Alyrn left the small hut he had built for his family early that morning.  He had no reason to linger about there and endure the cold judging stares of his wife and children.  He had traps to check, anyway.  This time, this time he would catch something and he would bring it proudly home and that would shut them up.

Avirt watched his father leave with the familiar cold hatred filling him.  It made him cold, and his hands to shake.  He struggled to dispel it as quickly as it came.  It would do him no good to dwell on it.  He had work to do, for the spirits knew that his father would do none of what needed be done.  It was well known through out the village that Alyrn was not providing for his family any more.  He did not help with the farming, nor did he bring home any meat to substitute it with.  What food was brought in was grown by the children or killed by Avirt’s own hands.  It was not enough, however, since Avirt who was the eldest was still a very young man by the village’s standards and not up to the challenge of providing for a large family on his own.

People were beginning to talk, and yet Alyrn did nothing to redeem himself beside sneaking off as soon as possible to tend to his “traps”.  Avirt had seen these contraptions.  His father had shown them proudly to him when they had first been made.  Avirt agreed with Rayal, the traps would never work and Alyrn was wasting his time while his children grew thinner and thinner.  And as they came out of the winter, they were one short, for the cold and the lack of food had claimed the youngest of the family Celia, the latest baby girl.  She had been young, not even through a full turn of the seasons, so Avirt did not miss her much, but he still believed that if Alyrn had been doing his duty she would have lived.  The Shamans agreed with him, but would not do anything.

Avirt stood by their home and watched as his father disappeared into the forests surrounding the village.  He wouldn’t be back till just before dark.  Avirt narrowed his bright green eyes until he could no longer see his father’s dark hair.  Some part of him was hopeful for something, but he didn’t know what.

“Are you going somewhere?”  His mother, Celiis asked him sharply from behind.

He turned his head to look back over his shoulder at her.  She was standing at the door to their hut, her youngest living child Arn close by her side.  It was obvious that Avirt took after his mother more than his father, for he lacked his father’s large frame and hard features.  Avirt’s were more narrow like that of his mother’s but not quiet as sharp.  Then again, bearing as many children as his mother had would make anyone appear worn and sever.  Her brown eyes may have been warm once, but Avirt could not remember when.  All he knew was the dark looks she gave his father and himself.

“Yes.”  He replied softly as he turned to face her fully.  He had the bow Luska had helped him make and one of Rayal'’ old bone daggers.  Both had been gifts and both would be necessary if he was ever going to learn to truly provide for his family.  Learning how to hunt would also be essential, but his mother didn’t understand that and resented every time Avirt left with his two friends to learn.

His mother scowled at him as usual.  There wasn’t anything she could do, however.  Avirt was to big for her to control now, for the past seasons had brought great change to him.  This spring he hoped to be introduced to the tribe as man, but without his father’s active support of such, he doubted the Shamans would permit him.  He would have to wait one more year to have what he already did in all but name.

“And what about your work?”  She demanded of him with a significant glance towards the small garden beside their home.

Avirt struggled to keep his expression neutral.  How many times did they have to have this same conversation before she would leave him alone?  “Alma knows what to do, and he’ll direct the others.”  He replied slowly with a small nod towards his other brother Arn.  There were six of them altogether, so even without Avirt they would still be able to tend to most of the crops.  “Besides, I hope to bring back something a little more filling than roots.”  He continued tersely. 

“Running off like your father?”  His mother demanded.

Avirt’s entire body tensed as he tried to rein in his growing anger.  She had no right to say such things but he would not bring more shame upon a their family by openly quarreling with his mother in the streets.  Rayal had told him to be patient and that the spirits would help him if he asked them to, but Avirt had learned not to count on the spirits for help and with each day it became harder and harder to stand his father’s shame and his mother’s rage.

Arn’s wide eyes were staring at him in concern.  He was now the youngest again, but he was getting older and with each day was becoming more aware that things were not as they should be.  His mother’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder, and stopped him from going anywhere without bringing her attention on to him.  Arn had been born when Avirt had been old enough to help raise him, and also about the time that what had originally been called their father’s poor luck started turning into laziness. Arn was accustomed to being the youngest and to always being with Avirt.  His innocent face showed that he didn’t understand why his mother and brother were fighting, but just that his brother was upset.

“Rayal and Luska are waiting for me.”  Avirt replied hastily as he turned away.  Alma would take care of Arn for the day, and have him help with something small enough for the little boy.  Alma was good at following instructions.  He’d see to it that everything was managed until Avirt returned.  The spirits knew they couldn’t count on such guidance from either of their parents.

!!