Tribal Relations

Chapter 4
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Keil was pacing the hut; the sun had set and Grael still wasn't back. It was completely unlike the older man to be in the woods this late – no one wanted to be away from the village after dark if they could help it. The worry came from that while most of the tribe would watch for a lost or injured hunter, Keil was well aware that no one would extend the same courtesy to Grael.

The last two months the pair had fallen into a comfortable routine. They would wake in the morning, and after a quick meal, Grael would head out to the woods and Keil would head down to the river. He had found if he was quick about it, he'd have time to get everything washed and to his clearing before any of the women appeared. Then he'd have a few uninterrupted hours to search for wood for his bow and arrows, and to dedicate to the tedious task of shaping them into something more useful. There had been an unexpected complication in that he had to be careful not to cut his hands on the sharp shale he used to trim the wood down. Perhaps a few scrapes he could explain away, and the roughness was easily ignored, but if he started coming home with sliced up fingers every day, Grael would eventually get suspicious.

Unfortunately there had been several weeks of near constant rain in the last month, so there hadn't been a chance to work on the bow during that time. He had been able to get feathers and gut from Grael's kills, however, as the hunter didn't take the time in the poor weather to dispose of the inedible parts while still in the woods. He had easily smuggled what he could use to his hiding place, and now he had a dozen fully functional arrows and the makings for a dozen more. From the last deer, he had even managed to get a strip of hide that he was drying out to use as a grip. That part hadn't been necessary, but it had been too good an opportunity to pass up. The better bow he could make, the better his chances of getting back to his tribe alive.

So the last few weeks he had been spending most of his days in the hut. He would still spend some time in the woods, needing to get away from the claustrophobic and boring space he shared with Grael, but he wasn't able to stay too long or he'd have to find a reason why he was wet. Keil knew, rationally, that Grael wanted him to stay inside for his own protection as well as the tribe's laws, but that didn't help the bitterness he felt at being so restrained.

The evenings were by far the best, even with the mixed feelings they inspired. Keil had to admit, eating with just the two of them, able to either talk about what they wanted, or just sitting in silence, was a far cry from the group meals in his own tribe that were spent with the hunters and warriors sniping at each other and trying to one-up the other group's stories in an effort to inflate their own egos. As the weakest of the group, he had usually been the target of those needing to make themselves sound better, and with his father as the head of the tribe, he didn't even have the option of skipping meals or leaving early.

At the end of the night, however, Grael still insisted on taking him. The first night after his father had visited was tense and frightening for Keil, but Grael had been even gentler than his first full day there, as a sort of silent apology. Once he was fully healed, which had taken another week, he found that he didn't mind if the hunter got a little rough with him. So long as the older man didn't couple with him while he was angry, they both enjoyed it, just as Grael had said he would. While he was mostly glad that the pain of those two bad times wasn't repeated each night, it would make it easier for his peace of mind if he did hate and fear it.

It was never spoken of other than while they were actually together, and Keil was eternally grateful that the hunter didn't comment or think less of him for how shameless he acted when he was beneath the bigger man. There were mornings when Keil couldn't even look at Grael after remembering how he had moaned in pleasure or begged to be taken. He was usually hard and dripping by the time Grael had even gotten undressed, but Keil wasn't sure if the hunter noticed that or not. There were nights that Keil would come without either of them even having to touch his erection – that he was sure Grael had to notice. During the day he hated it – hated how he had become exactly what the other men in his tribe had claimed him to be, what he never wanted to be, hated how his body would betray him nightly by responding to Grael's touches.

However, he couldn't bring himself to hate the man. Grael had made no indication that their couplings were anything more than relieving a physical urge or made any sign that he found Keil submitting to him to be a shameful action. He treated him, at night, when they sat together over the fire, as more of an equal than anyone in their tribe did. So the fact that the men in his tribe were right in that he did enjoy submitting like a female was hardly the hunter's fault. The only thing Grael was guilty of was keeping Keil here, and using him that way, and since the first part was partially for Keil's own safety and the second was something that Keil enjoyed as well, his anger was always quick to dissipate. He didn't bother asking the hunter if he could leave any more – he knew the answer, and he was working on his own way out anyway. Keil also didn't want to find out if Grael would stop taking him at night if he asked – and he wasn't sure what answer he actually wanted.

Grael's lateness worried him, a lot, and for both practical and not so practical reasons. If something had happened to the hunter, he'd be fair game for the rest of the tribe, or simply kicked back out into the woods. If he was given to someone else, his secret would come out, and he would be dead. If he was kicked back out in the woods, it was unlikely he would be given any sort of weapon, and without anything, there was little chance of survival. Neither death sounded pleasant – it was just a matter of short and brutal or long and drawn out.

