Page 12 of Caveman Alien's Touch

“Because I see Bronwen standing right there, I deem that’s a good use for it,” Brak says. “I have another pot that we can show to the tribers. We can give them the strong frit in exchange for their protection and friendship.”

“They have an interesting way of getting water. Perhaps we can do something like that in the camp. Now that it seems like we may not need to move around so much.”

“The pump? Yes, good idea. Some of our clansbrothers can’t walk far to carry water for the tribe, but that way the water can come to them.”

We stay on the top of the mountain until nightfall. Seeing the sunset from this high feels like some kind of witchcraft. The whole sky looks like it’s on fire.

Down in the village, drums start beating and I spot torches being lit. Food is being cooked over big fires near the totem wall, the smoke making delicate curls against the trees.

“I think the party is about to start.”

Brak punches my shoulder lightly. “Our first party in a tribe, Noker. Did you ever think you’d experience that?”

“Never,” I confess. “It didn’t cross my mind. How quickly things can change!”

“The jungle is new,” he agrees. “It will never be like it was before the women came.”

The women send Brak and me down the stairs, claiming they need time to get ready.

“It’s a fine village,” I comment on the way down, spear in my hand. “Perhaps we should try to make our camp like this instead.”

“This Mount is the only thing about this village that stands out,” Brak scoffs. “Without it, it would be an ordinary village, much like ours. Our clan is doing fine, Noker.”

“That’s true enough. But what I mean is, they have big forges and a thick wall. Now that we may place our camp on their turf, maybe not everything needs to be hanging from trees. We can build a wall, too. And build a forge that we don’t need to bury after every use. We can store bigger things in huts on the ground. Make our camp more like a village. We’ll keep the platforms, of course.”

Brak scratches his chin. “You may be onto something, brother. The way things are now, we may not need to always be hiding. Let’s think about it. The outcasts are still around, although much weakened.”

By the tribe’s main table, the torches and fires light up the totem wall and makes it come alive. The large picture of Piper seems to move and smile, scowl and frown as the flames dance.

The drummers are just getting started — there are four drums, but only two are being played by their young owners.

“Welcome, guests,” a tribesman says as he comes towards us. “I am Sarker’ox, and I help Shaman Melr’ax lead the tribe when Chief Korr’ax is away.”

In other words, this is the temporary chief of the tribe, because we all know Melr’ax is too sick to lead anyone.

Sarker’ox is older than me, but much younger than the shaman. He’s still strong and has an air of calm authority. He’s the same man who tried to stop the other men from insulting my spear.

I grab his forearm warmly. “Greetings, Chief Sarker’ox! Led by you and the shaman, the Borok tribe is in good hands.”

“I hope so,” he says and leads us to the table. “But it will be even better when our real chief returns. I apologize for not having greeted you properly before, Noker, but things happen fast these days. I hope this small celebration will make up for it.”

“Brother Noker is not one to hold a grudge, Chief,” Brak says. “Unless you’re an irox. Then he’ll get mad.”

Sarker’ox chuckles politely. “I would not want to be an irox who attacks Noker, certainly. Please have a seat, and we shall bring food and drink.”

“Very friendly tribe,” Brak says as he grabs a piece of fruit from a woven basket on the table and hands it to me. “Let us do nothing to endanger our friendship with them.”

I bite into the fruit, finding it fresh and juicy. “We will not be the first to provoke. But we are Foundlings, and not everyone in the tribe will like us.”

Brak gets a red fruit for himself. “I thought so, too. But they received me well. I think perhaps this tribe is different from the ones where we had our previous camps, Noker.”

Another boy comes walking and sits down to take part in the drumming. The night is balmy and the smell of food being prepared makes me mellow.

Oh, that experience with Bronwen was wonderful! I swear she was enjoying it when I pretended to wipe irox blood off her smooth, delicate skin. How soft she is! How good she smelled! How exciting it was to hear those sounds, whenever I would move my fingers and stroke her with a swirly circle… I swear my fingers tingled with her warmth and her magic. And by the end, I circled her nipple, moving across skin so impossibly delicate, raising hundreds of small bumps… I wonder if she would let me Worship her. She must have enjoyed the way I caressed her. Would it be possible to Worship a woman with only fingers? I cross my legs to not make the bulge too obvious.

Many tribesmen come over and sit down at the table, some introducing themselves and some not. One who doesn’t is Unin’iz, the one who made fun of my spear. I see him glaring at me from the other side, along with two of the others who were with him.

Well, I don’t need to talk to him. Brak and I are soon in conversation with the other Borok men, and soon big pots of frit are being brought to us.

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