One could already guess the presence of humans by the distant smell of smoke from the evening campfire. The people of the Silver Tribe, living in this village, began their evening preparations punctually at sunset. Minho entered the village, leading Pacha behind him. Sticks and other burnable materials were dried and then tossed into the jaws of the fire. A villager was counting his sheep, before closing the gates of their croft. The mothers and older sisters began to lead the protesting children, who still wanted to play, back inside for dinner. As Minho got closer to the tent of his family, a presentable triangular shelter sewn out of red leather, the strong scent of food made his stomach grumble. Almost as hard as the crumbling mountains far away. – “MINHO!” The voice of his mother blared out of the depths of the tent. Soon enough, she came running towards him: a round woman of strong posture with dark maroon hair that flew down her back, always tied into a thick braid. No wonder she was so big and strong, she needed to carry her golden heart somehow. – “Now child, where have you been? You barely arrived before nightfall, it’s already getting dark. Look at yourself! Do you want to catch a cold?” Minho learned to take her scolding with a quiet smile. Because he knew she meant it all well. She placed her hands down on his shoulders and began to pick up any rests of dirt and grass, thrown at him by the raging wind, out of his wooly clothes. – “Now, get inside. I’ve just finished preparing dinner”. Minho nodded and hurried with Pacha to the croft. Worried about his animal companion spending day and night outside, he knitted a colorful blanket out of sheep’s wool for him, whispering a kind and protective word with every stitch. This was the tribe’s simple ritual when knitting for your loved ones: to guarantee them protection and safety. Although unevenly sewn, the big blanket was just enough to keep the grateful alpaca warm all night. He gently stroked Pacha’s fluffy neck, before turning back to the tent. In the center, a small flame danced inside a stone circle, above which hung a tin pot. The dinner, consisting of arid meat, vegetables and a hearty quantity of herbs and spices, spread its pleasant smell into the air. – “Have you washed your hands yet?”, she asked. – “Not yet. I’ll do that.”, he replied. The evening was the time when all the villagers came to rest. A time of family dinners, of campfire gatherings and of unwinding after a long day of living. But for many days and nights, the hearts of the local families had been unruly. Because this evening was predicted as the moment of truth for all of them, claimed Minho’s mother, since she felt it in her bones. This particular evening would be the one where the huntsmen would come back home. Among these men were Minho’s father and older brother, Miko. His mother would put all of her trust in her motherly intuition, since even the tribe chief couldn’t beat that with his wise predictions. She even prepared dinner for four people, like it had always been before the winter preparations. Each year, the strongest and fastest men would venture out into the faraway lands, behind the Silver Canyon, to bring back home the biggest amount of food to survive winter. Although many villagers kept their own livestock and grew crops throughout late spring and summer, the animals needed to withstand the cold as well. Plants, on the other hand, would simply die off in their white shimmering graves.
© Wiki Tokarska 2024-04-13