She settled down near the center of the village, basket materials spread in front of her. Villagers smiled as she fumbled at first, weaving thin strips of bark around sticks, twisting and pulling until her fingers ached.
"Patience," an older woman said, handing her a small piece of bark, demonstrating the tight loop again. Anna mimicked her as best she could. Slowly, the basket took shape, crude but usable. It sagged in the middle and couldn't hold much, but it was hers. She smiled, proud despite its imperfections.
Her daughter Kate played nearby with other children, chirping and laughing, giving Anna a little comfort while she worked.
After finishing the basket, Anna drew a simple design on the ground—sticks arranged like the fish trap she had envisioned. She gestured toward Kehnu. He crouched down, studying her lines, then with quick, skillful movements, wove the trap perfectly. His hands were confident and practiced, weaving bark and sticks with ease, finishing it in minutes.
Anna tried to copy him, but her fingers twisted, pulled too tightly, or left gaps. Each mistake frustrated her, but she kept trying. She realized this would take time—practice, patience, and observation.
Villagers watched, some chuckling gently, others simply nodding. Kehnu handed her a nearly finished trap, showing how to tie the knots that held it together. Anna traced his movements slowly, finally getting a section right. Her heart lifted. One day, she thought, she could make these on her own—and maybe even improve them.
The lesson was clear: skill wasn't instant. It was earned, slowly, with effort and attention. And even this small victory felt like a step toward giving her tribe something new—a way to gather fish, to survive better, to thrive.
Anna sat cross-legged on the ground, weaving bark strips around thin sticks, her hands aching but steady. The rhythmic motion drew her in completely, and the world around her seemed to blur. Kate played nearby, laughing with the other children, but Anna barely noticed; her mind was focused on the basket and the fish trap she wanted to build.
From the edge of the village, Ken lingered. His eyes flicked toward Anna and Kate, lingering longer than necessary. He twisted his fingers nervously, leaned closer than other outsiders would dare, and muttered under his breath. The villagers noticed his presence. They exchanged subtle glances, their postures alert but calm. No one moved to confront him, yet everyone watched, ready to act if needed.
Ken's gaze lingered a moment too long on Anna's hands as they worked, then flicked to her daughter. There was an unease in the way he moved, a tension that didn't go unnoticed by the tribe.
Anna, however, was entirely absorbed in her craft. She hummed softly, tracing the weave of bark with careful fingers, imagining how the trap would sit in the water, how fish would be caught safely. She didn't see Ken's glances, didn't sense the subtle caution in the villagers' eyes.
For now, the tribe waited, quiet and vigilant, letting Ken reveal his intentions—or his impulses—while Anna remained immersed, lost in her own small, precise world of weaving and testing, blissfully unaware of the watchful eyes on the edges of the circle.
Night fell faster than expected, painting the village in deep shadows. The air was cool and damp after the day's work, and the last streaks of orange sunlight disappeared behind the mountains. After a modest meal of fish, salted meat, and fresh fruit, the villagers tidied their small areas and began heading to their huts.
Anna and Kate followed the familiar paths, stepping carefully over roots and rocks. The comforting glow of the fire still lingered in the central circle, flickering weakly as the embers died down. The sound of crickets and distant water added a gentle hum to the night.
One by one, huts filled with families. Curtains of leaves or woven mats were drawn, muffling voices and laughter into soft whispers. Anna tucked Kate into their small bedding, smoothing the blankets over her and letting her settle with a sleepy smile.
Outside, the village was quiet, but the subtle sense of vigilance remained. The shadows shifted slightly as Ken lingered near the edge of the firelight, watching. The tribe's calm alertness seemed to press gently against the night, a silent barrier protecting their own.
Anna exhaled, feeling the day's work and learning settle into her bones. She allowed herself a brief moment of relief. For now, everyone was safe, the huts warm, and the village alive yet peaceful under the darkening sky.
The hut was quiet, Kate's soft breathing a steady rhythm beside her. Anna's eyes fluttered closed, her mind still mulling over the day's work, the fish traps, the jerky experiments, the baskets. The faint scent of smoke from the dying fire lingered in the air.
A shadow moved along the edge of the hut, silent and cautious. The night was thick, wrapping the village in darkness, and the intruder used it to his advantage. Step by careful step, he leaned closer, watching the soft outlines of the two sleeping figures.
The air grew heavier, the usual nocturnal sounds muffled as if even the insects had paused to notice. The shadow's presence pressed closer to the hut, each movement deliberate, testing for sound. Every muscle in Anna's back tensed even in sleep, a primal instinct stirring, though she didn't yet realize the danger.
Outside, the night held its breath, the village seemingly unaware, while the shadow's approach was slow, silent, and deliberate, a cold contrast to the warm safety of the hut's interior.
Anna's eyes snapped open. Her heart slammed against her ribs, adrenaline flooding her veins. In the dim moonlight filtering through the hut's walls, she saw it—a human-shaped shadow, crouched and moving silently across the floor.
A small scream escaped her lips, sharp and startled, cutting through the stillness of the night. Kate stirred beside her, half-awake, murmuring something incoherent. Anna's instincts kicked in—her hands reached for anything near her, her mind racing to figure out if this intruder was friend or threat.
The shadow froze for a heartbeat, as if aware it had been noticed. Every movement, every breath, was deliberate. Anna's eyes narrowed, trying to make out details in the darkness—ragged clothing, tense posture, a presence that sent a chill through her.
Her pulse quickened. She had to act, but carefully—one wrong move could provoke this intruder. The night felt impossibly close, the walls of the hut pressing in, and the human shadow waited, almost calculating its next move.