Beyond the last mountain

Long before rivers had names, they remembered where to flow. Long before winters were ever counted, the pines had already hidden them within their rings. Long before the oldest mountain wore its first crown of snow, glaciers had already begun teaching stone how to move. Mammoths had carved paths across the valley so often that even the grass leaned where their feet would pass long before dawn.
The world had perfected itself… asking no one’s permission.
The ravens gathered where death would be before the wolves smelled it. The wolves knew where the reindeer would run before snow touched the earth. The reindeer sensed when winter began before the first leaf surrendered to frost. Winter followed summer as faithfully as the stars returned to their places.
Everything belonged to a rhythm older than thought. Everything knew where it was going except one creature.
Humans.
They were born without the certainty of instinct. And uncertainty became questions. Every living thing carried answers older than itself. Only humans carried questions.
They imagined places they had never been. Dreamed of rivers they had never seen. Wondered what stars shone beyond their horizon. While every other creature returned to the world it knew, humans walked toward the unknown. When they stood before a mountain, they wondered…
“What lies beyond?”
The words drifted into the darkness. Beyond the firelight, a raven lifted from the cliff. Somewhere in the valley, a mammoth answered another with a low, rolling call. The wind carried the question toward the mountains. None of them replied.
The fire cracked.
Its sparks climbed into the night and disappeared among a sky crowded with stars. Below them, Green ribbons of light drifted silently across the darkness, folding and unfolding like spirits beneath the skin of the world. The children had watched them every autumn, yet they never grew tired of wondering whether the lights belonged to the sky or to the dead.
The elders never answered. Wonder needed no explanation.
Beneath a limestone cliff, a small camp gathered around a single fire. Three hide tents crouched against the cold, their dark shapes barely visible beyond the circle of light. Beside them, the mouth of a shallow cave opened into the rock, blackened by generations of smoke.
The cave had sheltered more winters than anyone remembered.
But the fire was the heart of the camp.
Around it, hunters repaired spear shafts and sharpened stone tools while the warmth slowly returned to their fingers. Mothers pulled hides tighter around sleeping infants. Marrow hissed in the flames, filling the cold air with the rich smell of fat, pine resin and damp earth.
Beyond the firelight, the forest waited.
The children had gathered closest to the flames. The smallest pressed against their mothers. The older ones sat with their knees drawn up, pretending they had come only for the warmth, though every pair of eyes kept returning to the same place.
An empty weathered boulder beside the fire.
It was where the old hunter always sat when the stories began.
One child traced circles in the ash. Another scraped a fresh flint edge against an antler.
The wind moved down from the mountains, bringing the smell of fresh fallen snow. And still the stone remained empty.
Then, somewhere behind them, a raven called.
The children turned. And an old man was walking down from the darkness beneath the cliff. It was Oruk.
He sat on the weathered boulder beside the fire. His back was bent like an old pine that had survived too many winters, but his eyes still wandered farther than those of any young hunter.
Four children were watching the same man, but each discovered a different Oruk. Sela, the eldest, always noticed his missing fingers. Punto watched his eyes. They rarely blinked while he told stories. Little Enu believed the ravens belonged to him. Every evening, they landed above the cave before he began telling tales. Tarek noticed something stranger. Whenever Oruk fell silent… he looked east. Always east. Toward the last mountain. Like he was just darting east beyond the firelight…
Then—
Oruk asked again, “What lies beyond the last mountain?”
The children turned toward the eastern ridge where the mountains stood like black giants against a sky ablaze with stars.
An elder sighed, “Still asking that question…”
Another hunter smiles, “He’s asked it every autumn since I grew my first beard.”
Then an old woman quietly says, “Let the man be. Tomorrow he’ll finally go looking.”
“Won’t you be back before the next snow?” asked Sela.
Punto asked, “How many dark moons will you be out?”
Enu asked, “Can you bring back a feather from the other side?”
Only Tarek asks for nothing. He simply watches Oruk.