The other reason was that they now had a firm friendship, or as close to one as they could have in their situation. Grael was typically very quiet, but Keil was able to get him talking, even if it was inconsequential stuff such as how the hunt went, or different techniques they used. Keil was secretly thrilled the one day a few weeks back when the hunter had remarked casually that he wished Keil could go on the hunts with him. The topic of Grael's past and parentage was still avoided though – while a repeat of that night hadn't occurred, Keil was too worried about a return of the black rage that had taken over the normally calm man.

Finally, while Keil was fighting with the urge to go out and look for the older man, he heard footsteps coming towards the hut, and he opened the door without thinking about the consequences. Thankfully, Grael was the only one outside, and his show of emotion went unseen by any hostile eyes. Still, what Keil saw was bad enough.

"Grael!" The hunter was limping badly, and Keil ran forward to help him into the hut. He slung a heavy arm over his shoulder and forced himself to not buckle under the weight of Grael leaning heavily on him. "What happened?"

They stumbled the last few steps, and Keil gratefully eased the arm off him as the hunter slumped to the floor of the hut with a painful groan. "A boar surprised me, speared my leg. I'm sorry Keil; I didn't get anything for dinner." Keil frowned, more concerned by the amount of blood that coated the hunter's leg than the thought of a missed meal.

"Forget dinner; let me clean and stitch your leg." Helping the hunter move closer to the fire for light, he grimaced at the mess his calf was in. There was dirt, blood and bits of leaves plastered to his leg, which he was sure made it look even worse than it was. Keil could also see the darker red of muscles, and the white of bone, which worried him as it showed just how far in the tusk had gone. It looked like the tusk had hit his bone, and though luckily it hadn't been shattered, it was still messy, and there was a good chance Grael would never be able to walk without at least a slight limp. It just depended on how much muscle was damaged. "Immature?"

Grael nodded. "It couldn't have been more than a few seasons old. Lucky for me or I wouldn't have made it back."

Keil dipped a rag in the water and carefully cleaned off the dirt and dried blood. "Looks like you almost didn't make it home anyway."

The hunter just sent him a glare and clenched his teeth as the cleaning continued. Keil ignored it and continued his task. Once Keil had it mostly cleaned up, he could see the real damage. It was deep, but fairly narrow; definitely very young then, and attacking out of fear rather than attempting to protect its young. The cut went along the side of his calf, a few inches and the boar would have missed him entirely. As it was, the cut had dug into the side of Grael's calf, hit the bone, and then continued on to the back of the leg. There was a deep scrape on the bone, and a small chip, but the torn muscle was of more concern. The scratch and chip shouldn't be enough to weaken the bone too badly – he hoped. He rummaged around in the chest again, come back with gut and needle, and proceeded to sew the cut closed as well as he could. He wasn't sure how much muscle was damaged, but he couldn't have done anything further anyway. Unfortunately, that wasn't something he knew anything about – all he knew were the things you were supposed to do in an emergency. If the wound wasn't cleaned and stitched, the entire limb could be lost; a limp may be a permanent disability for a warrior, but a hunter could always learn to adapt.

"I'm sorry, that's the best I can do. I only know the basics." Yet again another loss Grael had suffered from not having a woman in his hut – he only had limited knowledge, not all of the knowledge of medicine that women passed from mother to daughter. And he gathered the tribe healer wouldn't have anything to do with him or he would have gone there first. At least the trunk contained enough poppy seed pods to give him a decent painkiller.

"So, are you ever going to tell me why your tribe won't accept you?" It was easy enough to figure out why Keil was shunned – he was viewed as a weakling, ignoring the fact that he was a better tracker than most of the other hunters, and that his skill with a bow was nearly unmatched. He was small, and didn't take pleasure in causing unnecessary pain, so that automatically made him weak. Since he father and uncle shunned him, so did the rest of the tribe. At least Keil had his brother – it appeared Grael had no one. After a couple months here, he had once to see anyone speaking to the hunter except for when absolutely necessary, and there hadn't been a single visitor to his hut other than that one time. Keil was going to use this opportunity while Grael couldn't escape him – and couldn't hurt him – to sate his curiousity.

Grael just shrugged; obviously having long come to terms with his status. But he did, eventually, talk. Keil thought it was probably the opiates kicking in, but at least he would get his answer.

