Midworld Read Online Free PDF Page A

only slightly forced. “You can have what you need of the meat, and your parents, too. It’s the pelt that’s for you, of course.”
    Brightly Go was the most beautiful girl in the village, but sometimes Born found himself thinking unflattering things about her other qualities. Then, he would eye her thin wrapping of leafleather and forget everything else.
    “You’re laughing at me,” she protested angrily. “Don’t laugh at me!” Naturally, that encouraged him to laugh even more. “Losting,” she said with dignity, “doesn’t laugh at me.”
    That shut him up quickly. “What does it matter what Losting does?” he shot back challengingly.
    “It matters to me.”
    “Huh … well.” Something had suddenly gone wrong somewhere. This wasn’t working out the way he had imagined it would, the way he had planned it. Somehow it never did.
    He looked around the silent village. A few of the older people had stared out at him when he had returned. Now that the novelty of his survival had worn off, they had returned to their household tasks. Most of the active adults, naturally, were off hunting, gathering edibles, or keeping the Home clear of parasites. The anticipated adulation had never materialized. He had risked his life, then, to return to a cluster of curious children and to the indifference of Brightly Go. His earlier euphoria vanished.
    “I’ll clean the pelt for you, anyway,” he grumbled. “Come on, Ruumahum.” He turned and stalked angrily off toward the other side of the village. Behind him Brightly Go’s face underwent a series of contortions expressing a broad spectrum of emotions. Then she turned and went back inside her parent’s compound.
    Ruumahum let out a snort of relief when the deadweight was finally untied and he could shake it from his back. Whereupon he walked directly to his corner in the large single room, lay down, and entered that region most beloved of all furcots.
    Muttering to himself Born unpacked his hunter’s pouch-belt, removed his cloak, and set about the business of preparing the grazer. He wielded the bone knife so angrily he almost cut through and ruined the skin several times. The layer of fat beneath the skin was next. Turning the carcass was a laborious job, but Born managed without having to wake Ruumahum. The fat was slung into a wooden trough. Later it would be melted down and rendered into candles.
    Then he was at the meat, cutting away huge chunks to dry and preserve. Organs and other nonedibles went into the pit at the back of the room. This he covered with the ready mulch mixture, adding water from a wood cistern. The Home would be pleased. The hollow backbone and the huge flaring circular ribs he separated, cleaned and scoured, and set outside where the sunlight would dry them. The thick bone would make tools and ornaments. The teeth were valueless, not worth wearing, unlike those of the carnivorous breeder Losting had killed. He would make no necklace of these flat, grinding molars to wear at ceremonies.
    But he would eat well.
    Once the grazer had been reduced to its useful components, Born cleaned his hands and arms. Moving to a corner he pulled aside a curtain of woven fiber. Rummaging behind it he found his other snuffler. He would have to secure a second one now. He studied it and thought over the problem. He would get Jhelum to make one. His hands were far more skillful at working the green wood than Born’s, and quicker. He smiled slightly. He would lose most of his grazer in trade for the new snuffler, but he would still have good eating for a time. Jhelum, who did not hunt and who had two youngsters and a wife, would be appreciative of the meat:
    “I am going to see Jhelum, the carver, Ruumahum. I’ll—”
    A long low whistling came from the furcot’s corner. Born uttered an angry word.
    It seemed no one cared whether he lived or died. He ripped the leafleather screen aside and marched off toward Jhelum’s place. Most of the remainder of the day