Things Grak Hates Read online

  Nestling his head securely in the nape of her neck, he sipped at the hot beverage, and his problems melted away. The fragrance soothed. The steam calmed. The heat inspired. And everything looked a little brighter.

  Later, when Grak was a few snows older, she passed the process on to him and his friends. But he could never get the skill to stick: a point he’s always regretted. Though he considers it an even greater tragedy that Groka is the only one he knows of who still brews the tea.

  And while he’s willing to accept that this lends to his affection for the woman, he’ll only do so with great hesitation. After all, connecting his mother to a woman he holds such feelings for seems wrong in far too many ways.

  Grak takes a peaceful breath and smiles at Groka’s sleeping form.

  The tea must be a sign she’s returning to normal health. That’s good. I knew she would. Even during the blood coughs. Never had a doubt.

  Frolan insists that he looked worried at that point, but Grak denies it.

  I was just racking my mind for ways to help her. That’s all. It just looked like worry to those lacking discernme—

  Groka gently arches her back as she emits a low, guttural moan. Grak tries not to panic.

  Or was it more of a whimper? Either way, that can’t be a good thing.

  He struggles to get control of himself. His heart is pounding in his head, and he’s almost certain sweat has begun to pour out of every orifice.

  But there’s no time for hygiene right now, Grak. What to do? What to do? Think, Grak!

  It comes to mind in an instant. He checks her breath. Still there. He feels her chest for a beat. Nearly as strong as his own. Once again, he’s at a loss.

  What are other ways to check a person’s health? Eyes!

  Yes, he remembers seeing Loren do that when checking one of the “unfortunates” a few days ago. Slowly, and with great care, he pulls Groka’s right eyelid open. The milkiness is almost gone. Other than that, he doesn’t know what else to look for.

  Didn’t Loren have the fellow move his eye up and down?

  Grak opens it farther. No, he still can’t see the bottom of her eye. He straddles the woman in a kneeling position, jockeying for a better angle. He pushes her head back with one hand and spreads the eyelid with the other. Still not wide enough.

  Grak reasons that just the one hand isn’t doing it. He positions his knee to hold her head in place, thus freeing up both hands to assist with the inspection. Very wide now. Much better. Still nothing unusual, though.

  “Ow! What … Grak?”

  He falls to the side, startled.

  Groka cups her eye and glares with the good one. “What, in all the land, were you doing?”

  Somehow, Grak is sweating even more now. “I … I was just making sure you were alright. You made a strange moan, and I … I thought you might be in pain.” If he’s being honest, he finds it annoying that she should reprove him for trying to help.

  “I … well, yes.” Groka averts her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Did she just blush? Perhaps she’s charmed by my care for her. Well done, Grak.

  Groka takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She touches his cheek with tenderness. “I appreciate your concern, Grak.”

  Well done, indeed. Keep this up, and yo—

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” says an all too familiar voice.

  Grak’s spine tingles. He was so focused on his friend that he didn’t hear the other woman approaching.

  Groka’s face lights up with a broad smile. “Hello, Jafra! Good to see you!”

  Grak musters up a cold and murky tone. “Jafra. What brings you here?” In hindsight, improper use of emphasis may have revealed too much.

  Fortunately, Groka diverts attention by taking the reply on herself. “Oh, Jafra’s been coming by regularly. She’s been taking such good care of me.”

  Grak doesn’t appreciate the way Groka is gazing at the other woman, though he can’t quite tell what that look is. Admiration, perhaps, though it’s hard to say. He has little to use as comparison.

  Don’t see how anyone could admire such a misshapen brow. Unless they’ve been tricked. What are you up to, Jafra, you sly fox? Trying to subvert one of my supporters to your side? You would be that treacherous, wouldn’t you?

  Nonetheless, Grak decides it’s best to play naive on this one. “Well, not such good care, I think. You weren’t here just now. Groka was moaning and in poor health. And I was the one who helped her.”

  Hmm, not quite the air of innocence I was going for. A touch more subtlety would be preferable next time.

