Then Sinead beckoned Yana to follow her as she took up her trapline again. They had acquired several more animals, two already dead in the live traps, when Sinead decided it was time to eat. She built a little fire and, with sharpened twigs, skewered slices of the liver.
The cooking smelled as good as the eating tasted. Yana licked her fingers, shoving them into her parka to dry them on her shirt when she had finished eating. Sinead heated a pan of water and made some tea, which they took turns drinking.
"So," Yana said. "So far these all seem to be fairly standard critters, the kind that would have occurred in the northernmost parts of Earth back in the old days. I had kind of hoped for something a little more unusual."
Sinead looked across at her, a slight smile on her face. "Day's early."
"Do you ever catch those freshwater seals?" The shock of Sinead's reaction to that casual question made Yana try a hasty apology. "What'd I say wrong? You're the one asked me had I seen them."
"You see a seal, dama, and you be respectful." And there was no question of the menace in Sinead's manner.
Yana held her hands up in surrender and laughed shakily. "Sorry. Didn't mean to put both feet in my mouth. Are seals special?"
"Very," Sinead said in an unequivocal tone. Then she, too, lightened up, the tension draining out of her body. "Petaybean seals are one of the more unusual beasts: on the surface they may look like the ordinary Earth species, but they're very much a product of the planet and they must be protected. Not many people ever get to see a Petaybean seal." Unexpectedly Sinead grinned, her eyes intent on Yana's face. "You see one, you be respectful," she repeated pleasantly.
"You can count on that!" Yana said fervently.
Sinead rose and neatly covered their small fire with snow; and then they were on their way again.
Nine traps later, with some carcasses whose pelts had caused Sinead's eyes to glisten with pleasure, Yana realized that Sinead was swinging to her right. Maybe they were on the homeward leg. Yana hoped so. Her back and calf muscles were beginning to protest: individually the dead animals weighed little, but she had fifteen dangling from the pack now, and her legs were feeling the strain of unaccustomed snowshoeing.
There was no way she would complain, but she was tiring. Still and all, she had surprised herself with the day's work. Far cry from what she had been like first off Andromeda. A healthy life in the outdoors, with untainted air to breathe and decent food to eat, was certainly providing cures never found in an Intergal medical cabinet.
Yana heard the cracking sound almost as soon as Sinead, who dropped to her knees. Yana did likewise and watched with bated breath as Sinead crept forward. She motioned for Yana to come up, but also signaled her to proceed quietly. Yana had done her share of stalking-of beasts in her expeditionary days, of people in her days as an investigator-and moved appropriately. The cracking continued, a cracking and a thumping. Again Sinead moved forward, stepping with extra care, inserting herself into one of the ubiquitous thickets that grew everywhere. Yana let the branches close around her as she followed Sinead. Instead of peering up over the thicket, Sinead began to part the lower branches, crouching down to look through. She waved Yana to a point beside her, and Yana realized that she could almost see through to what looked like a riverbed. With exquisite caution, she slowly made an obscured peek hole in the branches and barely stifled her gasp of astonishment.
Animals that she first thought were some of Scan's curly-coated horses were standing about on the frozen river. One was butting at the ice, obviously determined to make a hole from which it and its companions could drink-and it was butting with a short, stumpy curled horn that grew out of the end of its nose bone. The critter was putting its all into the exercise, sometimes dropping to its knees with the force of its blows, then heaving back to all fours and springing from powerful hindquarters to beat again at the ice. The rear view exposed some obvious male appendages; checking the others of the group, Yana came to the conclusion that the horn seemed to be a perquisite of the male of the species. Suddenly it gave a triumphant bellow and began rearing up, coming down hard to stomp at the ice with its sharp hooves. The others in the small herd did likewise and then backpedaled as a black hole appeared in the white surface.
Sinead turned to grin broadly at Yana and then signaled her to withdraw. They jogged quite a ways down the track before Sinead stopped.
"Was that a unicorn I saw?" Yana asked, panting and wheezing just a bit from the exertion.
Sinead grinned with humorous malice. "There ain't no such animal and neither of us is virgin, though me more than you, 1 guess."
"I didn't see any in Sean's herd. And he showed me the stallion."
"This is a wild curly. They need the horn to get water in the winter."
"Does the horn fall off in the summer then?"
"Don't know. Never saw a horned curly trying to break ice in the summer." Sinead was off down the track before Yana could press her for more information. Well, she had been promised unusual animals-and she'd got 'em.
To Yana's surprise they were back at the lean-to much sooner than she had anticipated. She helped Sinead hitch up the team to the sled and deposited the frozen small animals on the sled bench, and then they made a straight line back to where the deer was hung. Nothing had touched it.
By the time they reached Kilcoole, Yana taking turns with Sinead to ride the sled runners, it looked the same as it had when they left: no one about on the frozen track and lights coming up in the cabins as they passed.
"Need help skinning any of these?" Sinead asked as she deposited a fair half of the produce at Yana's feet.
"I wouldn't mind," Yana admitted. "Though I could probably figure it out, I've never really done it before. I have done a little trapping and hunting, but seldom for food; mostly it was for specimens that needed to remain intact for examination and analyses."
Sinead took charge, demonstrating the technique of placing the slits and peeling the coats back, stripping away connective tissue. "Ruining the hide wastes part of the critter's gift to you, so you want to do it right. Sharp knife helps." She helped Yana skin out her share, watching until she was satisfied that Yana had the knack. Yana found she learned skinning with a lot more ease than she did cooking.
Sinead pointed up to the crossbeams. "If you tie your catch up high out here on the porch, nothing'll get 'em. I'll bring back your share of the reindeer when we've butchered it. And its hide. You have more need of it than we do."
With Yana's profuse thanks trailing after them, Sinead and her dogs went on up the track to the cabin she and Aisling shared.
Chapter 9
A week later, Yana noticed unusual activity at the Kilcoole meeting hall. When she went up to investigate, she was put to work by a laughing Clodagh, who was organizing every available body to assist in the good work. By midday the place had been swept clean, the floor washed, the trestle tables set up, and the chairs placed around the walls. The platform was erected where singers and players could be seen, and heat was pouring forth from the two fireplaces and the big fuel-drum stove. The breakup betting board had been hung from its accustomed hook, the dates and two-hour sections newly inscribed, waiting for folk to place their wagers as to the day and the approximate hour when spring would crack winter's ice and the rivers would once again begin to flow with wet water.
The latchkay stewpot, the biggest kettle in Kilcoole, occupied its burner, and every time the lid rattled with steam, a delicious odor wafted free. The big coffeepot was ready to go on-no need to do it yet or the coffee would walk out of the pot and demand dancing space. Mugs waited in platoons, and someone had donated a whole pail of sweetener. Soon the cakes and pies and other baked goods would arrive, and the other dishes the village's best cooks would provide.