Slug enjoyed spending time in the kitchen. He liked the company of the women and the feeling of satisfaction it gave him to help prepare the nightly meal. The other men were out hunting, save the four who stayed behind to prepare the meat from Horse’s expedition.

“Make sure that flame stays only a foot off the ground, Wolf,” a man’s voice said from outside. Colman Gentle Wolf was such an eager student. He was a Twelve, but slug thought he knew more than most of the Eighteens he’d met.

“Yes sir!” Wolf’s young voice piped in response. “Flame one foot off the ground and strips of meet going the same way as the bars on this wrack.” There came a gentle plunk as a piece of meat hit the flames. “Ooops! Oh no!” the young one exclaimed.

The man chuckled “Don’t worry, little warrior. The fire apriciates your offering.” Slug knew that laugh anywhere. It was Joseph clumsy Bear, leader of the Nines through Twelves. Wolf would be leaving him soon, and Slug knew this would be a hard and painful thing. While all the teachers treated their pupils with kindness, humor and understanding, Bear had a special light about him that warmed and vitalized all he favored with his attentive brown gaze.

It was bear who consoled Slug upon the receiving of his name. Once on Yecto Ii, all the Nines who came to the Island of Chiefs were given a new name by the medicine man. This name would stay with them until they turned eighteen. Once men and women, they would shed the last piece of their names. One might begin training as a bear and end as a dog, horse, or, once in Slug’s recollection, a worm. The second piece was one they would keep always. This piece, the attribute given to the animal they were likened to, was, according to the medicine man, so deeply ingrained in them that even the transformation from child to leader would not change it.

Slug did not like the medicine man. Perhaps it was the paleness of his skin, or maybe it was his shifty eyes that seemed to stare right through a person. This feeling was foolish, he knew. Nobody with that much power could be bad, could they? The Island of Chiefs was a just and wholesome place with little if any room for falseness and bigotry.

“Make way!” Janis Big cat called. She bustled past slug with a tray of freshly made fry bread. Following her, Reina Lame Ox came with a gigantic pot of stew. “We need a lot more than this,” spoke cat, blowing a whisp of black hair out of her eyes.

In truth, Cat was big. Almost as tall as she was wide, she was the most formidable person Slug had ever met. He loved her. The three of them had been friends since the girls were Fifteens and he was a Thirteen. At thirteen, the girls and those sensitive boys not suited for hunting or battle began working in the kitchens. Cooking was a passion of slugs. Not so with cat and Ox. They would much rather be out with the men. Unfortunately, while exceptions were made for the boys, all females were expected to be cooking, cleaning, or serving.

When they came of age, the women were all expected to have found mates. While the unmatched men were sent off to lead their prospective planets, the women were left on the island to work and wait for someone to come. Cat and Ox had spent a year on the island in this state of limbo, and Slug always swore if he hadn’t found a mate by the time he came of age, he would take one of them with him when he left. Now that he had found Jessic, that was no longer an option. He hoped they would understand, hoped their lighthearted banter about which one of them would be his wife was only that. He saw how desperate the other women would get, waiting year after year on the island without any way to leave it. He didn’t want that for his friends, but he could not sacrifice his happiness to save them.

“Slug,” spoke Ox, looking around the massive kitchen “Have you seen crow this evening?”

He shook his head. “come to think of it, I haven’t seen weasel either. The last time I saw Crow, she was in deep conversation with goose.”

“Goose?” Cat asked. “I know of no Goose. Is she a Nine, then?”

“No,” spoke Slug with a chuckle. “Goose is an Eighteen from the Island of the Lost. Weasel rescued her when her canoe was eaten by the river.”

“Weasel will live to regret bringing her to us,” Ox spoke sadly. She plucked the doll she carried from its cradle board on her back and held it against her cheak.

“Oh yes,” cat agreed. “There is much trouble ahead. When one who is given everything lands in the midst of those who work to live, Trouble is inevitable.”

“But,” Slug spoke with a wide grin “with great strife comes great good.” The two women nodded.

“The doll says you are up to something,” Ox told him, waggling its leather hand in an accusitory manner.

“The doll is right,” Slug chuckled. Ox was always telling him what the doll said. Weather she believed her doll was speaking to her, or weather she said it in fun, slug didn’t know. He was used to the dolls. Ox’s teepee was full of them. Some were Indian made, leather stitched with sinu and stuffed with soft grass from the island. The expressive faces on these dolls were like no others. Ox was famous for her attention to detail when it came to each of her precious possessions. She never traded any of them. Much would come if she did, but each doll, she said, had a place in her heart.

‘Out with it!” Cat pressed. ‘He freely admits to trouble behind thhose brown eyes and then doesn’t tell us what it is.”

“All right,” spoke Slug. “Today, Weasel brought goose. Goose brought a large canoe, and hidden deep in its belly, the large canoe brought me a girl like no other.” At their questioning looks, he nodded. “Yes my sisters, it is true. On this day, Slug has found a mate.”