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his hand crippled as it was?
    Now that Amgigh was dead and Samiq could no longer hunt, what did the First Men have? Three hunters—Kayugh and Big Teeth, nearly old men—and First Snow, Red Berry’s husband. Red Berry’s two sons were still only babies, and who could count Kiin’s father Waxtal as a hunter, the man now bringing in only two, three seals a season? Small Knife, though still a boy, was better with the harpoon.
    Perhaps Hard Rock and the Whale Hunters had been right when they blamed the curse of Aka’s fire and ash on Samiq. Perhaps he had brought curses to the First Men as well, so finally they would have no hunters and be forced to live on the fish and berries the women brought in.
    And what about Kiin? he asked himself. She will be waiting for me to come for her. What will she think when I do not come?
    He pulled the throwing stick from his hand and held his fist up toward the gray of the sky. “What about this?” he cried into the wind.
    “How can I hunt with this? What good am I if I cannot bring meat for my people?”
    Suddenly Three Fish was beside him. “Look,” she said, her round flat face creased with a smile. “Look, Samiq, this.” She waved a narrow piece of birdbone before his eyes and pulled his hand toward her. She straightened his forefinger, then tied the bone to it with thin strings of twisted sinew.
    “See,” she said, then turned toward the ikyak rack. “Where is your spear?”
    “Wait,” Samiq said, holding her back. Who could say what curse would come to a weapon if it were touched by a woman? He picked up his throwing stick and ran to the racks where he had left his spear. He fitted the stick into his hand and set the butt end of the spear into the ivory hook at the top of the throwing stick. He pulled his arm back, made a strong sidearm throw. It was not a perfect throw, but the spear flew straight, no short awkward arc, no high erratic path.
    “Three Fish!” Samiq called, his voice lifting into a shout.
    He ran to her, squeezed her against his chest. Three Fish pulled away, but Samiq said, “I do not care who sees.”
    Three Fish, her face flushed, looked down. “You will crush your sons.”
    Samiq stopped, eyes wide.
    “Takha is here,” she said, stroking the bulge of the baby under her suk. “Your other son is here,” and she patted her belly.

CHAPTER 8
    W AXTAL STARED AT the chunk of driftwood. “It has not been a good year for carvers,” he said and threw the driftwood down in disgust. “If I had ivory I could carve all winter, then go to our daughter’s husband Raven. He would trade for my carvings. Look what he gave for the poor animals Kiin made.”
    Blue Shell looked up at him from where she sat sorting grass beside the oil lamp. “Take the day, go up the beach to the North Sea,” she said. “Who can say what you will find? Perhaps the spirits will see your need and send a walrus tusk.”
    Waxtal looked up at her and scowled. “A woman thinks it is easy to walk to the North Sea. A woman says, ‘Take the day. You will find a walrus tusk.’ Any hunter knows even in an ikyak it is not an easy trip. There are strong currents and hard winds. What other hunter would go with me? They see little value in walrus tusks. No spirit has opened their eyes to what a carver’s knife can do.”
    Blue Shell bent her head over her work.
    “Besides,” Waxtal said, “no one could expect me to go out in this wind with this suk. I need a parka. It is colder here than on our island. I should dress like the Walrus People do, with a hood to cover my head and fur leggings. Kayugh and Samiq have parkas, but my woman is too stupid to make one.”
    “If you want a parka, I will make one,” Blue Shell said quietly, “but I cannot make a parka from birdskins. Kayugh and Samiq have furs from Kiin’s trading, but we do not. You will have to hunt. You will have to bring us fur seal skins or caribou hides.”
    “A woman thinks it is easy to hunt …” Waxtal began.
    Blue