Traditions

Black Pinnacle

Rerni sat near the entrance of the small cave she called her den. Night was coming and the temperatures.in the mountains were already plummeting. Behind her the sweet smell of smoking meat filled the cave wafting over her senses. Her mouth watered although she was not hungry.

She had more meat than she could consume. One top of the dire bear she had hunted, she had the the bodies of the hunters that had died on the landslide. Renri had not recognised the colours and fetishes they carried. Probably some tribe she had not come across yet in her time up here.

Maybe she could trade some of the meat with one of the tribes that she knew lived nearby. She was thinking maybe the Argun, who made their home in a small valley, nestled in the heart of a deep gorge. Although it could be dangerous like dealing with any tribe was. Their low numbers made tribal warfare very rare but all with no exception displayed aggressiveness against any outsiders.

Renri took the flint blade in her left hand and look at the organs in front of her. She had learned their ways and that of their ancestors. Unchanged for thousand of years. She believed the power of their teachings. She was no shaman and lacked the ritualistic skill to commune with the Spirits.

She sliced a sliver of the enlarged heart and took it to her lips. It would give her courage, power and resistance to the cold. Next she cut into the pinkish-gray hued lungs. She did not enjoy its spongy texture hoping for increased stamina and speed. Next she picked up the eyeball. Renri bit down on the cartilaginous sphere as it bursted inside her mouth.. There is a little protein in the white shell of the eye, but not a lot. It is like eating a tablespoon full of gristle. But it would give her better perception, make her better at tracking.

The liver she would not eat raw. She had developed quite a fondness for it slightly roasted over an open fire. Her mouth watered again at the thought of the soft meat