He was Almost Absorbed by the System

Chapter Fifty - The Trouble With Girls

Slate did not bother knocking when he entered his grandfather's home, he had once and the old man had slapped him about the head and demanded to know what he was doing.  He may have moved into the barracks, but should never forget that this was still his home.  Slate smiled at the memory and took a deep breath.  The scent of meat and mushrooms braising floated to his senses and almost without thought did he investigate the simmering stew.  Grimacing after giving it a quick taste, he threw in some rock salt, crushed a garlic root with the flat of his skinning knife and added that as well.

"Tch! Quit tampering with my dinner," the gruff old man complained.

"How can you eat this, so bland!" Slate retorted.  "At least attempt to give it flavour!"

"Meh, food is food, it all goes the same way," his grandfather replied before taking two wooden bowls and spoons from the nook and placing them on the stone table.

"There's something wrong with you," Slate muttered with a faint smile, as he gave the stew a quick stir.  They continued their banter for a while, before the meal was served and they ate in silence.  "Well, how's the taste?"

The old man gave a dissatisfied grunt; "I would have eaten it had you not messed with it."  Slate nodded and grinned, deftly listening to the words his grandfather was not saying.  "Why did you come over, anyway?"

"Ah, a few of the apprentices have been accepted as rookie hunters and myself and one other were promoted to standard hunters," he explained as he took both bowls to wash using a little water heated beside the fire.  "There was a ceremony, so the Chief came to view with Balsalt and Amber.  He offered his congratulations, then mentioned something about looking forward to your answer?"

As the most powerful person in the village, the Chief often visited the arena during promotional ceremonies; it was a way of giving thanks to the hard work the hunters did and instilled loyalty amongst the rookies.  He would wear armour made of hard leather, similar to that worn by the hunters, but with the embellishment of polished crystals revealing it was not used for any other purposes than decoration.  Balsalt had attended a few recent ceremonies, that were usually held thrice a year, but he felt it would be disrespectful to wear the hard earned armour of a hunter, even a faux one, which earned him much respect amongst the rookies and apprentices.

It had been the first time Amber had come to a ceremony.  In a dress made of thin leathers from the forest beasts and carved crystals, she turned the heads of many rookies, but it seemed she only had eyes for one newly appointed hunter.  Slate shuddered as he recalled the look that she had given him when all three had approached him.  It was possibly more frightening than a mountain lion's hungry glare.

His grandfather turned red and close to bursting like a lava spout.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" The old man slammed his fist upon the table, not flinching at the pain it must have caused.   "Everything!"  That bastard had already ended their family's occupational path with his antics and now he wanted to end their name, he would revolt before he accepted this.

Slate instinctually knew that this matter had something to do with him.  His grandfather never got this angry over any other matters, not even when old Clay had challenged him for his Elder position.  He put the bowls and spoons back into the nook and turned to glance at the old man.  "Share," he advised, with a serious tone to his voice.

"Tch!  The Chief wants you to marry into his family," his grandfather said shortly.  The Chief had even used his old argument, that old Shale would not be around forever and his family could watch over and strengthen Slate's position. 

Slate stood stock still, stunned.  He had suspected something like this might happen, after all he would have to be blind not to see the Chief's daughter's intentions, but he thought he had a year or two yet.  He was currently only fifteen.  The words repeated in his mind and he caught the additional nuance.

"Wait, marry in?  He wants me to become Amber's spouse rather than the other way around?"  Cave people, like forest people did not use family names, but it did not mean that they did not have them.  Elder's and Matriarch's of each family held their own records of births, deaths and marriages.  A couple due to be wed would decide between them which family they would be part of and his father had chosen to marry into his mother's family so her line would not end.  After all his Uncle could continue their line in his stead.

Slate shook his head and decided that it was irrelevant either way and offered silent apologies to his grandfather.  He would not be marrying into Amber's line, but he would not be able to continue his own either.  He knew Willow was the reincarnation of his lover, he knew from the moment that they had met ten years prior.  And Willow was clearly already drawn to him.  The innocent touches of curious teenage boys were slowly becoming more and it was taking all the willpower Slate had not to push it further.

"I'm not marrying Amber," he said shortly.  "Whether it be into their line or bringing her into ours.  I don't like her."

His grandfather nodded in approval.  Good, he didn't like the Chief and his family either.

****

Fern crossed her arms as she stared at the central plaza, where her brother and a group of giggling girls sat together.

The village, being high within the canopy, though stretched over several levels used walkways of rope and wood to connect homes and workshops. There were also long knotted ropes that hung down towards the ground where the dirtier jobs, such as skinning or gutting could be performed. But villagers loved areas that they could gather, chat and trade and better to do this in the canopy than upon the ground where more dangerous predators lingered. There were a few smaller wooden balconies where no homes nestled dotted here and there between bridges, but the heart of the village was named the plaza. It was a great floor of wood supported by three tall trees, in which also lingered a few mezzanine platforms looking over the plaza. Benches were dotted here and there and all attached bridges were fully wood, leading to clusters of homes and one of those balcony areas.

In between his work, Willow had once wandered through here and noticed that he could just catch a glimpse of his lake in the distant and he had begun to daydream. Just that morning, that problem had reoccurred and within the privacy of his bedroom (which had been crafted a short distance from the main home on his request and attached by a rope bridge) he had tried to follow the movements taught to him by Slate's calloused hand. Eventually he had caused it to soften, but it had not felt pleasant. It was the memory of his friend's touch that had caused his climax rather than his own grip. And so he had approached Slate, who luckily had been waiting for him at the lake and had convinced him to aid him once more.

He had shivered pleasantly in memory and had just been wondering whether he could touch Slate until he too gained that euphoric state, when he had heard a sigh behind him. He had been surprised to notice three girls close to him, he hadn't heard their approach at all.

"Play another tune!" One girl had asked pleadingly. Willow had looked down to notice he was holding his flute and blinked.

"Please!"

Willow had eventually conceded and now, if he happened to walk through the plaza, he would find a group of girls gather about him. They would use the excuse that they wished to hear him play or teach them to craft better. Fern had first found this amusing, wondering what Willow would do, but the boy simply played upon his flute for the infatuated girls or taught them a few easy crafting techniques and was completely oblivious to their true intentions. Now looking upon them, once again gathered about him in the plaza, while she and her mother had just finished trading a woven basket for cave mushrooms, she felt irritated.

"How can he be so unaware?" She complained aloud.

"Leave him be," her mother mused. "Don't you think that part of him is just part of his charm?"

"No," Fern replied.

Her mother's eyes had narrowed, a slight smile appearing on her face. "And how about you, I heard young Ash was looking to court you." Fern's golden face became rosy and she walked away, pretending not to hear the teasing.