longer. I am going to get into the water.”
Nel did not seem surprised by this decision. All she said was, “You did not bring a change of clothes.”
He shrugged. “I will just have to put these back on.”
“Those clothes will only smell you up again.”
He shrugged once more.
“I’ll fetch a fresh shirt for you,” she offered.
“Will you, minnow? Go to the men’s cave and ask whoever is there to give you one. They know where my things are kept. And trousers, too. I have a clean pair.”
“All right.” Nel handed him the soapwort and ran off, Nigak loping beside her.
Ronan went along the river to a place where the shore was screened from the homesite by a stand of birch and pine trees. Swiftly, he stripped off his clothes and waded into the freezing river. His teeth chattered as he began to work up some suds with the soapwort. He hoped Nel would hurry.
She must have run full speed, for by the time he was ready to come out, she was back with his clothes. She had also brought an old deerskin for him to use as a towel.
“Good girl,” he said, taking it from her and beginning to rub himself briskly. When he had finished, she handed him his trousers.
“How come you don’t have any hair on your chest?” she asked him when he had tied the leather drawstring around his waist and was reaching for his shirt.
He shrugged. “None ever grew there. I don’t know why.”
“It grew everywhere else.”
He grinned.
“I haven’t started to grow hair anywhere,” she said sadly. “My stepmother said the other day that I would probably not reach initiation until I was as old as Fali.”
“Don’t pay her any mind,” he advised. He was running his fingers through his newly washed hair to untangle it. Then, as he began to rebraid it, he asked pointedly, “Aren’t you going to wash? You were gutting fish too.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “I am going right now to wash my hands.”
He finished tying the leather thong that fastened his braid and shook his head. She tried another tack. “Ronan, I was nice enough to get your clothes for you…” Then, as he began to walk toward her, she wailed, “The water is so cold!”
“You don’t have to take off all your clothes. Just roll up your trousers. Here, I’ll do it for you.” He dropped down onto his heels and began to roll the deerskin trousers up to her knees.
Her legs had lengthened in the last year, but they were still thin as sticks, he thought. Her skin was beautiful, though, creamy white and smooth as ivory. Except for the scar on her right calf. He remembered the day she had got that scar, climbing a sheer rock face after a stranded baby lamb. Nel and her animals! he thought, finished rolling, and stood up. “Come on, in you go.”
She cast him a long-suffering look, but took the soapwort from his hand and waded in. “Wash your hair,” he said as she bent to wet her face.
“Ronan!” It was a cry of anguish. “I’m cold!”
“Your hair looks almost as black as mine,” came the inexorable reply. “Wash it.”
“But my shirt will get wet and my stepmother will scold.”
“Take it off then. I’ll hold it for you.”
The sun was setting and the clear air was cold. The river water was very cold. But Nel’s hair was very dirty, Ronan thought. That stepmother of hers would never think to wash it for her. If he didn’t watch out for her, she would be utterly filthy. Nel herself, unfortunately, placed little value on personal cleanliness.
He watched as she pulled the shirt over her head. Her poor skinny little body was covered in gooseflesh. He caught the shirt she tossed to him, crossed his arms over his own chest for warmth, and watched as she washed her hair. “Come here,” he said when she had finished, “and I’ll dry it for you.”
She splashed through the water to stand in front of him, and he took the deerskin and toweled her head. Suddenly she put her arms around his waist and burrowed against him. “I’m s-so
Nel did not seem surprised by this decision. All she said was, “You did not bring a change of clothes.”
He shrugged. “I will just have to put these back on.”
“Those clothes will only smell you up again.”
He shrugged once more.
“I’ll fetch a fresh shirt for you,” she offered.
“Will you, minnow? Go to the men’s cave and ask whoever is there to give you one. They know where my things are kept. And trousers, too. I have a clean pair.”
“All right.” Nel handed him the soapwort and ran off, Nigak loping beside her.
Ronan went along the river to a place where the shore was screened from the homesite by a stand of birch and pine trees. Swiftly, he stripped off his clothes and waded into the freezing river. His teeth chattered as he began to work up some suds with the soapwort. He hoped Nel would hurry.
She must have run full speed, for by the time he was ready to come out, she was back with his clothes. She had also brought an old deerskin for him to use as a towel.
“Good girl,” he said, taking it from her and beginning to rub himself briskly. When he had finished, she handed him his trousers.
“How come you don’t have any hair on your chest?” she asked him when he had tied the leather drawstring around his waist and was reaching for his shirt.
He shrugged. “None ever grew there. I don’t know why.”
“It grew everywhere else.”
He grinned.
“I haven’t started to grow hair anywhere,” she said sadly. “My stepmother said the other day that I would probably not reach initiation until I was as old as Fali.”
“Don’t pay her any mind,” he advised. He was running his fingers through his newly washed hair to untangle it. Then, as he began to rebraid it, he asked pointedly, “Aren’t you going to wash? You were gutting fish too.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “I am going right now to wash my hands.”
He finished tying the leather thong that fastened his braid and shook his head. She tried another tack. “Ronan, I was nice enough to get your clothes for you…” Then, as he began to walk toward her, she wailed, “The water is so cold!”
“You don’t have to take off all your clothes. Just roll up your trousers. Here, I’ll do it for you.” He dropped down onto his heels and began to roll the deerskin trousers up to her knees.
Her legs had lengthened in the last year, but they were still thin as sticks, he thought. Her skin was beautiful, though, creamy white and smooth as ivory. Except for the scar on her right calf. He remembered the day she had got that scar, climbing a sheer rock face after a stranded baby lamb. Nel and her animals! he thought, finished rolling, and stood up. “Come on, in you go.”
She cast him a long-suffering look, but took the soapwort from his hand and waded in. “Wash your hair,” he said as she bent to wet her face.
“Ronan!” It was a cry of anguish. “I’m cold!”
“Your hair looks almost as black as mine,” came the inexorable reply. “Wash it.”
“But my shirt will get wet and my stepmother will scold.”
“Take it off then. I’ll hold it for you.”
The sun was setting and the clear air was cold. The river water was very cold. But Nel’s hair was very dirty, Ronan thought. That stepmother of hers would never think to wash it for her. If he didn’t watch out for her, she would be utterly filthy. Nel herself, unfortunately, placed little value on personal cleanliness.
He watched as she pulled the shirt over her head. Her poor skinny little body was covered in gooseflesh. He caught the shirt she tossed to him, crossed his arms over his own chest for warmth, and watched as she washed her hair. “Come here,” he said when she had finished, “and I’ll dry it for you.”
She splashed through the water to stand in front of him, and he took the deerskin and toweled her head. Suddenly she put her arms around his waist and burrowed against him. “I’m s-so
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