Chapter Four

Chapter Four

A Chapter by Mehameha
"

Primitive Culture

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Morning showers dispersed the hidden aromas trapped within the sky. As the Sun pushed it's way across the valley, the fragrances awoke from slumber tantalizing the senses.

On this day, Yari could not only smell them with her nose but strangely, even her eyes and face experienced their pleasures. The scents where familiar but each time they arrived, the experience demanded the attentions given a new born child. It was new life. All of the world hushed in the awareness.

She paused with it, embracing the heavy scented layers. Softwood maples warmed by sunlight, squeezed small droplets of sweetness. The gnit flyers swirled in tight circles above the slipping amber. For the most part the wind remained still. Each gentle puff seemed to taste the newly reborn flavors.

If there were ever a more beautiful day, Yari had no recent recollection. Soon Yari's young sisters, Moki and Sira, appeared from behind the dead blind. They gathered the fallen chuttleberries and brought them to Tovik and Soli. Tovik recently had reopened his side wound and had not joined the others in the morning hunt. Soli pressed the sagaroot into her love's wound to aid the healing earlier that morning. But now that the rains had ceased new remedies were required. Soli quickly dispatched towards the banks of the pond. The borren leaves were needed to reseal the gash in his side. Nugguts chasing each other across the dead falls, ignored the movements of Moki and Sira.

The men would be returning soon. Yari started the pit fire and directed her siblings to prepare the dry posts. Voices across the meadow drew Yari's eyes from the flames. She was not alarmed. She recognized Palek's laugh. It was the men returning from the morning hunt. They had two dari hanging from the bough limbs. This was a welcome sight. The men needed a long rest and would not need to leave the clan for several days.

Palek set his sons to dressing the dari now strapped to the drying posts. Yari turned her attentions to the blankets but noticed the voices had grown suddenly silent. She slowly turned. Her eyes widened. She felt her heart suddenly jump past her throat and she gasped a bit of cool air before covering her lips. Three feet away from her stood Sharak. His face was of stone, his soft caring eyes were all that revealed the man she once knew. All tongues and hearts stood still.

The morning aromas regained strength with the sudden stillness. Yari's eyes and his locked themselves in their own inward world. She removed her hands from her lips. The sweetness of the morning scents were now able to pass to her throat releasing her breath. Her heart returned to her chest allowing her once again to feel his return as well. Sharak's eyes began to smile and the corners of his mouth turned slightly.

But as soon as she felt the security of the moment, a light wave passed through her. A trembling formed within her, fluttering her eyes and finally buckling her knees and hips. The presence of him had overwhelmed her.

Sharak slid down to one knee embracing her fall in his arms. Brushing her black hair from her cheek with the back of his nails, he gazed upon her smooth face recalling every curve, every pleasure. Yari slowly opened her eyes. She traced his brow and chin with her gentle weak fingers.

Her heart softly pushed one word to her lips, "Sharak."

He gently breathed, "Yari."



© 2016 Mehameha



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Added on July 31, 2016
Last Updated on November 18, 2016
Tags: Primitive, Fiction


Author

Mehameha
Mehameha

Honolulu, HI



About
Classical guitarist, short story writer, woodworker, disabled in wheelchair. Today I return to homelessness. 5/16/17 more..

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