The clan buried two of their own in the past year, and all were behind themselves with grief. If these losses were of the older members of the tribe, their grief would be no less, but the loss of children, especially those who had seen so little of life hit especially hard. One son of the tribe had never lived, his spirit deprived of him in his mother's womb. Young Barba, who was just beginning to toddle and talk, was taken not long after. Mabe was beside herself with grief, and turned to prayer. The Great Spirit could heal, this the tribe knew, but she felt impotent when her daughter fell ill and withered before her eyes, and sought a blessing, the ability to heal with her hands. Jass left her undisturbed, and hunted the new wooly inhabitants of the woodland home, burdened by the thought that his sin had cost the tribe a son and a daughter.
Hillin and Etha, though they had lost a son before birth, continued their amorous relationship, though Etha was taken with a desperate fervor. The menfolk of the tribe simply concluded she was baby-crazy, though Mala dismissed this. As a former childless woman herself, she knew of the emptiness she had felt when the clan was filled with the joys of infant laughter and she merely had work.
As for Mala, she would be spending the year making pemmican for storage. The tides of fate, she reckoned, had begun to turn against the clan, and they would be needing the surplus. If the next year was better than the last, however, she would be able to free to do what she wanted. She thought of building a new shelter, as the current one was a bit crowded, especially in these times of illness.