  “Oh, thank you so much, Grak! I have to say, I’m touched at how you keep coming through for everyone.” Jafra’s sudden gratitude suggests that the sting missed its mark.

  Or was that some sort of hidden jape?

  Yes, Grak can see it now. The guise was skillful, but not enough to fool him. While disgusted by her chicanery, he’s also impressed by it from an artisan’s perspective. He commits the nuances of her deceit to memory.

  Still, I’d feel more comfortable keeping such duplicity away from Groka. Would be a shame to see her purity corrupted. And yet, how do you get rid of someone who doesn’t realize when they’re not wanted?

  His task for Loren pops to mind as a possible solution. While it would also force Grak to leave the tent, he doesn’t mind. Just so long as his foe is no longer around.

  Then it’s settled. “Jafra, I need some berries. For children. To eat. Go with me to get some …” Grak attempts the facade of kindness he just learned from her. “Please.”

  Not bad, Grak. Not bad. Though, I imagine practice would yield even greater subtlety.

  Jafra tilts her head in a display of concern. “Oh? Which children? I could just bring the berries directly to them. I know you’ve got a lot to take care of.”

  Grak smiles. And not just at the unevenness of her brow. He knows her heart too well.

  You’d just love to steal their appreciation on this one, wouldn’t you? But you can’t fool me, devious fox.

  “No, that’ll be quite alright, Jafra. I should be the one to do it. Don’t want anyone getting confused, do we?”

  “But, how would any—”

  “Could you just do as I ask, please!” Not so subtle that time. Though, truth be told, Grak wasn’t giving it much effort. No matter how useful Jafra’s trickery might prove, he still believes in letting her know when she gets too annoying.

  And the chastisement appears to have succeeded. Jafra nods and shrugs. “Alright. Come with me, then.” She turns to Groka with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll check back later tonight. You take care of yourself until then.”

  Groka returns the smile and dons that peculiar gaze of admiration once again. Grak finds himself envious. He decides it would be best if someone gave him some admiration.

  Grak is willing to admit he’s disappointed in Loren’s underwhelming response to the berries. It’s been nearly a full day now, and she’s only thanked him once.

  If you could even call that a ‘thank you.’ More like a dutiful acknowledgment.

  So far, Grak has found eight ways the woman’s appreciation could have been better conveyed. Of these, he considers the absence of more vivid descriptors to be supreme. In fact, the only summary he’s comfortable giving her gratitude is “drab.”

  “Is it too much to ask for more enthusiasm? Getting those berries required no small amount of work on my part. And it likely saved her child’s life. You’d think she’d show a little more appreciation. It’s not like I expected her to run through camp shouting how wonderful I am.” Hoped, yes, but not expected.

  Doran takes a moment to find his words. “I don’t know what to tell you, friend. I wish there was some way I could help.”

  That’s the opening Grak has been waiting for. “Perhaps you could remind her. And Brak too. That was my good hat, you know.”

  While Brak's display of enthusiasm was sufficient, Grak feels
it would only be proper for the man to thank him two or three more times. After all, the replacement pales in comparison. While it’s the second best of all thirty-two caps, that still isn’t saying much. The point is far more prominent than on the one he gave away, and he’s forced to indent it to keep that fact hidden. “My good hat,” he calls it, though with furtive eyes and a noticeable lack of emphasis.

  Doran nods, deep in thought. “Yes, I suppose I could. Alright, next time I see them, I’ll do that. I’ll let them know how important it is to you.”

  That certainly won’t fit in with Grak’s plan. He can’t have others thinking he’s the sensitive sort. “Well, it’s not really important to me. I just feel it’s important to the tribe. As leader, it concerns me.”

  While Grak is proud of his subtlety, Doran’s confusion reveals the need for supporting details. “If we don’t thank each other properly, we’ll grow cold. We’ll become a divided people. I’ve already seen it among some. Like Jafra.”

