Haven waited, studying him. She saw that though the child was husky in the Other way, his cloak did not fit well. It was big enough, with holes cut for the arms and neck, but hung in such a way that it was drafty, letting air in through the holes. It would not be good protection in a wind. The boy surely got cold at night.
This was something she could do something about. “Let me help,” she said, though she knew the boy would not comprehend her words. She did not look at Grunge, but was acutely aware of her.
Haven reached back into her pack and brought out her bone awl. She moved very slowly, for alarm at this point could get her killed. She took hold of the boy’s cloak and put the awl point to it, near the edge of an armhole. He ignored her, still fascinated by the toy. The woman watched, but made no move. She surely could and would move rapidly and effectively if she perceived a threat to her child.
Haven applied pressure, pushing the awl point through the leather, making a small hole. Then she made another hole near it, and another, until she had worked her way entirely around the armhole.
Now she brought out a thin thong, and threaded it through the holes, outside, inside, outside, inside. She completed the circle, then drew the thong tight and knotted it. Now the cloak was snug around the arm.
Still no reaction from the woman. So Haven did the other armhole, and then the neck-hole, getting them all firm, but not tight, around their extremities. “Now show your mother,” she said to the boy, giving him a gentle shove in that direction.
Obediently, he walked across to Grunge. She inspected the cloak. Would she realize the significance of the change in it?
The woman uttered a guttural sound. Another woman responded, coming to study the cloak. Then a third, and a fourth. They tugged at it, trying to understand the new mechanism much as the boy was trying to understand the mechanism of the toy.
Then they turned as one and looked at Haven. This was the crux. Did they understand? Would they deal?
She put her hand to her mouth, then rubbed her belly. She wanted food.
Grunge considered. Then she went into her house, and emerged with a huge frozen haunch. She dropped it before Haven and returned to her fire. She did understand!
But now there was another problem. The haunch would provide them with meat for a long time, but it was too heavy for Haven to carry. She tried to pick it up, but could not. Could she drag it? That would take a long time, even if it slid across the snow.
Grunge watched for a moment, then got up again. She bent down, heaved up the haunch, and started walking out of the camp. The boy followed.
Haven exchanged a glance with Crenelle, who shrugged. Where was the Other woman going? Did she think they had rejected the food?
Helplessly, they followed. Grunge was walking straight toward their house, though it was far out of sight. She wasn’t following their trail, which had been largely covered by blowing snow. She knew where it was.
Haven realized that the woman was not stupid at all. She had known their origin throughout. She had waited to see what they had to offer, then acted when it was time. All of the Others must have known where the two women came from, and perhaps also what they wanted. They had let the women make their case.
Soon they approached the house. But when Grunge saw the two men beside it, she threw down the haunch and went back the way she had come, her child following. “Thank you!” Haven called belatedly after her.
Then the men came out to join them. Harbinger bent to pick up the haunch. He strained, then got it to his shoulder. He trod with heavy steps, feeling the mass of the burden. Yet Grunge had carried it without seeming effort.
“It really is true,” Haven murmured, awed. “One of their women is stronger than one of our men.”
“She could have killed us,” Crenelle agreed. “Did you see how fast that boy took the toy? He could have killed us too.”
“Maybe that’s why he wasn’t afraid of me,” Haven said. “He let me punch holes all around his arms and neck.”
“He will be warmer tonight.”
“Yes.”
The haunch lasted them for many days. All they had to do was gather enough wood to keep the fire going. The trading mission had proved worthwhile beyond their dreams.
Craft found suitable wood, and carved more toys. Harbinger studied his technique, and learned to carve similarly. Now he knew the potential value of such items.
As they used the last of the meat, and had to consider another trading mission, they were surprised again. A figure approached the house, bearing a burden. It was Grunge, with her boy in tow. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the boy looked better. Warmer clothing could do that. Haven went out to meet them, knowing that the woman would not stay if the men came out.
This time she had brought not only another huge haunch, but a pile of used cloaks. “Do,” she said.
Haven realized that the Others wanted more tightening done. They lacked the technology of awl and thong, but appreciated the improvement it made. She nodded. “Yes.”
Grunge turned to her son. She lifted the toy, which he now wore on a thong around his neck. “Do.”
They wanted more toys too. “Yes.” Haven turned to face the house. “Crenelle! Bring out the toys.”
Soon Crenelle came, carrying a basket of the little carvings. There were ten of them. Haven took the basket and gave it to Grunge. “We’ll do the cloaks as fast as we can. Three days.” She gestured at the sun, three times.
The woman nodded, turned, and marched away, her child following. Then the men came out to fetch in the haunch and cloaks. They would be busy, but it was well worth it.
Craft had to use one of their own cloaks to cut into strips for thongs, but the trade was well worth it, because they had no problem of hunger. He used his stone carving knife to cut slowly and carefully, so as not to ruin a thong by a miscut. Harbinger wielded his awl, making holes. Crenelle threaded the thongs through and tied them in loose knots. Haven carved and cooked sections of the haunch. They actually got the job done in two days, and resumed working on toys.