Sela pointed toward the black silhouette and said, “Why do you want to go to the world’s end?”
“World ends there? Does it?”
A few children nodded with the certainty only children possess.
The old hunter smiled. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened like dry riverbeds after a long summer.
Sela frowned. “No one has ever crossed them.”
She looked toward the adults for support before turning back to him, “Have they, Oruk?”
Oruk replied, “Not that I know.”
The girl folded her arms, satisfied, “So the land ends there, and sky begins. End of matter. Don’t go.”
A murmur of agreement spread among the children.
Oruk reached into the fire with a charred branch and gently stirred the glowing embers. Tiny sparks rose into the air, spinning upward until they disappeared among the stars.
Instead of answering, he looked toward the sky. A flock of cranes crossed the face of the moon. Their wings made no sound. They simply passed overhead until they vanished into the darkness of the eastern sky.
The old hunter pointed at them and murmured, “They are leaving earlier. Snow days are coming.”
Punto asked, “Where are they going?”
Oruk replied, “I’ve wondered that since I was younger than you.”
One woman, while busy sewing, said, “Everyone knows… They need warmth to hatch their eggs. So they go to the sun’s place in winter.”
One elder, while strengthening his spear, snorted, “Poor Sun.”
The woman asked, “Why poor?”
“He spends all winter warming eggs, and when spring comes…” He scraped his spear against the stone. “…his camp is ankle-deep in bird droppings.”
Another elder added, “…no wonder he comes back every spring looking tired.”
A ripple of laughter moved around the fire. The woman flicked a rolled scrap of hide at him. Oruk chuckled with everyone else, then looked back toward the eastern mountains.
“Perhaps.” He paused, “Or perhaps they’re simply going somewhere we’ve never been.”
Little Enu asked, “Does the Sun really live in the mountains?”
Punto replied, “Where else do you think? It always comes from there.”
Sela asked, “If mountains are his home, then why does it sleep in the plains? And how did he reappear again on the mountains?”
Punto replied, seeking validation from the elders, “Since it’s night, we cannot see when it goes back.”
Everyone laughed.
Little Enu asked, “Where do the stars go when the sun is awake?”
Punto replied, “They sleep.”
Oruk traced a slow arc across the sky with his finger, “The sun returns. The stars return. The mammoths return. The cranes return.”
He let the silence settle before speaking again, “The world is full of things that disappear… only to return from somewhere we cannot see.”
Even the adults had lifted their eyes. Not because they did not know. Because for the first time… they had realised, there might be another world waiting on the other side of the mountain.
“So there is another side?” asked a boy busy sharpening a stone.
The old hunter lowered himself onto the flat stone beside the fire with the slow care of someone whose bones remembered more winters than his mind cared to count.
“I hope there is, and I hope I get to see it one day.”
“Old hunters should stay by the fire. Why do you want to see it, Oruk?” an elder asked.
“I just do. Don’t know why. Besides, there are a few winters left in me. Before I forget to walk, I want to see the sun’s place… if there is one.”
An old woman asked, “But WHY! Why do you want to know? What if you fall? What is there is no other side?”
“Then I’ll fall off, knowing…”
The little girl hugged her knees and asked, “When the mammoths leave tomorrow… will you leave with them?”
Oruk’s smile lingered, though his eyes remained fixed on the distant peaks, and he whispered, “Yes.”
“…who will tell us stories?” Enu asked.
“Tonight, I will. Tomorrow, Kiha will. She has almost seen as many winters as I have.”
The children were disgusted, as Kiha’s stories were mostly about sewing, herb collecting, and escaping lone wolves, sabre-toothed, and tigers miles away.
As the night deepened, one child asked, “Tell us one of Haruk’s stories.”
Immediately, the other children leaned closer.
“Which one? Have you heard that when Haruk found this cave we live in… monsters were living here? Monster made in our image…”
Sela interrupted, “We know that story of how Haruk and his friends scared the monsters with made-up giants from mammoth tusks and stones.”
