The air was crisp and biting as Teng arrived at the creek with his mother. She offered him a fleeting smile before hurrying over to the aunties, while Teng moved toward the girls, his gaze quickly finding Delia among them. When she noticed him, she lifted her hand in a wave, and he returned it with a smile, feeling a strange warmth as he walked over.

  “Two weeks of this work, and I think I’m finally getting the hang of it,” he thought, pride flickering in his chest. So far, he’d only crafted simple things, always under Delia’s watchful guidance, but even those small creations felt like triumphs. Mostly, he just assisted her in whichever piece of skin she worked with.

  He had made continuous progress in his training with the boys, true, but his study of the feathers and bones had been left neglected, like old tracks in the mud, fading and half-forgotten. He would have to change that when he had more time. But as of yet, he had been bone tired every day and had not had the energy to climb the cliff.

  “You’re early for once. Did you sleep well?” Delia asked as he sat down in the grass beside her.

  “As an oak,” Teng stated, borrowing from his friend Kai’s long list of expressions.

  “Same here. There was a lot of marrow yesterday.” Delia sighed wistfully. “Anyway, you need to stop playing so rough with the other boys. You can barely sit.”

  Teng shifted, trying to find a position in which his body didn’t ache from the bruises. Yesterday, he had an especially hard sparring match with Kai. The boy was a sprite with the branch. Teng could now match him, even if he never won. Bai had complimented his improvement, and Jirki had begun to fight with him again. They still used branches, but Bai had said they would have a chance to fight with fighting sticks before the ceremony.

  “What are we doing today?”

  "Glad you asked," Delia said, tossing him a large piece of gray fur with black stripes. "Mother said you can actually make whatever you want today—something for yourself. A reward for all your help."

  As he caught the hide, Teng recalled what Delia had explained about their craft. Hides, she’d said, were the skins of larger beasts, creatures like elks, boar, tigers, or bears, tough and thick from carrying muscle and bone. But for the smaller animals, like hares, geckos, shrews, skippers, and mice, they used the word skins instead. The distinction felt important and was not something he had learned before working with the women.

  "Isn’t this from a tiger?" he asked, running his fingers over the gray hide. It was smooth across the surface. Teng wondered if it had come from the same tiger the hunters had brought back just a day before he’d found the blue bird.

  “It is,” Delia said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you, so you don’t mess up. Think for a moment what you want to make.”

  Delia returned to her own task. She carefully inspected a fur pelt for any signs of damage, running her fingers lightly over it as she looked for weak spots or scratches that might have occurred during the hunt or tanning process. She held the pelt up to the sunlight, turning it to examine the edges closely. Teng watched her nimble fingers glide over the fur, and, as always, he was impressed by how easily she made it look. He wondered how her fingers might feel if they moved like that on him and immediately shook the thought away. Such a strange thought.

  "What to make…" he wondered. A water bag, like Delia? But he already had one. Maybe a handle for his future fighting stick? No, that was still far off. His thoughts drifted to the feathers and bones hidden on the cliff—a pouch to store them could work. It wouldn’t need to be very big, just a bit larger than Delia’s piece.

  He watched as Delia finished inspecting the fur, satisfied with its condition. She set it aside carefully, clearly taking pride in her work. His own water bag had a small rounded pebble wrapped in slender strips of skin as a stopper, so he thought that might be what she’d add once her water bag had fully dried. After that, all that was left was to attach a sturdy strap so it could be easily carried.

  "Better get started," he thought, inspecting the gray skin with its black stripes. It was almost the right size; he just needed to even out the edges before beginning. Studying the leather, he recalled the bits of instruction he’d overheard. First, he cut it into a rough circle. Holding his sharp flake of fline carefully, he worked along the edges, but his hand slipped halfway through, leaving a jagged cut. Frustrated, he held up the piece, inspecting the uneven line. "How do the aunties make it look so easy?" he muttered.

  “Slow down.” Delia set her finished piece and was now watching him closely. “It’s not a fight, Teng. You have to work with the hide—slow and steady.”

  Setting his jaw, Teng flipped the piece over and tried again, this time bracing his hand with his knee to keep it steady. With each careful turn of the flint, he reminded himself to move slower, and gradually, the rough edges began to even out, forming a smoother line.

  Delia handed him another tool. It was a thin, sharpened bone for poking holes in the leather. He took the bone awl and began punching holes around the edge, but halfway through, he noticed he’d spaced them too far apart on one side. The leather flopped unevenly in his hands, and he groaned, glaring at the gaps and fighting the urge to toss it into the creek.

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  “Here, let me show you.” Delia sat down beside him and put her hands over his. He tensed, then relaxed. They were warm, not like stones baking in the sun, but warm like his blanket after a long day of work when he was weary and tired.