On the third day Grunge reappeared, her boy in tow. Now Haven was sure he looked better. Haven and Crenelle hauled out the refurbished cloaks. “You tie them this way,” Haven said, demonstrating on one. “Put it on, pull the thong tight, knot it.”
The woman nodded. She clearly wasn’t much for speech, though she understood it. Then she picked up the heavy pile as if it were light and trudged away.
Thus simply was trade with the Others established. The weather was terrible; more storms came, burying their house in snowdrifts. But whenever their meat ran low, Grunge appeared with another haunch, and more cloaks. Sometimes there were edible tubers too, tough but amenable to cooking. Somehow Grunge knew their situation, which spoke disturbingly well for the Others’ awareness of them. Haven gave Grunge the toys they had crafted, and reworked the cloaks to make them tight. She was sure that the Other children were happier, and that many of their adults were warmer. It was a fair trade: skill for food.
Between times they foraged for wood, and chinked the crevices of the house against the wind, and diverted themselves with further novelties of sex. Haven was amazed by the way she acted, but it was the only significant entertainment available. Crenelle was a constant font of ideas, coming up with ways to tease the men, to make it a challenge. Such as hooking the women’s feet to lock their legs together and lying straight, so that it was difficult to get between their thighs. Or standing, and requiring the men to touch no other part of their bodies. Or having the man achieve entry, then having to assume every other possible position, front and rear, without ever losing that entry. It could be done when the women cooperated athletically; it was harder when they did not. Sometimes they had the men lie absolutely still, letting the women do whatever they wished to them, discovering just how far they could tease them without quite making them spurt. Or they demanded that the men bring them to orgasm first; that could be a real challenge to men eager for completion, espec
ially when the women did not help them with guidance. The men went along with it, being as bored of the confinement as were the women. Sex the men’s natural way was over rapidly; this way it stretched out to fill whole days.
The winter months passed slowly. The weather didn’t seem to bother the Others, whose squat bodies were solidly clothed in muscle and fat. Only the children, sometimes. On the worst day Grunge’s boy was shivering despite being well bundled.
When Grunge turned to go, having dumped down the haunch and cloaks, the child started to follow, then fell. Grunge glanced back, and grunted. The boy got up and took a step in snow that was thigh deep on him, and fell again.
“That child is ill,” Haven said, going to him. She reached out to help lift him back to his feet, and saw his face. It was red and wet. She touched his forehead. It was burning hot.
Haven made a sudden decision. “We must help this child. He needs rest and warmth.”
“Grunge won’t stay,” Crenelle warned.
“But she can return for him in a few days.”
“She wouldn’t understand.”
“Let me try,” Haven said. “He’ll die, otherwise.”
Crenelle nodded. “I’ll tell the men.” She set off for the house.
Haven slowly embraced the child. He accepted it, perhaps appreciating her physical warmth, or the additional support. “Will you trust me?” she murmured. Of course he did not understand her words, but he responded to her mood, hesitantly smiling.
She faced Grunge. “He is sick. He can’t walk home. Let him stay here for a few days.” She pointed to the distant house, where the smoke rose from the constant hearth fire. “Warm.” She embraced the child again. “I care.”
Grunge just stood there. That did not necessarily mean she didn’t understand, just that she hadn’t decided.
Haven turned the boy around to face the house. “There. Warm. Good.” Still the Other woman stood.
Haven opened her cloak, despite the bitter cold. “I am a woman,” she said, showing the mounds of her breasts under the skin vest. She inhaled, and cupped them, making her femaleness as obvious as she could. The action gave her discomfort; the vest was too tight. “I will take care of a child.” She turned to hug the boy once more.
Grunge abruptly turned and strode away. She had agreed!
“We go to house,” Haven said. She drew her cloak back together, and took his hand.
But the moment he tried to take a step, he fell again. She would have to carry him. She put one arm under his shoulders, and the other at his knees, and tried to lift him, but he was remarkably solid. She couldn’t lift him.
Then the others emerged from the house and walked toward them. Would the boy trust the men? Haven wasn’t sure, so she turned him back toward her, kneeled, and hugged him close. His face rested against her bosom, and he stood quietly.
Harbinger approached. Crenelle must have prepared him. Without a word he put his arms around the boy and picked him up. Haven took hold of the child’s hand, and spoke reassuringly to him as they walked toward the house.
Craft picked up the pile of cloaks. Harbinger would return for the haunch.
A place had been made in the warmest part of the house, closest to the fire. Harbinger set the boy down, carefully, and stepped back. He went back for the meat.
“You are safe now,” Haven said to the child. “Warm and safe. Now you can sleep.”
Then she became aware of something else. There was a smell.
She looked up. “Crenelle—” she began. But the woman was already busy with the pot, dipping a bundle of soft dry plants in the water. She had smelled it too.
Harbinger returned with the haunch. He set it in the snow beside the house; it would keep.
The smell intensified.
Harbinger and Craft decided that this was the time to forage for more wood. They set off for the forest.
The two women opened the child’s cloak and worked it off his body. It was warm enough here so that he did not have to be completely bundled. Then they drew off his loinskin. Sure enough, he had soiled himself. The stuff was watery and very smelly. But Haven had seen similar symptoms before; the fever cleaned out the system, and then recovery began. She knew what to do.