“Were mammoths bigger when Haruk was alive?” the little Enu asked.
Oruk scratched his beard thoughtfully, “Oh, much bigger.”
The children’s eyes widened.
“They were so tall…” He stretched his hands high above his head, “…that they scratched the moon with their tusks.”
The children gasped.
Punto stared upward and wondered, “They did?”
“Don’t be such a mammoth-brain, boy!” Sela crossed her arms, “He is stone-laughing at us.”
Another boy raised his hand as though to ask permission. “Did Haruk kill many mammoths?”
Oruk shook his head, “One before every winter, until his last winter. But he found more than he killed.”
“What did he find?”
An owl hooted from a distance.
The old hunter looked toward the mountains once more, “Questions.”
“Questions don’t fill stomachs.” Shouted one elder from inside the hide tent.
Oruk silently murmured to the children, “It certainly doesn’t work for mammoth-brains, like him.”
The children giggled.
Punto asked, “How did he find the question?”
Oruk smiled and said, “While others watched mammoths and reindeer and kept an eye out for saber-tooths, tigers, and wolves, he used to watch ravens.”
While the children started to whisper among themselves, Oruk continued, “One winter, while following the ravens, he fell into the…”
Sela interrupted again, “He fell into the frozen lake, where a fish helped him and showed him a way out. We know this… Tell us something new.”
Oruk asked, “Girl, do you know which side of the needle is used to sew?”
Sela replied, “Of course, who doesn’t?”
“Then sew your mouth.”
The girl frowned and sat back.
Oruk tried again, “One autumn…” then looked at Sela for permission, if any.
The girl did not hint at knowing the story, and then Oruk continued, “The mammoths vanished.”
Punto responded, “But they always return.”
“But that spring, they did not.”
The laughter disappeared. Oruk picked up a small piece of dried meat. As soon as he held it between two fingers, a raven flew down and sat beside him.
Little Enu whispered, “See, I told you. The ravens like his stories.”
Oruk fed the bird the meat and continued, “So, the mammoths vanished. So did the reindeer. The streams became muted. The berries shrank. The valley forgot how to feed them.”
The fire snapped loudly. Somewhere beyond the camp, a wolf’s answer another drifted through the trees.
“So where did they go?” a child asked.
“That…” Oruk smiled, “…was exactly his question.”
“The hunters searched the valley. The women searched the river. The children searched the berry bushes.”
“Haruk…“ Oruk pointed toward the sky, “…looked for the ravens.”
“Haruk noticed something no one else did. The birds never circled. They never searched. They flew as though they already knew where they were going. So… He followed them.”
“Wasn’t he scared?”
“Oh yes.”
“He must be terrified.”
The answer surprised them.
“The ravens led him to a lake, and by the lake he found hundreds of rabbits.”
“What’s a lake? What’s a ra-bite?” asked Punto.
Just as the children burst into laughter, loud enough to offend Punto, the ice in the distant river cracked like thunder. The children jumped.
“The valley still remembers…” Oruk nodded toward the sound and continued, “Haruk picked up his spear and hunted a rabbit.”
Sela frowned, “That’s all?”
Oruk looked at her and asked, “Do you have a better story?”
“No.”
“Then listen,” said Oruk and put the meat into his mouth.
The children waited. Oruk chewed slowly.
And finally, after a hard swallow, he continued, “Haruk was young then. Much younger than me.”
Punto immediately interrupted, “Was he stronger than you?”
Oruk’s eyes narrowed, “Much stronger.”
Sela looked at his missing finger, “Did he have all his fingers?”
Oruk glanced down at his hand and replied, “Yes.”
Sela responded, “Then he must be wiser than you, not just stronger.”
That earned another round of laughter. Even some of the adults smiled.
Oruk shook his head, and his eyes darted toward the dark mountains when he whispered, “Children know nothing about wisdom.”
Tarek watched the shift in his face when he turned to the eastern mountains. The smile remained, but something older had entered his eyes.
