Children of the Dawn by Patricia Rowe

moccasins. I will look for a woman whose
     feet are like mine.”
    “That would be kind of you, Karna.”
    Ashan left them discussing things they could give away.
    Next she talked to some warriors, who were not so agreeable.
    “So,” she said after telling them the same things. “The Tlikit have food, and we have hides. They share. We will too.”
    The men frowned.
    She said, “People can live with nothing to wear, but they die with nothing to eat.”
    “We wouldn’t starve here,” Lar said, waving his hand at a fresh-killed orak that had come to the Great River to drink.
    “Then you’ll just have to do it because I say.”
    The warriors grumbled as the Moonkeeper walked away.
    “Coyote forgot to teach them!”
    “How much more proof do you want that the
Shahala
are Amotkan’s favored tribe?”
    Ashan understood why they felt as they did, but she thought this sense of being better might cause future problems.
    She turned. “We are the
Teahra
tribe now. In some ways, they will be like our little brothers, but in other ways, we will be like theirs. We are children
     of the same Father. That is what Amotkan told me, and I am telling you.”
    Ashan’s people gave away furs, leathers, and sleeping skins. Whether they wanted to or not, they did it smiling.
    The Tlikit were happy with their new things. Women urged men to go hunting, so they could learn how to cure hides for themselves.
     Some had their own ideas about wearing skins—people laughed to see a man with leggings on his arms.
    A few refused them. “Bad smell,” they said. “If it gets
that
cold, we stay in the cave.”
    Ashan changed her mind about who should have her robe. She cut the goat hides apart and gave them to two of the women who
     lived out in the open by the oak tree. Her friend Mani cut up a similar robe and gave it to the other two.
    To the woman named Tsilka, Ashan offered an old skirt. At first Tsilka acted as if she might refuse it, then she took it—with
     hard, narrow eyes—as if she were entitled to it.
    Ashan thought,
This woman who thinks herself some kind of chief will have to learn that a tribe can have only one chief Someday
…

CHAPTER 11
    I N FURY , T SILKA CLIMBED TO THE CLIFFTOP, TORE OFF Ashan’s leather skirt, threw it to the ground, and stamped on it. Standing near-naked in the Tlikit way, proud and cold in
     a lonely wind, chin up, feathered hair blowing out behind, dark gold skin oiled and glistening, arms crossed defiantly over
     breasts, she watched the village below.
    The woman who thought she didn’t need a friend could have used one today. A friend would have known she was upset and come
     up here with her, would have asked how all this came about.
    “I feel stupid,” Tsilka hissed. “Ugly. Gouged, raw and shrieking inside with rage. I feel sick, like I’m being dragged through
     dung. How am I hiding it? Why don’t I vomit from swallowing lies? Why isn’t my skin red with the hatred burning me up?
    “I was happy before they came. I had my daughters. I had people coming to me, treating me like the chief I was born to be.
     I didn’t have Tor, and I didn’t care. But now that I see him every day, how I care!”
    She snuffled and blinked away hot tears. It wasn’t smart to lose control, not even up here by herself. Tsilka indulged her
     hatred of Ashan to battle self-pity.
    “She has everything I’ve worked for all my life. I’m the daughter of Chief Timshin, but people listen to her as if shespoke the gods’ exact words. She’s not even tall, yet she gets respect. It makes me so mad I could scream!”
    That was why Tsilka had stormed out of the village. Ashan was telling the proud, ancient Tlikit how humans were created from
     mud and smoke and other stuff, not pulled from deep water as everyone knew. And they were accepting this foolishness!
    Tsilka stamped her foot.
    “Worst of all, she has Tor. She could have everything else, if I could have him. Is that so much? For people who claim to