  Doran’s response comes faster this time. “Hmm. You might be right, friend. She’s changed. I wouldn’t have thought her to refuse food to hungry children. She actually said she hates them? Or did she just say she lacks a fondness for them?”

  Grak identifies the need to rein that one in. “Uh, well, it was more a feeling I got. Based on her refusal to feed them. Also, her body movements and facial expressions gave it away.”

  Another good save, Grak. Nice work.

  Doran shakes his head in disappointment. “Well, I’m convinced. If Jafra’s pleasantness can be lost, then it could happen to anyone. Increased appreciation is a dire necessity. I’ll be sure to spread the word. And not just with Brak and Loren.”

  He places a hand on Grak’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re leading us, friend. It’s only been a handful of days, and the difference is already clear.”

  “Eight.” Grak remembers to appear indifferent about that. “I mean, I think.” But he can’t resist a final mumble. “More than a handful, though.”

  “Me too!” Olive Thirteen looks up from her painting. “I’m glad for your leading. Everyone seems much happier.”

  Grak glances at her rock. It still looks like a crab. Though he does appreciate the vibrant blue she’s added. But aside from that, it’s nearly identical to everyone else’s attempts. And all are equally perplexing in his eyes.

  Still, they’re certainly preferable to the songs. Can’t imagine I’m alone in that thinki—

  “There it is!” shouts an indistinct voice from the crowd.

  Grak remains seated while everyone else rushes to the water’s edge. They bunch together, jostling for position.

  “Where?” another voice yells.

  “I can’t see it.” That sounded like Olive Thirteen.

  “Of course you can’t. Doran’s the only one who can.” That might have been Sando, though the man was just faking illness, so it’s not likely.

  “Nope. Not accurate.” Doran’s voice is unmistakable. “As I’ve stated a numb—”

  “Is that it?” Another ambiguous voice cuts him off.

  “No, that’s a wave. But I’m telling you, I just saw it! Not a moment ago,” shouts the first voice again.

  Grak tires of attempting to fix names to the shouts. And he’s long been tired of these “sightings.” Though he will admit the first one did pique his interest. But once he realized how common an occurrence they were, he decided it wasn’t worth the fuss.

  Be nice if Doran saw that too. Can hardly find a moment alone just to talk like we used to.

  If nothing else, this whole thing’s just a distraction. And lazy too, now that I think about it. We have far more important matters to deal with. I have enough to keep me busy through the snows and beyond. Could certainly do without this piled on top.

  Grak’s frustration gets the better of him, and he kicks Olive Thirteen’s rock. It tumbles past a pair of boots that must have walked up when he wasn’t looking.

  Cordo lifts an eyebrow at the show of anger. The mole just under his left eye rises in unison. “I feel the same way. They’ve lost their minds, I tell you. This … crab or … wave … nonsense. It’s not right.”

  While Grak agrees, he’s caught off guard by the sudden appearance. Also, the man’s team is something of a distraction. Each appears as though attempting to out-sad the next. And the meager game they’re carrying seems to be the cause.

  This sight in particular steals Grak’s immediate focus. “Is that all you could find?” He hears a touch of fear in his own voice and remembers to mask it with indignation. “That won’t feed the camp, you know.” He’s happy with how that turned out.

  Cordo, on the other hand, seems annoyed, yet controlled. Even his mole is stoic. “This is what I’ve been saying, Grak. The pickings are slim. And getting slimmer every day.”

  Grak steadies his voice in advance. “Well, if Frolan isn’t back soon, then we’ll …” In all honesty, he’s not really sure what they’ll do. “Well, then we’ll need to think of something.” That’s good enough for now.

  “Even if Frolan is back soon, we’re still in trouble, Grak.” Cordo’s control is showing signs of fraying. His mole quivers slightly. “The herd is moving too far and at too great a speed. This small, local game can’t sustain us on these long waits. As pitiful as the hunt was today, I think we might have finally killed off the wildlife around here. We’ll need to move the camp.”

  Grak has been fearing this suggestion. Traveling is high on his list of hates. So far, the illness and recovery have helped him dodge the subject, but now it might be unavoidable.