Oruk sighed, “So, the rabbit stood between two stones. Haruk froze. The rabbit froze. For a moment, they stared at one another. Then the rabbit’s nose moved and Haruk’s hand slowly reached for his spear. The rabbit looked at him. He looked at the rabbit. And then the rabbit ran. And Haruk ran after it. He threw his spear.”
Punto asked, “Did it strike the ra-bite?”
“No, the spear struck the ground, and the rabbit disappeared into a hole.”
“Did he catch it?” Punto asked.
“No, Haruk crawled into the hole. The tunnel grew deeper. The rabbit vanished. Haruk became lost.”
Before grinding another meat piece through slow chewing, Oruk continued, “He had no light. No food. No way back.”
The children grew quiet.
“One day passed. Then another. Then another. Haruk was hungry. He was lost. He was afraid. He nearly gave up. But on the fifth day, when hunger had sharpened his senses, he smelled something.”
“What?” children asked in unison.
“Grass,” replied Oruk in a softened voice.
“Grass!” the children frowned.
“Haruk followed the smell. On the sixth day, he crawled toward a faint light and came out on the other side of the mountain.”
He paused, and his eyes darted to the eastern horizon.
“What was there?” asked Sela.
“Before him was a valley. Thousands of reindeer moved across the plains. Mammoths walked beside the river. Birds filled the sky. There was more life than Haruk had ever imagined.”
The children stared into the flames.
“Did he catch the rabbit?” Punto asked.
Oruk smiled, “No.”
“Then he failed.” added Sela.
Oruk shook his head, “Haruk went into a hole chasing a rabbit. He came out having found something no one had imagined of existing…”
“What’s that?”
“He found…”
The raven beside him suddenly took to wings and hid in the upper pine branch.
Oruk stopped. He paused for dramatic effect, but never stopped mid-story. His gaze drifted beyond the circle of fire, into the darkness. Not to the eastern mountains, this time. The smile slowly disappeared. He tilted his head, listening.
So did every adult around the fire.
The valley had changed. The pines no longer whispered. The insects had fallen silent. The old hunter slowly rose to his feet. Every adult looked where he was looking.
No one spoke.
The children felt it before they understood it. Something was watching. The darkness beyond the fire seemed deeper than before.
Then—
Two amber lights.
Another pair.
Then another.
They floated in the darkness beyond the reach of the flames, silent and unblinking, like stars that had fallen into the forest.
The children stopped breathing.
The wolves had arrived.
They did not growl. They did not move. They simply watched. Waiting. Measuring.
Oruk bent without taking his eyes from the forest and tried to pick up a burning branch. But missed. Tarek silently hands one burning twig to him.
The other hunters did the same. One by one, rings of orange light blossomed around the children.
No one had spoken. No one needed to. Years of surviving together had become a language of its own. The women quietly gathered the smallest children against their chests.
The older boys reached instinctively for unfinished spears.
Their elders gently lowered them, whispering, “Not yet.”
One of the hunters stepped forward, raising his torch.
The wolves did not flinch.
They had smelled roasting marrow.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
A long howl drifted from somewhere higher upon the ridge. The waiting wolves lifted their heads. One after another, they slipped between the trees until only darkness remained.
The forest slowly exhaled. The crickets found their voices again. The valley had decided the night would continue without a carnage.
Only then did the hunters lower their torches.
“Not hunting,” Oruk murmured, “Measuring.”
The wolves had learned where the people slept. Tomorrow night, they might come closer.
For a little while, everyone simply listened to the fire.
The mothers carried the youngest children into the tents. Others disappeared into the shallow cave where warmth lingered in smoke-blackened stone. The hunters remained awake with burning logs planted around the camp like small suns against the darkness.
Soon, the camp grew quiet. Only the crackle of resin-filled pine and the distant murmur of the river remained. Oruk sat beside the embers.
And one boy.
Tarek.
He sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them. His eyes were fixed on the place between the trees where the amber eyes had disappeared. He could still see the eyes. Six pairs. Perhaps more. He kept looking toward the trees, waiting for them to return.
Across the fire, Oruk settled back onto his flat stone. He did it carefully now. One hand went to his knee first. Then the other. His face tightened for a moment before the pain passed. When Oruk caught Tarek looking at him, he immediately looked away. A faint smile pulled at one corner of Oruk’s mouth.
For a while, neither spoke.
The fire collapsed inward. A pine branch broke somewhere in the forest. Tarek’s head turned sharply.
Oruk did not flinch and said, “Are you afraid, child?”
Tarek frowned, but did not reply.
“You should sleep, child,” said Oruk, while pushing a glowing piece of wood deeper into the embers.
The fire brightened briefly, illuminating the deep lines around his eyes.
Tarek shook his head and said, “They weren’t afraid of us.”
“Ah,” the old hunter exclaimed, “So the silent one has a voice!”
The boy’s stomach tightened. He dropped his gaze to the ground and scuffed his foot through the dirt, suddenly wishing he could gather his words back and swallow them.
The old hunter nodded, “Speak when you wish to speak. Be silent when you wish to be silent. We’ve enough mouths already.”
A faint smile touched the corner of Oruk’s lips, and he added, “Though, I would like to hear what else you’ve been hiding in there.”
The boy replied, “I… I think they would come back.”
Oruk shrugged, “Perhaps.”
Tarek looked at him, “You’re not afraid?”
Oruk bent to pick up a fallen twig. His old fingers fumbled once before closing around it. He stared at the twig. Then in the forest.
“Always.”
The old hunter had faced storms. He had scars older than the oldest of them. He had killed animals that could crush a man beneath one foot. The children spoke of him as though fear had forgotten how to find him. Yet Oruk had said it so simply.
Always.
Tarek’s eyebrows rose, “But everyone says you’re the bravest hunter.”
Oruk gave him a sideways look and asked, “Everyone?”
“Everyone.”
Oruk pushed aside the ash with the burning twig. The earth beneath was frozen hard.
“Then everyone is foolish,” said Oruk.
Tarek looked down at Oruk’s hands. The firelight caught the scars crossing his knuckles.
“Courage,” Oruk said quietly, “is not the absence of fear, child.”
Tarek became still. The sentence settled somewhere inside him. Beyond the camp, a wolf howled. Tarek’s shoulders rose. Oruk noticed. This time, he did not tease him.
“I think the wolves weren’t looking at us,” said Taruk.
Oruk raised an eyebrow and asked, “No?”
“The marrow.”
Oruk nodded. “Most creatures want food before blood.”
“Did Haruk ever meet wolves?” Tarek asked, looking at the darkness.
“Many times.”
“Did he kill them?”
Oruk’s eyes returned to the boy, “Sometimes.”
Tarek frowned, “Why didn’t he kill them all?”
Oruk gave him a sideways look, “How many wolves do you think Haruk could kill?”
Tarek showed him his fingers, “This many!”
Oruk’s eyebrows rose as Tarek corrected himself by adding his toes to his fingers.
A quiet laugh escaped the old hunter, which turned into a cough. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and waited for it to pass.
“Haruk was a man, boy,” said Oruk.
Tarek looked at the missing finger. Then at the scars. Then back at the old man’s face.
“A brave man?” asked Tarek.
“Yes, a brave.” Oruk nudged a coal with the end of the stick, “But still a man.”
Tarek thought about the wolves. Their eyes. Their silence. The way they had waited beyond the fire.
“I don’t understand. Were they friends?” asked Tarek.
“No.”
“What were they then?”
The old hunter thought for a long moment.
Then he answered, “They were another family trying to survive the same winter.”
Tarek considered that, “But they would eat us.”
“Yes, they would.”
Tarek’s face hardened, “So… they are enemies?”
“No.”
Tarek waited as Oruk seemed to search for the right words.
