He felt swollen like a tick, head and gut. Ori had helped with the strokes. 2 years of work hewing the tree, hollowing it with the silent thuds of stone adzes and Ori’s soundless prayers. Ori had looked at him when he didn’t offer. Maalo had lied about the best bluff he’d found to drive the hunt. The best was for the wood to cure in the lees. Moving the trunk to the bluff had taken months and nearly killed them both. Eked out an hour at a time, 17 flint cores it had taken. Waiting 3 months for it to not crack had nearly cracked Maalo. The tension was like a clenched jaw striving to pop his teeth out. Amazingly, it went off without a hitch. Even thinking about how hurt his head. The tribe would have seen the fire to hollow it out. So Maalo arranged to hunt with Ori and then set fire to the brush. What was one more fire to that? Ori never asked him what he was doing, which was just as well because he didn’t know. All he knew was he could not stand it anymore. A true friend, far better…
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