  Worse still, the crowd is beginning to return. Several have already flocked to his conversation, and their silent concern is spreading.

  Can’t have them worrying. They need to think I can handle this.

  Grak puts on his brave voice. “Cordo, you’re such a worry … person.” He realizes the need for a properly fitting phrase there. “If Frolan doesn’t get back soon, I’ll think of something. No need to fear!”

  “I have faith in you, Grak,” says Doran. “You’ve led us through thus far. I’m sure you’ll come up with something until Frolan returns.”

  “Well, we need one of your ideas right now,” interrupts Cordo. “We don’t have enough food to go around.”

  Think, Grak. Think. Probably have to stop feeding some. But who? The lazy would be an obvious choice.

  “We have lots of olives. Haven’t been using them much lately.” Jafra must have sneaked into the crowd while Grak’s guard was dropped.

  Trying to ruin everything, as usual. Should probably stop feeding her too. Though, I suppose we might need the olives anyway. Given our lack of options. Besides, with my triple servings these days, I can still avoid the vile things without facing hunger.

  Grak puts on an air of confidence. “I was just thinking that, Jafra. And was about to suggest it. Please, try not to interrupt.”

  He turns to the crowd. “So as you can see, I already have a solution. And we’ll be fine for the time being. As I said, no need to fear.”

  Grak checks his shadow. It’s around half past midday. “But to put your minds at even greater ease, I’ll offer this. If Frolan isn’t here by sundown, I’ll think of a solution for the longer term.”

  Maybe I could send out more teams. Could bring back a greater haul that way. And they’d have to find their own food while gone. That would relieve demand on supplies here. Should leave enough to eat for those of us who stay back.

  “If that’s the case, we may just need to move anyway,” says Cordo. “And hope to meet Frolan’s team on the road.”

  “Yes. That’s my idea. Absolutely. So you can all see that I’ve thought of everything. Once again, no need to fear.”

  Grak likes that phrase. He commits it to memory before attempting to end the dreadful conversation. “So enjoy your festivities! Olive Thirteen has a bold painting here that I think you’ll enjoy. And a moment ago I heard someone singing … something.” He can’t bring
himself to compliment it. “So be comforted knowing that I’m back at camp planning our next course of action.”

  With that, Grak turns and starts up the hill. Stepping lightly, he listens carefully for developments in the crowd behind him. To his relief, they soon begin milling about again. He takes a deep, comforting breath at that sound. The distraction is working.

  Or so he thought. The noise seems to be growing louder. Yes, now he’s certain. The din has become more of a frenzied murmur.

  Another ‘sighting,’ perhaps? No, it should have died down by now. But what else would get them so riled up? Arguing about food again? Quite likely. Can’t even give me a moment of peace.

  Grak reaches the summit and stops. He waits there a moment, unsure if he should go back to the shore or make them come to him. While he’s pondering that thought, he turns and surveys the crowd below.

  But something about their behavior strikes him as odd. None are focused on him. Instead, they’re talking to each other while many point off toward the forest.

  Grak follows their line of sight until his eye snags on movement. Realization slowly dawns. A group is leaving the tree line, walking this way. He can’t make out their faces, but it doesn’t matter. The wind has changed, and he can now hear clear shouts of joy coming from his people at the shore.

  Grak sighs in relief. Frolan has returned.

  5 - And Packing Day

  For as long as Grak can remember, he’s always hated packing day. But in a different way than he’s used to. This contempt is simpler. “Childlike,” he calls it. Though Grak is careful to clarify that he’s not making any implications about his maturity level.

  No, he’s just referring to the uncomplicated nature of this aversion. Noise, chaos, and tiring labor are all high on his list, and this day invariably provides an abundance of each. It’s as straightforward as that.

  Well, almost. There’s also the looming threat that once the day ends, an even deeper agony sets in: traveling. It possesses all the miseries of packing day, but amplified and over an extended period of time. “Who wouldn’t despise it?” he tells Doran whenever the topic comes to mind.