“They are wolves. That’s it.” Said Oruk finally.
The boy stared at him.
Oruk said, “They drink where we drink. They too follow the reindeer.”
He nudged the ash, “So do we.”
Tarek frowned, “But they eat people.”
Oruk looked at him and replied, “Only when they are hungry enough.”
“And Sometimes,” Oruk said while continuing to stir the fire, “We skin them and use their hides to hide from winter too.”
Tarek’s eyes shifted toward the trees. The wolves were somewhere beyond them.
Invisible. Listening.
Oruk’s voice softened, “That doesn’t make them our friends.”
Tarek waited.
“It doesn’t make them our enemies either.”
The boy looked confused.
“Sometimes,” Oruk’s face softened, “Another creature is simply trying to live.”
The words were followed by silence. Tarek tried to grasp their meaning, but they struck him like a spear against stone. He heard the impact, felt the shock, but nothing entered him.
The moon had moved higher now. Frost was gathering along the edges of the stones, turning them silver. The cold had deepened while they talked. The river spoke in the distance. Ice shifted beneath the current.
After a while, Tarek said, “But they would still eat us.”
Oruk nodded, “Yes, Tarek…”
The boy blinked. That was the first time Oruk had spoken his name that night.
Oruk’s expression softened, “Perhaps that is enough to make us kin.”
A gust of wind moved through the pines. Their branches whispered overhead while Tarek struggled to untangle the old hunter’s words. Wolves and kin. The two ideas had never belonged together.
Tarek’s search for the right words ended as soon as it began, “Wolves! They are wolves.”
Oruk smiled.
Tarek asked again, “Do you really think we will walk with wolves one day?”
The old hunter used the end of his stick to make a small circle on the ash.
“Wolves fear hunger.”
Another circle.
“Mammoths fear deep snow.”
A third.
“Ravens fear empty skies.”
He paused. His stick hovered above the ash. Tarek leaned closer.
Oruk looked at him and asked, “What do we fear?”
Tarek thought. He glanced at the darkness beyond the tents.
“The nights?”
Oruk shook his head.
“The cold?”
Another shake.
Tarek looked toward the sound of river and replied, “Death?”
“No,” Oruk said in quieter voice, “We fear what comes before it.”
Tarek waited.
Oruk’s hand tightened around the stick as he looked towards east and replied, “We fear not knowing.”
The boy followed the old man’s gaze. The mountains were almost invisible beneath the darkness. Almost. Tarek had seen them every day of his life. Tonight, they looked different. Larger. Farther away.
“What will happen after you know?” asked Tarek.
Oruk did not answer.
The wind moved between them. The old hunter lowered his gaze. For the first time that night, Tarek noticed how tired he looked. Not the ordinary tiredness of a hunter after walking all day.
Something deeper.
His shoulders seemed smaller beneath his fur cloak. His hands rested heavily on his knees. Tarek understood then that Oruk was not afraid of the mountain. He was afraid that one day his legs would no longer carry him toward it.
Oruk picked up a flat stone from beside his foot.
He turned it over once.
Twice.
He tossed it to Tarek and asked, “What do you see, boy?”
Tarek examined the stone and replied, “A stone.”
“Only a stone?”
Tarek turned the stone over and said, “Yes!”
“Don’t you see sharp teeth hiding inside it? A pointy end?”
Tarek frowned at the stone and asked, “A spearhead?”
“Yes! Do you see the secrets it’s hiding?”
“Mmm… I don’t know. Maybe… but it’s too thin.”
“And how would you uncover its secret, Tarek?”
Tarek replied immediately, “I’ll use the reindeer horn. Strike it with a soft hand.”
“Go, fetch your horn, boy.”
Tarek rushed into the cave, brought a reindeer antler and handed it to Oruk.
Oruk struck. A sharp crack broke the silence. A tiny flake flew into the darkness.
Again.
Crack.
Another flake.
Again.
This time the blow was too hard.
The stone split.