  As Delia guided his hands, she leaned in, and his heart skipped a beat. Her scent felt familiar and a bit mesmerizing, like the forest just after dawn. When she leaned closer yet again, he caught the faintest hint of lavender, mingled with something sharper—maybe sage or the wild rosemary that grew near the creek. But there was more than that, something that reminded him of warm earth and the fires back in the village, where the woodsmoke would settle into everyone’s clothes. He had never noticed scents on anyone else before, not like this, and it made him feel a bit strange, in a way he couldn’t quite set his finger on. It was enveloping and comforting. There was a thrill to it too—like the feeling he got before a good climb, where every breath was full and clear. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. He almost wanted to hold onto that scent. When she leaned away and sat opposite him again, he felt a pang of loss.

  “Why are you staring like that? Do I have something on my face?”

  Teng realized he had been staring. “No, no, not at all. Thank you.” He looked down at his work. The holes were evenly placed, and all it needed now was something to go through the holes that could be pulled to cinch the pouch tight.

  Looking down at the scraps scattered around him, he picked out a particularly long piece of leather and began cutting into it—though, in his case, it was more of a clumsy sawing motion. Soon after starting, he held it up in front of him. It was roughly the length of his forearm and would work. He threaded it through the holes and pulled it tight.

  “Looks good,” Delia observed. “Some straps, and it will be finished.” Teng nodded and got on with his task, pulling everything apart and smoothing the edges.

  “Oh, that looks good, Teng! Well done! You too, my dear daughter. As good as always.”

  Balia, Delia’s mother, came by as they sat and worked on the task. She was tall and sturdy for a woman, with the same warm, deep brown eyes as her daughter. She winked at Teng before continuing on her way to the creekbed to soak a thick piece of leather Teng guessed was meant for a blanket.

  “You know, my father told me something interesting yesterday.” Delia leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You want to know?”

  Teng’s eyes widened as he noticed the glint in Delia’s eyes. “What?”

  “They were out hunting farther from the village, near the mountain range. Do you know what they found?”

  Teng shook his head.

  “T-r-a-c-k-s.” She whispered, drawing out the word.

  “Tracks?” Teng repeated, brows furrowing. “So?”

  “No, dummy—not normal tracks,” Delia laughed. “Tracks from people. More than one or two.”

  “Wait—no way. Outsiders?” Teng’s pulse quickened; he knew there were people beyond the valley, but he’d never heard of any entering it. As far as he knew, they were the only ones who lived here—if you didn’t count the beasts.

  Delia nodded. “They found a few remains too. An old fire pit and some scraps from a kill, though the other beasts had eaten most of it by the time my father and the hunters found the camp. He thinks it’s been a few days since they passed through.”

  “They only passed through?” Teng asked, not sure if he was hoping for a yes or no.

  “Of course,” Delia replied, laughing. “Outsiders never stay here. Anyway, it got everyone worried. One of the grandpas suggested postponing the ceremony this year, though the others quickly put an end to that. Didn’t your father tell you anything?”

  Teng’s shoulders drooped. “We don’t speak much…” Then he smiled, trying to brush it off. “But what were they doing here? Will they come back?”

  Delia shrugged. “Who knows? My father thinks it’s unlikely. Like I said, nobody stays here.”

  They returned to their task. Once the resin had dried, Teng threaded a thin strip of hide through the holes, pulling it gently to form the drawstring of his pouch. As he tightened it, the leather cinched up snugly, forming a sturdy shape. He couldn’t help but smile, a bit sheepishly. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked like a pouch.

  “What’ll you put in it?” Delia asked, glancing at his work.

  “I don’t know. But it’s always useful to have a bag, right?”

  “Tell you what,” Delia said, her tone playful, “if you find something nice on one of your adventures, I’ll see if I can make it into a good-luck charm. Just for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Teng beamed at her. He’d realized he really liked Delia. She was quick-witted, fun and kind.

  “I’ll do that, then.”

  Delia nodded. “Also, my mother said the ceremony’s only a few weeks and a month away, so this will be your last day here.”

  “Oh, it’s… it’s been that long?” Teng said, forcing a smile at the news. He’d have more time to train with the boys and study the feathers—that was good. But it also meant he wouldn’t see Delia every day.

  “We’ll still… I mean, we could still see each other, right? Talk, maybe?” He scratched the back of his head, glancing down. “It’s been… nice, working with you. I… I learned a lot. I didn’t realize how much work you all do. How important it is for… the village. What you do, I mean… It’s… yeah.”

  Delia watched him for a beat, then burst into laughter. Teng’s face flushed; he wondered how awkward it had sounded. He felt the urge to smack his forehead—had he fumbled it that badly? Or was she laughing because she didn’t want to meet with him anymore? Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong. Maybe she didn’t want to be friends with him after all.

  Delia’s laughter softened, and she nudged him lightly on the arm. “Of course, Teng. We can still meet. Anytime you want, really.” Her smile was warm, her eyes kind. “I wouldn’t have taught you half as much if I didn’t want to keep seeing you around. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “who else would be patient enough to put up with all your questions?”

  Teng let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah, right,” he said, his voice softer than he intended, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.