Location: Nenet, Tundra Biome
Lack of port officials was an understatement. The small world of Nenet had no space ports, and none of the living resident had ever seen a spaceship, or anything near one. This was a world on the very fringes of the known galaxy that had lost any technology it might once have had. The people who roamed it's surface depended upon their own sweat and blood, and those of the animals they worked beside. They did not even smelt metal, working with stone and bone instead. Even the villages the scans picked up were impermanent. Great yurts and tents that could be disassembled and packed in pieces on mighty sleds when the people and their herds continued their great cyclical migration.
The one currently on the screen which the ship approached was considered massive by its inhabitants, though it had at most 200 people. It had no real name, and was refferred to informally as Grandmothers Tribe. After the strange night when roughly half the population had disappeared, the spiritual tribes were spooked. Some of the smaller ones, particularly in the harsher tundra or desert biomes had been wiped out, having lost necessary skills and manpower needed for basic survival. Many of the rest had drawn together for comfort and safety. In the Tundra, this meant that many moved to the tribe of the eldest Shaman. A wizened old woman, who might well be the oldest person alive on the planet, and claimed to be into her ninth decade.
For Valrein, it was a homecoming. Everyone knew the old woman had raised her, unusual as it was. When the Night of the Spirits, as it had come to be called, came and she could not understand or even feel the Spirits responsible, Valrein had turned her small reindeer herd and headed to the lands of her childhood.
"Aaaah."
The old woman crooned from within her almost coccoon of blankets, though for one of the hardy Tundra people it was a warm summer day, there was even grass on the ground instead of snow. She brought the mug of tea Valrein handed her to her lips and sucked in a mouthful noisily and with obvious enjoyment.
"Tell me child, how fare the people?"
"Getting better Grandmother. They still feel their losses, but they are beginning to share tents, instead of looking at the empty bedrolls and living alone with their sorrow."
"Good, good. I do not understand the Spirits will in this, but blood is lost, death happens, this is the nature of things. Better when there is a body to bury that people may move on. The doe who loses her stag does not go barren, she finds another. This is the natural order."
The old woman looked slyly over the rim of her mug at Valrein, who sighed, half exasperated and half amused.
"Every person in this camp calls you Grandmother, do you truly need me to bear you more?"
"Does one not breed the best bloodlines? Quality over quantity in the herd when it can be afforded."
Valrein rolled her eyes in response, likely the only one who could get away with such impudence.
"Ah, young people these days, no respect."
The old woman sighed mournfully.
"You hope for another pretty grasslander boy to woo you yes? Or perhaps you plan to fight the wife of your last one like a stag in heat."
"Grandmother!"
Valrein gasped, shocked, hands rising to her mouth as a giggle escaped her.
"He was a fine stag, a fine stag, I'll grant you that. Except that he was a hawk."
"It makes no difference now Grandmother. I am here and he is there, and not of my herd. I'll not poach anyone else's stag."
The two settled into a comfortable silence, sipping their tea, each lost in their own thoughts. Outside, the great reindeer herds milled together, some of the finer stock penned separately by their respective owners. Dogs ran underfoot, and people got on with life. As they always had, as they always would.
It was a hard life, but it was peaceful, it its way.
[member="Daedel"]
