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she walked over to Kayugh, leaned against his back, placed her hands on his shoulders.
    “There is no better father than you,” she said. “Ask your children. Ask Red Berry, ask Wren. Wren is still only a child, but she knows. You were fair to both sons, but they were different, as all people are. You did not favor one son or the other just because you treated them differently.”
    “Samiq thinks …”
    “Whatever Samiq says, remember he has lost more than any of us. Not only a brother, but Kiin and her son Shuku, and the use of his hand. You know that sorrow not only twists the heart, but also dims the eyes. Only the very wise can see good in the earth when they are grieving.”
    Kayugh nodded, laid the spearpoint back in the basket. He stood and pulled Chagak into his arms, held her tightly against his chest.
    In a small voice Chagak asked, “Do you think he will hunt again?”
    “Samiq?” Kayugh asked, his mouth close to Chagak’s ear.
    She nodded.
    “Yes,” Kayugh said. “I do not know how, but he will.” Kayugh pulled away, looked down at his wife. “Do not doubt your son,” he said. “He is just like you. He will not give up until he has found a way.”
    “Samiq?”
    Samiq took a long breath. It was Three Fish. Why must she treat him as though he were a boy who needed watching?
    He stood. “I am here.”
    Three Fish smiled. “I brought you food,” she said and held out a basket of dried fish.
    Samiq sat down cross-legged on the ground as though he were Whale Hunter, not First Men. “I am not hungry, Three Fish.”
    “How will you hunt if you do not eat?” Three Fish asked, and she squatted beside him. “Eat,” she said again, and held a piece of fish out toward him. “Eat, then I will tell you something that will make you happy.”
    Samiq reached for the fish she offered, realizing too late that he had reached with his right hand. He looked up into the sky, ground his teeth to hold in his anger. But Three Fish merely took his hand in hers, laid it on her thigh, and put the fish into his left hand.
    “You will hunt soon?” she asked, studying his fingers.
    Samiq snorted. “How?”
    Three Fish looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You ask me?” she said. “I am a woman. I do not hunt. If you have a question about sewing or cooking, ask that. Then I will tell you.”
    Samiq bit into the fish. “You spend too much time with my mother,” he said. “You begin to talk like her.”
    Three Fish laughed. “Good.”
    She turned his right hand one way, then another, took a fish from the basket, and ate it still studying his hand. “The fingers hold tight?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Then what is the problem? Your arm still works, you can still throw the spear.”
    “Look,” Samiq said. He picked up his throwing stick, pressed it into his right hand, and showed her the curled finger that lay against the bottom of the stick.
    “It must lie straight?” Three Fish asked.
    “Yes, or I cannot aim, and the throwing stick wobbles.”
    Three Fish continued to eat, and finally when she had finished the last piece of fish, she said, “Wait. I will be back.”
    She took two running steps toward the ulas, then turned and picked up the empty food basket. “Are you still hungry?” she asked.
    Samiq held a smile inside his cheek. Three Fish had eaten all the food, except for the piece of fish still in Samiq’s left hand. He held it up for her to see. “I have food,” he answered, then watched as she left. Three Fish was as wide as any of the First Men hunters, nearly as tall as Big Teeth, and she ran slowly and awkwardly in the sand of the Traders’ Beach.
    Samiq took a bite of fish. He stood and stretched, then walked the length of the beach. It was good that their ulas were protected from the North Sea by the arms of the bay, but sometimes he wished he could see the open water. Better to tell if whales or seals were swimming. But now what did it matter? How would he teach the men to hunt whale with