of the trees up there, pursued by two brown bears. The doe had a broken rear left shank, and three-pointed down the slope slower than usual. The lead bear on the other hand ran downhill with startling speed, and caught up to the doe and knocked her to the ground and went for the throat like a wolf. Loon had seen other bears bite down on the back of the neck, like a cat. But bears would do anything. They were almost like humans in that way, which made sense, given that they had been human in the old time. And they still looked human: big dangerous people in furs.

Loon stayed still, watched the first bear take a few bites of the deer’s throat and lick up the blood. Loon’s mouth was watering as he watched. The deer was still shuddering through its death; bears had no regard for propriety when it came to that.

Then the other bear attacked the first one from behind. Two young males, Loon saw, now fighting, mostly with ferocious snarls and swipes that did no damage. It looked like the continuation of some ongoing fight. They were totally oblivious to anything else, so Loon threw his two rocks at them, and hit both. They were startled by the sudden pain out of nowhere and ran off together into the trees without looking around. After that it sounded like they were fighting each other still.

Loon ran hard to the deer, completely intent and trying to see in all directions at once. He surely didn’t have much time before the bears came back, or someone else came along. None of the rocks lying around had edges sharp enough to skin the deer, and the first bear had only gotten started on eating it. He pulled the body onto its belly with its legs splayed out, and with a Thank you began to hammer at the rear hips with one of his throwing rocks, soon enough breaking the hip, then separating the leg from spine, and cutting skin and ligaments, smashing the joint apart with the idea that he could carry away a leg if he had to flee. For sure the smell of blood was on the wind, which was blowing upcanyon.

He was still pounding away at the deer’s hip, but it was not quite free, when a movement upslope caught his eye. It was worse than bad; three lion women were there in the trees, approaching in their easy padding way.

Loon leaped out of the little clearing and ran doubled over between trees, up the other side of the canyon and over some boulders, where he threw himself flat and tried to catch his breath without gasping.

The lions had stopped at the deer and were sniffing it as they looked around. They knew the deer had just been killed. Loon picked up two more rocks under him. If he could get back to his fire, he could probably hold these lions off, although if they saw he was alone it would be difficult, if they wanted him; they were very good at assessing their chances in any possible hunt, and would know they could kill him if they didn’t care about first taking some punishment from thrown rocks. Lion women would run right into a rain of rocks if the notion took them. Hopefully the dead deer would take their attention, take the edge off their hunger.

He crawled for a while on the two held rocks and his toes, like a lizard. When he was far enough away to stay out of their sight when standing, he got up and ran as quickly and quietly as he could to his fire.

It was still burning well, banked down but ready to light any wood thrown on it. He threw on branches of all sizes to generate a quick burn, also to prepare some torches for a better defense.

That done, he hustled back toward the kill site, but on a traverse that took him above it. An open snowy stretch on this slope gave him a view down to the little flat and the lions.

The deer was now substantially eaten, but what remained would still be a feast to Loon, and the skin and bones very useful too. He had to be like a raven, if he could, and shit on them until they abandoned the remains, while not getting swatted out of the sky. So he slipped down the slope toward them, completely on point, skin tingling, the whole valley present to him, everything looking fine-edged and particular, as if he had become a hawk. Boulders glowed with light from within, and trees quivered and hummed on the breeze, which still flowed upcanyon.

The lions, each one as big as a small bear, now lolled by the remains of the deer, cleaning their bloody muzzles with their paws like any other cat. Lions with full bellies could be driven off a kill by a rain of rocks, but usually this was done by several men also holding spears. A single man was different. The lions might decide such a presumptuous fool would make a good dessert, when they wouldn’t have bothered if they weren’t being annoyed. So it was important to gauge their mood and the bulk of their bellies, now splayed beside them like pale tan water bags. Loon stopped behind a fallen tree and watched for a while. The lions were big and beautiful, glowing with the magical presence they always had—immense cats, the same in form as the little ones that hung around camp, except these biggest ones, as heavy as two or three men, ran in packs like wolves. That was an awesome combination, terrifying in what it meant for any other creature. Beautiful gods wandering the world, hunter gods who feared nothing.

A rock of the right size, thrown hard and striking the head, was a terrible blow, especially coming from well above. But it was more likely he would hit them in the body, if he hit them at all. Would they then slope off, hurt and affronted, or would they charge to kill the nuisance? This was not a question he could get wrong.

For a long time he waited and watched the lion women groom themselves. Certainly they were among the most beautiful of animals, one of the nine sacred creatures, and how could it be otherwise? What living creature could be more godlike, with their indolent grace and murderous power, their feline wolfishness? The way they looked around with their black tear streaks dripping away from their eyes like festival paint; the way their gaze would come to rest on you, and you would quail and shrink; no, there was nothing like it. They could kill anything they wanted to.

This time, one of them got up after a while and wandered down to the creek to drink, and the others followed. Thus they were now some distance away. Loon judged the distance sufficient, and dashed down and chopped free the sad remnant of the leg he had intended to take originally, also with a great two-handed blow he severed the chewed head, then he grabbed both up and ran back up the canyon all the way to his fire, fast enough to sweat and gasp most of the way. When he got to his camp his heart was pounding hard.

He built up his fire again, and through the rest of that day and well into the dusk, he chopped and pulled the skin and ligaments away from the deer’s leg, roasting and eating scraps of meat as he worked. When the leg was completely broken down, he moved on to the head, and feasted on the remnant of the tongue, the brains, the fat pads behind the eyes, and the jaw meat. The leg skin and its bone and ligaments he took down to the stream and washed, working by the light of the bowl moon, third night of the month. He took it all back to the fire to dry, hoping these parts would not be attractive enough to bring in any nocturnal scavengers big enough to challenge him.