Since were speaking of snakes tonight... #DailyLines #MasterRaymondsStory #Untitled #NoIHaveNOIdeaWhenThisWillBeDone Anyway, there’s a place in the valley—well, not in the valley, but up high, on the ridge at one side—where you find flint as soft as butter, smooth as cream under your fingers, that you can knap to an edge that would shave your scalp or gut a wisent. So the women and the children made camp by the river, and the men and the boys who were old enough to keep up climbed up through the loose rocks and the thick spring growth of saplings and vines, sweating and grunting in a manly fashion as we went. A snake crossed my path when I turned aside to drink from a trickle of water coming down the cliff. It wasn’t an evil snake, but it _was_ a snake, and it _was _me it looked at. “No, it didn’t either!” said Gorman. “It was looking at me!” He was half a year older than I was and a little taller. His penis was only the length of his fourth finger and his hands were smaller than mine. His did have hair around it. Some. He put out a hand to grab the snake, and it bit him, so fast I only saw the flash of its head through a little patch of sun. Gorman let out a shriek and Pullo came bounding down the hillside and smacked him over the ear so hard he shot backward, fell over a rock and landed hard on his backside. He did keep his big mouth shut, though, and sat sucking sullenly at the half-circle of puncture marks on his hand while Pullo and Tiran peered out through the screen of trees, looking to see that Gorman’s cry hadn’t attracted anybody—or anything. The weather was warm and there was plenty of food to be found; we weren’t the only ones on the move. I was rubbing my hands together, hard and fast. The snake hadn’t gone away; it was sitting in the shadow of a big rock, half-coiled and wary. One move too quick, and it would dart under the rock and be gone. I squatted, slow as I could, and even slower, reached out a hand, low down. My palms were throbbing with heat. A snake’s blood runs cold, and they love heat. That’s why you find them sunning themselves on rocks and in open places. The snake’s little tongue flickered in and out, fast, and then slow. He wasn’t sure—but he could feel the heat of my hand. Without any sense of hesitation, he suddenly glided to me and I felt the gentle weight of him on my palm. I knew better than to grab him, and I looked at Gorman and grinned at him. He glowered at me, but Pullo and Tiran came over, moving slowly so as not to alarm the snake. He was a small snake, no longer than my forearm, and beautiful. Gray like a dove, with a little green stripe. I lifted my fingers a little, and he wound himself through them, coiling his tail around my wrist for steadiness. Now I could stand up, and I did. The snake lifted his head, tongue tasting the air between us, and he for sure looked at me now. “What will you ask for?” Tiran said behind me, low-voiced. I could feel the laugh on his breath, warm on my bare shoulder. “Hair on your balls?” He was laughing, but it wasn’t a joke. When the sun hung all night in the sky, others would come to the Summer Place. Other families, and trading would be done. Our family ran to sons, and that was good, of course. But it meant that we needed to get at least four women, and that was a lot and even then the older men would have first choice. I wouldn’t have a chance of getting one if I had no hair to prove I could bed her, and it might be three years or more before there was another Gathering big enough to provide me a woman. And there would be more men needing one by then, especially if any of our women had died giving birth. Still…it wasn’t every day a snake looked you in the face, let alone came to you. Perhaps I should ask to talk to my father. That idea made a warm spot in my chest. I hadn’t met him in the dream-world for more than a year, not since the pig-feast when we all got drunk on elderflower wine and Ubert fell in the river. And there were things I would like to know, not just man-things—Pullo would tell me those, if I asked; he was a son of my father, four years older than me. He needed a woman, too; he hadn’t got one at the last Gathering. That thought decided me. I brought the snake carefully to my face, hoping that he wouldn’t bite my nose, and whispered, “Bring me a woman,” too low for the others to hear. “A good one, please,” I added as afterthought.
Posted on: Fri, 31 Oct 2014 10:09:19 +0000