Africa Zero
“Three of the Pykani were cooking food that I assumed was for Jethro Susan. I squatted by the flames and removed my pack. She slumped by the fire nearer to the Pykani than to me. She looked exhausted. Only then did I realise how she must have struggled to keep with the pace I naturally set. I looked across at Spitfire.
“Have you water?”
The Pykani stood, took up a gourd, and handed it to me. I washed out my mouth with some then proceeded to wash the dried blood from my arms, my torso, and from u...nder my fingernails. Only when I had finished that and was pulling pieces of shrapnel from my shoulder did anyone speak.
“You have come,” said the Pykani next to Spitfire, who I recognised as her mate.
“Yes,”
I said, trying to remember his name. Had it been Hurricane? “How many mammoth have been killed?”
“At our last census it was seven hundred this way. Twenty five by other methods.”
At that moment I remembered to turn my sense of smell back on and with it came a flush of anger—redolent of fire smoke and the roasted mammoth flesh Jethro Susan was eating.MoreLess
“Have you water?”
The Pykani stood, took up a gourd, and handed it to me. I washed out my mouth with some then proceeded to wash the dried blood from my arms, my torso, and from u...nder my fingernails. Only when I had finished that and was pulling pieces of shrapnel from my shoulder did anyone speak.
“You have come,” said the Pykani next to Spitfire, who I recognised as her mate.
“Yes,”
I said, trying to remember his name. Had it been Hurricane? “How many mammoth have been killed?”
“At our last census it was seven hundred this way. Twenty five by other methods.”
At that moment I remembered to turn my sense of smell back on and with it came a flush of anger—redolent of fire smoke and the roasted mammoth flesh Jethro Susan was eating.MoreLess
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