their expertise with the harpoon, and, after she had collected a token number of plants, Nel spent the day sitting on the shore of the river, enjoying the sun and watching the boys wade from trap to trap spearing salmon. Each time a fish was speared, the boys would hook a bone needle through its gill and run it along the sinew cord they had hung at their waists.
The day’s catch was a good one, and the baskets Nel had brought were filled with fish when the three of them finally turned toward home. The boys each carried a basket, and Nel carried the harpoons. The three of them were pleased with the catch, and with each other, and they walked along easily, talking softly and occasionally laughing at a joke.
Once they were back home they separated. Tyr took one of the baskets to his mother so she could gut the fish for him, while Ronan and Nel worked together on the other one. It was a tedious and a dirty job; each salmon had to be slit open, its precious oil poured into a reindeer bladder for safekeeping, and then the fish had to be hung to dry.
“Whew,” Ronan said when at last they were finished. “I am as oily and as fishy-smelling as those salmon. I’m going down to the river to wash.” He looked at Nel critically. “You had better come too.”
It was late and cookfires were being lit in all the huts. Nel sniffed the air longingly, but said, “All right. Just let me get Nigak first.”
Ronan waited while Nel ran off to where she had tied Nigak to keep him out of their way while they were working on the fish. He crossed his ankles, leaned on his harpoon, and stared assessingly up at the sky. The weather had been clear for several days now, and it looked as if it was going to hold. He thought; perhaps tomorrow I will hunt that great stag Pier saw yesterday.
Suddenly an enormous weight barreled into him. If he had not been leaning on his harpoon, he would have been knocked over. It was Nigak, standing upright with his great paws on Ronan’s shoulders. He began enthusiastically to lick Ronan’s face.
“Dhu!” Ronan grunted, as the wolf gave a playful snap at his nose. “All right, fellow. Down. Down!” Then, to Nel, he said, “I wish he would not do that!”
“I cannot train him out of it,” she said.
“Why not? The dogs don’t do this.” Ronan had managed to extricate himself from Nigak’s fond embrace.
“It seems to be one of the big differences between a wolf and a dog,” Nel said. “Both of them can learn to be fond of humans, but whereas a dog seems to realize that humans are not dogs, Nigak does not seem to know that we are not wolves.”
“Is that why he persists in this face licking and muzzle biting of his?”
Nel nodded. “I think so. It is the way wolves greet each other, you see.”
“He thinks we are wolves?”
She nodded again.
Ronan grinned. “This is one very confused wolf, Nel.”
“Well, we are his family, you and I. We have been since he was but a pup. Why shouldn’t he think we are wolves?”
“The dogs don’t think we are dogs,” Ronan pointed out.
“Dogs have lived with men for a long time. Wolves haven’t.”
“I suppose that is so,” Ronan murmured. He began to walk toward the river, and Nel and Nigak fell in beside him.
“I brought some soapwort,” Nel said, and she held up the plant so he could see it. Ronan grunted.
Nel regarded him curiously. After a moment, she asked, “Were you sad when Borba married?”
He looked surprised. “Na. Why should I have been?”
“I thought you liked her.”
“I do like her. I like her so much that I hope she is happy in her marriage.”
“Oh,” said Nel, and her face brightened.
They had reached the river’s shore. It was late afternoon, and the water looked gray and cold. The men and the boats had left the river an hour since, and the fishing nets were folded on the shore, ready for the morrow. Ronan raised his hand to his nose, sniffed, and said, “I cannot stand the stink of fish on me any
The day’s catch was a good one, and the baskets Nel had brought were filled with fish when the three of them finally turned toward home. The boys each carried a basket, and Nel carried the harpoons. The three of them were pleased with the catch, and with each other, and they walked along easily, talking softly and occasionally laughing at a joke.
Once they were back home they separated. Tyr took one of the baskets to his mother so she could gut the fish for him, while Ronan and Nel worked together on the other one. It was a tedious and a dirty job; each salmon had to be slit open, its precious oil poured into a reindeer bladder for safekeeping, and then the fish had to be hung to dry.
“Whew,” Ronan said when at last they were finished. “I am as oily and as fishy-smelling as those salmon. I’m going down to the river to wash.” He looked at Nel critically. “You had better come too.”
It was late and cookfires were being lit in all the huts. Nel sniffed the air longingly, but said, “All right. Just let me get Nigak first.”
Ronan waited while Nel ran off to where she had tied Nigak to keep him out of their way while they were working on the fish. He crossed his ankles, leaned on his harpoon, and stared assessingly up at the sky. The weather had been clear for several days now, and it looked as if it was going to hold. He thought; perhaps tomorrow I will hunt that great stag Pier saw yesterday.
Suddenly an enormous weight barreled into him. If he had not been leaning on his harpoon, he would have been knocked over. It was Nigak, standing upright with his great paws on Ronan’s shoulders. He began enthusiastically to lick Ronan’s face.
“Dhu!” Ronan grunted, as the wolf gave a playful snap at his nose. “All right, fellow. Down. Down!” Then, to Nel, he said, “I wish he would not do that!”
“I cannot train him out of it,” she said.
“Why not? The dogs don’t do this.” Ronan had managed to extricate himself from Nigak’s fond embrace.
“It seems to be one of the big differences between a wolf and a dog,” Nel said. “Both of them can learn to be fond of humans, but whereas a dog seems to realize that humans are not dogs, Nigak does not seem to know that we are not wolves.”
“Is that why he persists in this face licking and muzzle biting of his?”
Nel nodded. “I think so. It is the way wolves greet each other, you see.”
“He thinks we are wolves?”
She nodded again.
Ronan grinned. “This is one very confused wolf, Nel.”
“Well, we are his family, you and I. We have been since he was but a pup. Why shouldn’t he think we are wolves?”
“The dogs don’t think we are dogs,” Ronan pointed out.
“Dogs have lived with men for a long time. Wolves haven’t.”
“I suppose that is so,” Ronan murmured. He began to walk toward the river, and Nel and Nigak fell in beside him.
“I brought some soapwort,” Nel said, and she held up the plant so he could see it. Ronan grunted.
Nel regarded him curiously. After a moment, she asked, “Were you sad when Borba married?”
He looked surprised. “Na. Why should I have been?”
“I thought you liked her.”
“I do like her. I like her so much that I hope she is happy in her marriage.”
“Oh,” said Nel, and her face brightened.
They had reached the river’s shore. It was late afternoon, and the water looked gray and cold. The men and the boats had left the river an hour since, and the fishing nets were folded on the shore, ready for the morrow. Ronan raised his hand to his nose, sniffed, and said, “I cannot stand the stink of fish on me any
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