They used the plant bundle to wipe the region off, pouring warm water on it to rinse it out repeatedly. The boy’s torso and limbs were thick with muscle and fat; he weighed perhaps twice as much as a human boy of that height might. They progressed to his packed groin, getting the voluminous refuse clear. Then they paused, staring.
“He’s a girl,” Crenelle said.
“He’s so solid, I just assumed . . .” But obviously she had been mistaken. She might have guessed, because Grunge was as solid as any human man.
“What’s her name?” Crenelle asked.
“I don’t know. I never thought to ask.”
“Let’s call her Cute,” Crenelle decided, glancing at the girl’s thick waist.
Haven laughed at the irony. A young human woman had a narrow waist that opened out into broad hips below and projecting breasts above. This torso was more like a tree trunk with massive branches. But maybe when the girl matured, she would be attractive to Other men. She could be cute, by the standard of her species.
They got her into a clean loinskin, and cleaned off her cloak. Cute, comforted by the warmth and perhaps the attention, had relaxed into sleep. Her body remained sweatingly hot, but the fever would run its course if they kept her otherwise comfortable.
The men returned with loads of wood. “This is Cute,” Haven said, indicating the sleeping child. “She is female.”
“She’s solid like a man,” Harbinger said.
“So is her mother.” Haven paused, then addressed another matter. “We will need clean clothing, and more cleaning leaves. She may poop again. It’s the sickness.”
“We’ll fetch more,” the men said almost together.
Cute did poop more, but a diminished amount. There was only so much a body could contain. They kept her clean and warm, and she slept.
Night came. The work of the house went on around the sleeping patient. Haven stayed with her throughout. But in the evening she glanced across at Harbinger, lifting an eyebrow: Sex? He shook his head. He preferred that she keep Cute clean, than to take time off to entertain him. So she lay down beside the child, bracing her against the intensifying chill of the night and diminished fire. She gave her some water to sip when she woke, knowing that it was too soon for food.
In the morning, Cute’s fever was down. Haven had to go out to the latrine area. When she returned, Craft was with the child, tempting her with a wooden toy of a new design: a ball in a cage. Cute smiled, liking it, but didn’t actually take it.
Haven was relieved. The child was mending. She didn’t know what they would have done had she died. She dipped out a small piece of cooked meat and proffered it. Cute took it and gnawed, her massive jaw crunching it more readily than a human jaw could have managed.
Then Cute frowned—and vomited it back out. It was, after all, too soon for solid food.
Cute stared at the vomit, and began to cry.
Haven sat beside the child and stroked her head. “It’s all right,” she murmured as Crenelle cleaned up the mess. “You’re ill. Not your fault.”
Later in the day, Cute was able to eat without losing it. Her fever came up again, but not as bad as before.
Harbinger settled down beside her with his drum. He beat out a rhythm with his hands, and sang a song. The child’s eyes opened wide, staring at him; then she smiled and relaxed. She liked the music.
Later Crenelle settled down with her flute, and Cute reacted similarly, enjoying the melodies. They seemed to be helping her to recover. Haven was very pleased to see it. Had the child worsened or died, it would have been her fault, for she was the one who had brought Cute here.
By evening, Cute’s strength was returning. The two women steadied her as she got up and went out to the place for urination. She was co
ntinent again.
This night Harbinger accepted Haven’s silent proffer of sex. She went to the back of the house chamber, spread her clothing clear, and sat on his lap in a precise and special manner. His hands came up inside her loosened cloak and vest to find her breasts. By mutual consent they did not make what they were doing obvious in the presence of the child. Their winter’s experience had made them proficient in almost any position, and they could do it with no seeming motion, efficiently and silently. This, too, was an interesting variant, because it was the first time they were trying to conceal it from another person.
“Thank you for singing to Cute,” she murmured. She wanted him to know that she wasn’t doing this just to satisfy him, but because she was pleased with him.
Crenelle, knowing the situation, sat by Cute, who was now fascinated by the new toy. She kept poking her finger into it to touch the ball, trying to figure out how it had gotten into the cage.
Cute continued to mend. She watched them working on the cloaks, and Craft showed her how to punch the holes. Even weak in her illness, she had as much arm power as he did. She liked the work, and did several cloaks for them. On the third day she helped put wood on the fire. Harbinger smiled at her, and she smiled back. She had lost her fear of alien men.
Then Grunge returned. Cute was aware of it before the others were; she had very sharp senses. She got up and ran out to join her mother. The others followed, with the cloaks they had altered.
The mother and daughter were embracing. It was the first time they had seen Grunge express emotion. Then she picked up the pile of cloaks and started back, and Cute followed. It was over.
But the next time Grunge came, there was an Other man with her. The four of them watched nervously; if he came to the house, they would have to flee. He carried a huge bundle, twice the load any human man could have handled. He dumped it down and departed, and Grunge followed him after dumping her load of cloaks. Only Cute remained, dallying by the pile.
Haven went out and hugged her. Then the chunky child ran back to join her family.