Taghna took the empty bowl and walked out of the room. The day was coming to an end and there was a lot of activity in the main room. Lively discussions could be heard around the imposing fireplace that dominated the room. Stools were placed all around the hearth, inviting people and friends to sit down and enjoy the warmth.
Taghna realised the strange relationship that the muïréal had towards fire. The village was organized around its presence, neither human nor animal, but equally important. The flames, which could be seen through the many holes drilled in the base of the chimney, purred like a satisfied beast.
Among the muïréal, the flames seemed to be an integral part of the village. In Séaroën, the fireplace was considered from a purely practical point of view. All along the Hir, it was used to light and heat the houses. Most often, it remained only in the form of glowing embers that adults would rekindle with a powerful blow and a handful of twigs to heat the meal.
The houses of Séaroën were dark. Their nooks and crannies, plunged into darkness, were a source of mystery but also, to the children full of imagination, of danger. With courage and stubbornness, Taghna had made it a point of honor to brave the perils, to pierce the darkness that took on an almost physical presence.
When the Hir came to an end, the only fire left in the village was the one around which the children gathered every night. The children had tacitly agreed that it was their responsibility to keep the fire burning. The adults dispersed wherever they wanted to go without bothering to stay warm by the flames, since they didn't need it after receiving Lorgá's gift anyways.
Around the muïréal's hearth, a group was devoted to the preparation of the meal. Under the watchful eye of a handful of muïréal, pieces of white meat were grilled over open flames, large roots were cooked under blazing embers, their tips pointing upwards like flowering shoots. These dishes smelled good and made the mouth water.
Other people came and went from one end of the muïréal's mataïg to the other, their activities regulated like a dance that was repeated over and over again. Their arms were loaded with kitchen utensils, baskets filled with furs, pieces of bone and all kinds of tools that they stored in small annexes not far from the entrance.
The muïréal mixed and divided the tasks equally among themselves. They lived together, and Taghna marvelled at the mutual help that reigned as the men and women, coming from different villages, would've fought to take advantage of resources under other circumstances.
There, a woman from Abtuï, with extremely pale, almost translucent skin, was helping a woman from Brichnern. Taghna recognized the specific marks on her face and arms. She couldn't identify all the individuals, but she could easily recognize their familiar marks.
Taghna felt guilty about being on her guard, but she couldn't help it. From her earliest childhood, these men and women were nothing more than archféar, strangers, enemies to be wary of. She looked at the different peoples with a little fear and disgust.
What she discovered in the muïréal rejoiced her. The village seemed like an ideal place, where everyone was free to live according to their means. Such an outpouring of feelings left Taghna baffled. She didn't know what to make of it. Séarrub noticed her hesitation and came to meet her:
- Can I help you? Here, give me that, she said, taking Taghna's bowl.
As Taghna hadn't made a move and looked her straight in the eyes with a distant gaze, the woman added:
- If you prefer to stay with your friend, we'll understand. All those who come here take a little time to find their bearings.
- No, no. Let's go, Taghna finally answered.
Séarrub smiled at her and they went to find a place in the circle that was beginning to form near the hearth. When most of the muïréal were settled, a brief moment was dedicated to a silent prayer for food. Each village had its own way of doing this, but they all did it among themselves, without disturbing the others. When it was over, smoking food was distributed by the group that had taken over the preparation of the meal.
The dishes that paraded in front of Taghna were completely unknown to her. Seeing that everyone was happily helping themselves and putting the food in the hollow dish that everyone was holding, she imitated her neighbours asking questions. To her right, Séarrub was busy mixing yellow oatmeal in a pot. She was handing out portions to whomever wanted them and the mixture made a satisfying "splotch!" as it landed in the bowls that presented itself.
To Taghna's left, a dark-skinned man with a full beard was busy with a large cake. It was cooking on a large flat stone placed directly on the hot embers. The man cut out a piece and gave it to Taghna. It was actually made of insects mixed with a thick paste that was crunchy under the tooth.
Taghna didn't have time to finish her portion until a sad-eyed young woman brought her another dish. This time, Taghna recognized it easily: it was a slice of steaming fish flavoured with fresh herbs. The smell was light and exquisite.
Taghna attacked all the dishes one after the other. They were succulent and she, who was used to more or less tasteless soups, enjoyed their strange flavours. Seeing the pleasure Taghna had in swallowing the food, Séarrub gave her a warm smile and passed her a piece of white meat. Taghna looked at the woman:
- Taste it, you'll see. It's a bird. You get used to it in the end.
The piece of meat suddenly appeared much less appetizing to Taghna. For the inhabitants of Séaroën, birds were not considered animals. They did not live on the ground and, for this reason, were frowned upon and considered to be carriers of diseases that could, in the worst case, bring death.
Taghna bit into the piece of meat with apprehension. Hot fat ran down her tongue and her teeth met a thin bone. She tore off the piece of flesh, chewed without much pleasure and swallowed what she thought was too dry and uninteresting food compared to what she had tried so far. Séarrub burst out laughing:
- Here, soak it in this, she said, handing her a small cup filled with a transparent sticky liquid. It's mil, it's harvested underground in hives dug by bees.