Oruk, showing him the broken pieces, asked, “You see?”
Tarek stared at the shattered stone in the most confusing way possible, wondering why did he even tried with such a thin flat stone!
“You can strike a stone a thousand times,” Oruk said, “but if you forget to listen, you will break what you were trying to uncover.”
The boy’s was not blinking as he was trying to figure out the lesson.
“Curiosity is like searching for a spearhead in a stone, boy. Most people see what something is. A curious one wonders what it is hiding?” Oruk continued, placing the broken pieces in Tarek’s hand, “You ask the same question every day. What lies beyond? What lies beyond the last mountain?”
The boy stopped him mid-sentence and asked, “But why mountains? Why not that cave near the wolves’ den? Why not the world underneath the stoned river? Why not the clouds?”
For a moment, Oruk said nothing. Then his shoulders began to shake. A deep laugh escaped his chest. For a moment, the night seemed less cold.
“One life, boy. One life to chase a thousand questions. Be careful. Some answers have teeth.”
“Why?”
Oruk smiled, “Because once you ask one…” He glanced east and continued, “…you may have to follow it, until you find answers.”
“What if it’s dangerous?!”
“Even if it’s dangerous… and especially then.”
“How did Haruk survive all those dangers?”
Oruk leaned back and replied, “Haruk survived everything. Everything is worth surviving. Except old age.”
The boy smiled.
Then, almost reluctantly, he asked, “Can I come with you tomorrow?”
Oruk looked back at him. There it was again. The question beneath all the questions.
The old hunter’s expression changed.
The corners of his eyes softened as he asked, “You mean hunting?”
Tarek nodded.
Oruk studied him and replied, “You know the rule.”
Tarek replied, “I know which track is whose. I know how to use wind to hide from others. I know how to hide in the grass without running. I know all the stories.”
“That’s all right. But your mother needs to give approval for your first hunt.”
“My mother would have allowed it. I know. But…”
Tarek’s face shifted. Something had struck an old wound. His eyes dropped to the ground and scuffed his foot through the dirt.
Noticing that, Oruk asked, “But?”
Tarek replied without lifting his gaze, “But, the stone river swallowed her last winter.”
For several heartbeats, neither spoke, but Oruk’s gaze remained on him.
His voice was quieter now, “I forgot.”
He reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder, “Ah! You’re Nuna’s boy.”
Tarek nodded.
“How could I forget?” Oruk’s hand remained there for a moment before he withdrew it and asked, “Do you have a spear?”
“Yes, before she fell into the tar pool, Dila used to teach me .”
Oruk nodded, “Dila was a good tracker.”
Tarek’s face brightened, “I can throw farther than Punto and Sela.”
“That is not difficult.”
Oruk smiled, “Bring your spear at dawn.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
Oruk leaned back against the stone and said, “Now, go to sleep.”
The boy did not move and whispered, “Oruk?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come back?”
The old hunter looked back at him and asked, “From the hunt?”
Tarek shook his head, “From the mountain.”
Oruk’s lips parted. No answer came.
Tarek waited.
Finally, Oruk reached across the fire and placed his rough hand against the boy’s head.
“Sleep. It was better when you were a mute.”
“You said questions are good.”
Oruk smiles, “I know. That’s why I’m worried.”
Tarek lowered himself beside the fire. The boy curled onto his side. Within minutes, his breathing slowed. Only then did the old hunter remove his hand.
One by one, the torches died. The fire became embers. The tents became dark shapes beneath the cliff. The valley had become a world of silver and black. Frost crept over the grass. Far above, the aurora drifted across the sky. Green light spilt over the mountains.
Oruk remained awake long after the camp had fallen silent. His eyes returned once more to the mountain, black against the dying stars. He had spent a lifetime following footprints across snow, mud, and stone. Now, in the winter of his life, he wanted to follow wings. Age had taught him many things, but above all, it had taught him this: the older a man grows, the more clearly he sees how little of the world he truly knows.