"It's because I'm not really tribe. My parents were wanderers; they happened to walk into a conflict between this tribe and another. My father assisted this tribe, simply because that happened to be the territory he was on. They should have just left, but my father figured it was safer with a pregnant woman to not risk walking blindly into a fight. If he agreed to fight, at least she would be safe. When he was injured in the fight, he made the headman swear to take care of my mother, who was pregnant with me at the time, in exchange for the help he had given. I was supposed to be considered tribe according to their agreement, but my mother never really wanted to be here as she had actually loved my father, and not the man she was forced to bond to in the tribe, and I was treated with only the basic civility. She never gave him another child, and Jynath never forgave her for that, and took it out on me. The man that I was supposed to see as a father taught me the absolute minimum that he had to, and strongly encouraging me to be a hunter rather than a warrior so that I would spend most of my time outside of the village. They probably would have kicked me out altogether once my mother died, but it would have looked bad for the headman to go against his word. Even against someone not tribe, breaking his promise would undermine his position, and that was worth more to him than kicking out someone who wasn't causing any harm. I was already settled into a life as a hunter, and barely bothered anyone, so there wasn't any real reason to get rid of me. My presence is tolerated so long as I remain mostly invisible. That was why they said you were a fitting female – they probably assumed you were a wanderer as well." Unspoken was the fact that no tribe woman would be given to a man with such a low social status.

Keil nodded; it unfortunately made sense. His tribe wouldn't have even allowed Grael's father to fight if it had been them, they would have just killed him out of hand, or at least attempted to. His mother would have been given to someone else, like she had here, and Grael, if he had even been allowed to live, would have been just as shunned, if not more so. At least here he got a hut and the status of hunter. In his tribe there was a good chance that he would have been kicked out as soon as the manhood ritual was over – the tribe's duty to the child complete. So while being the outcast of the tribe was hard on a child – he knew – it was better than not even getting a chance at life. But there was one part of his story that did confuse him. "Your mother and father – cared for each other?"

A wistful look came into Grael's eyes. "Outside of the tribes, there are men and women who are allowed to choose who they want to be with, because they genuinely want to be with them, not because one's the strongest hunter, or a favour is owed. The man who raised me tried to keep me away from her, but I snuck in to see her every chance I got. I remember as a child asking my mother about my father, and she would always look so far away and sad. Most, if not all of the women in this tribe would only care about their man's death if their position in the tribe went down or if they were in danger of not being re-bonded."

"What are wanderers like?" Keil had heard stories of them, of course, but they were hardly believable. Some men said they were demons, or so close to demons to make no difference, others that they were animals in human form, or even ghosts of warriors that had died. Some stories say they had been killed by betrayal, others that they were the betrayers. Others called them the opposite – pathetic, weak willed men who allowed their women to wander about like they were equals. All of the stories, however, agreed that they were savage and untrustworthy and all of them agreed that they were somehow less than human. The truth was impossible to guess; with the wanderers not forming any bonds outside of small family units, and killing any tribesmen they came across, rumours were able to run rampant. But even before hearing about Grael's parents, he had doubted that any of that was the case. The fact remained that the tribes, for all of their cruelty and their stubborn insistence in sticking with their customs, no matter how ridiculous, were afraid of the unknown.

Grael snorted. Wanderers are much better than the tribes. They are what their names implies – wanderers. They don't stick to one area and hunt it down to the point where there's no deer left like the tribes do. There are no roles, no social structure. There are elders that can be called on to settle disputes, but there aren't many of those. Most problems in the tribes are because of rank or possessions, and since wanderers don't have those, there's a lot less conflict.

Bondings are done differently as well. Couples stay together as long as they wish to, and if they no longer want to be together they go their own ways. If there is a child or children, they go with whichever parent they are learning from if they are old enough to. If there are still too young, girls tend to go with their mother's, and boys their father's, but they can always switch once their older. A binding is very serious because it's not casual, and is just as permanent as a tribe's is. More so really; most wanderers who lose a bound mate will choose not to be with another man or woman afterwards.

"I had always wanted to leave the tribe and see if I could find someone, but I kept putting it off for one reason or another."

Now Keil felt even more miserable. He hadn't wanted to end up here, but each day he realized how much more Grael had given up just in order to save him from his tribe's wrath. If Grael had revealed him as a man, or more accurately a boy, they would have either killed him outright or castrated him (if Grael was to be believed) but Grael could have gone on with his life, left the tribe, and found a woman that could be, as odd as it seemed to Keil's tribal mindset, a partner and equal to him. Even if they were friends now, when it happened, Keil was a stranger, and Grael had still given up his future for him.

Grael seemed unwilling, even in his slightly drugged state, to elaborate any further, and Keil gratefully changed the subject.

They moved to the rugs once they were done with the small dinner Keil had put together from their left over breakfast and vegetables, and for once Grael made no move to take him. Keil was uncertain whether or not it was due to his leg hurting or to the fact that he had no desire to bed Keil, and he wasn't about to ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.