Although Taghna had not been tempted by her previous attempt, she nevertheless forced herself to follow Séarrub's advice. The liquid was sticky, and she found it very difficult not to get it everywhere. In the mouth, she was pleasantly surprised. Its taste was different from anything she had ever eaten before, but she fell in love with it instantly. She would have liked to finish the cup but held back for fear of offending those who wanted more.
Taghna realized that Séarrub wanted to talk to her but she had never been good at making contact with others. Despite all the questions she was dying to ask her, she didn't know where to begin a conversation. Fortunately, Séarrub said:
- How do you feel? Better?
- Oh, yes, thank you. I love mil! she replied enthusiastically.
- It's true that we... you don't have any in Séaroën.
With the name of their village being uttered, a slight uneasiness settled between Taghna and Séarrub. The discussion had not yet begun, but it was already on the verge of dying down. Taghna forced herself to continue:
- Have you been here for long?
- For some time, yes... I've been a member of the muïréal since the last Hir. I'm of the same culéan as Maoïr and Roséan.
- Is that so? It's weird to hear that, though...
Séarrub nodded silently.
- So you know Rissar and Dannaï? Taghna continued.
- Of course I do. I saw Dannaï become a séalyar... What about Dïobæ? Is she still in the village?
- Dïobæ? No, I don't know her.
- She was our oldest dean. She used to tell us stories by the fire at night.
- Rissar is in charge of that. On the other hand, Dorséanan passed the ceremony to become a séalyar.
- Yes... She had everything to become a séalyar. When I arrived here, only one man, Bolgaïr, came from our village. He died not long ago.
- Has he gone into exile, too?
- No, not really. He decided to go out hunting in the middle of the Hir, to accompany other hunters. He never came back.
- But how do you survive during the Hir, Taghna asked. You don't have enough reserves, do you?
- No, you're right. Most of us stay inside while some volunteers go on excursions. Usually, it's the hardy ones who take care of them, but anyone can go, as long as there are furs left. I'll show them to you tomorrow, if you like. They're huge.
- Yes, I'd love to. I thought there was no food during this period, said Taghna, mentally adding the fact that Séaroën's séalyar had told one more lie.
- You have to know where to look. Ergatul taught us so much... The Great Plains are the domain of wolves. Our hunters follow their tracks and harvest what they can. In a way, we live in harmony with the wolves. This home was their lair a long time ago...
- Wow! I didn't know that.
- Well, we still have to be careful. They are our masters, we must respect them. We also catch some prey by setting traps, or we pick up some céouvauts.
- Des céouvauts?
- Yes, they're birds, like the ones you just ate, said Séarrub, smiling. But you know, even if we get by, many of us have a hard time adapting to this life. We are... kind of uprooted.
The discussion had taken a dark and melancholic turn. Taghna, who was licking with delight her sticky fingers full of mil, stopped and looked attentively at the woman standing in front of her. Séarrub was no longer that warm and brave woman who helped those in need, who distributed spoonfuls of bodywarming soup. She had become a tired, grey old woman with a wrinkled face and dead eyes.
The contrast surprised Taghna, as if remembering the past in this way had transformed Séarrub. Taghna, who also doubted the validity of Séaroën's practices, felt herself sinking into dark thoughts. She forced herself to find another subject for discussion:
- Do all villages organize a stroïgil?
- Yes, of course, answered Séarrub. They all have a sacred place where the uisgaïr flows. On the other hand, our customs are different, and sometimes we argue.
- Do you? Everyone seems to get along...
- We do our best, true, but tensions are inevitable. If Ergatul wasn't here, I don't think there would be this village. He's our séalyar. He connects us to each other and reminds us that our differences aren't so important.
The idea that a man could bear the title of sealyar was hardly conceivable for Taghna. In Séaroën, only women became deans and were given the task of guiding the village. Taghna had never had to wonder about this organization; it had always been the same.
However, it was clear that Ergatul did indeed possess that special aura which included a certain respect as well as a pleasant warmth. He would go from one group to another, chatting briefly, sharing a piece of food. He was at ease with everyone.
This fact didn't trouble Taghna as much as it should. She felt it was much closer to what she was led to think. She wondered why, while living in Séaroën, she had never thought that men could also become séalyar. She felt that the rules of her village seemed completely arbitrary, and the more she thought about it, the more she wondered why Maoïr didn't live with the elders. His place among the deans was deserved: he was a very good teacher and, like all séalyar, he was also very sensitive.
The reproaches against Séaroën were accumulating and Taghna felt less and less part of their village. On the other hand, she was sad that Færn wasn't with her, among the more righteous muïréal. Taghna wanted to continue her discussion with Séarrub, but the woman had left. All around the chimney people were getting up and going to their quarters. Before leaving, they would pick something that the children gave them.
In no time at all, the relaxed and friendly atmosphere that emanated from the table had given way to silence. Only Taghna was left. A child approached her and handed her a little brown ball. Taghna sniffed it out and backed away from the strong, unpleasant smell. Her head was slightly spinning and she quickly gave the strange food back into the bowl the child was holding. The child shrugged his shoulders and left to join his friends.
Alone and with nothing to do, Taghna went outside to get some fresh air.