Luck | Page 5

Thumb, although he didn't believe this,
"and it was me, looking for you."
Someone was playing a bone flute. Probably Oak, who usually had
trouble sleeping. The notes were soft and drowsy and a little downcast.
It was a song of leaves dropping from trees and birds flying south, a
song of the end of summer.

The next morning, Blue asked Thumb and Oak to walk with him to the
river for a hunting council. Although Oak was Thumb's half-brother,
they had never been close. Oak was younger than Thumb. Their mother
had died giving birth to him and their luck had been tangled ever since.
But with Quick and the others tracking the reindeer herd, Oak was the
best hunter in camp.
He was a simple man, better with his hands than his head. He could
throw a spear farther than any of the people, but he could scarcely tell a

story straight through. He had no lover and so was always restless. The
mothers said that he would leave the valley some day.
The three men carried water skins down the path to the river. Since
Blue had called the council, Oak and Thumb waited for him to begin it.
At the river, instead of filling his skin, he hung it on a branch. The
others did the same and then the three sat facing each other.
"So, do we hunt it?" said Blue.
Oak snorted in disgust. "The question answers itself."
"We could," said Thumb, "if it's just an animal."
"What else would it be?"
"A spirit."
Blue frowned. "You think it is?"
"My thoughts are thick as mud," said Thumb. "I heard a voice in my
head. But as soon as I saw the beast, I knew that we could kill it." He
shrugged. "You can't kill a spirit."
Oak touched Thumb's knee. "How many men would it take, brother?"
"Five and five, at least. It was feeding, so I'm not sure how fast it
charges. More would be better. It'll be dangerous."
"So we had better wait for Quick to come back," said Blue.
Oak made a sour face. "And let it wander off? Blue, this is a mammoth.
Think of what people will say of the ones who bring it down. You want
to give those stories to the shell people? The horse people?"
Blue shook his head. "Men may die unless we hunt at full strength."
"You could die on the way back to camp if you trip over a stone. I'm
not afraid."

"I'm not afraid, either. I'm just not stupid."
Thumb's attention drifted. Their argument was like the chitter of
magpies. There was something that he needed to understand about the
mammoth. Something that he couldn't talk or think his way to,
something that hid underneath words. He began to clear the ground in
front of him, pulling grass, sweeping away rotted leaves.
"We've got Horn and Quail and Bright and Rabbit," said Oak. "And
you two, if you both agree,"
"Bright is still a boy."
"He has his name."
"He was born the summer before Onion came to us!"
Thumb fluffed the exposed dirt and then began to work with his
drawing thumb. The lines were swift and sure. Round head, sloping
back, trunk, long tusks.
"What is it?" Oak's voice came from a great distance.
Thumb opened himself and a dream found him.
"Quiet!" said Blue. Thumb could barely hear him over the blood
pounding in his ears.
In his dream, the mammoth was already dead. It was lying on its side in
a clearing. Flies buzzed the wounds on its neck. Two spears stuck out
of its broad chest. The blood was dry.
Thumb was alone with the mammoth. There were no other hunters, no
one to thank the mammoth for giving its life to the people and to speed
its soul. He knelt beside the mammoth and put his hand on its flank. "I
thank you, great one, for the sacrifice you have made. Your death is as
precious to us as your life was to you. We needed you and so we killed
you. We will use your flesh and bones to make our lives better.
Someday when the spirits come to take us from our bodies, we will see

you again in the belly of the earth." Then he got up, his nose full of the
stink of the mammoth. It was already beginning to rot.
He walked around it once, then walked around it in the opposite
direction. In his dream, Thumb was uneasy. It was bad luck to waste
any kill, and this was a mammoth. Where was everyone?
An elm tree stirred at the edge of the clearing. In a dream moment, its
roots gathered into two legs and its branches became the arms