Dorit didn't take Pustakawan to go hunting chamois again. This time, they and Dorit's brothers just took down small game and then carried them back to the camp to clean.
Lunch preparation wasn't long, but it was still mid afternoon before they started eating lunch. By this time, Dorit's son, Bis, had returned with the girls and his friends.
"We had a good meal at the Foxwoods," Bis reported upon his return. "They said that they were expecting an attack from the Gutstring Tribe any day and any moment now, but they still fed us before sending us back. They said they should be able to handle it and won't need our help. That's all I got," Bis shrugged and pulled out a small pouch. "They gave us some woodsalt, so we didn't have to steal any."
"All right," Dorit ruffled his boy's hair. "Good work. Spread the word. All is well. We can pack up, send Juta and Vevie on their way and go home now."
"Yes, Pa," Bis ran off with his friends, whirling through the tribe and whooping.
"Doesn't mean the Gutstring Tribe hasn't missed anyone or sent anyone to investigate yet," Dorit reminded Pustakawan, "so be careful until you've left these parts. The day's wearing on, so we all need to roll the stones down the mountain now. You want to get back on the road and we still need to get in some work at the quarry before the sunlight fades."
"Understood," Pustakawan helped pack up the smoking tents and the men packed the dried meat into stacks and then sacks that could be more easily carried.
"You should be able to carry all that," one of Dorit's brothers nodded at him.
"Oof," Pustakawan grunted. "This is heavy."
"Weakling," they scoffed at him.
"I still have my books to carry," Pustakawan protested.
"Books aren't important," Dorit grinned. "Meat is. Meat and bread and water are your life. You should have stayed with us longer. Then you'd grow some real muscle and look manlier. You're still too much like a stick man."
"Thank you," Pustakawan allowed them to help him put on all his bags and waited patiently while they tied the sack of meat on top with a skin covering that would keep any unexpected rain off. "I think. You all grew up to become hardy like the mountain rocks. How can a weak islander like me compare to you? Even your women are as tough as stones. I was born surrounded by sand."
The Stone Tribe all laughed at Pustakawan's self-deprecation and compliments.
"May the stones pave a smooth path for you," they told him, slapping him on the bag so that the weight made him totter around and laughing. "Take care of The Treasure. Treasure her well."
"We're travel partners!" Pustakawan retorted, while watching Vevie receive her own goodbyes from the women and children of the tribe. Her new bag and pack were considerably smaller and lighter, considering her injuries. He guessed that it wouldn't be long before she started moving some of the things he was carrying onto her pack when they got on the road.
"That's what you say," they laughed back at him, escorting both him and Vevie to the road and waving them away with more jokes and laughter.
Pustakawan heard them sing a quarry song as they returned back to the camp site to finish packing up and hummed along.
"Sky high, stone low,
Swing cut, heave ho.
Brother fights, father shouts,
Sister sings, mother scolds.
Water drips, water falls,
We remember
the carven halls.
Sky high, stone low,
Swing cut, heave, ho."