colonel_froggie (colonel_froggie) wrote in yetihunters,


Today, the chief called me into his tent bright and early to help clean some fresh furs. It's messy work and it stinks, but all it requires is some time-consuming brute labor, so I'm suited just fine for it, and have found myself doing it quite a lot.

I followed him through the entry flap and there was that beautiful daughter of his, already scrubbing the inside of a wolf pelt. I sat down across from her and got to work on one of my own. The stench is unbearable at first, but you get used to it soon enough.

Suddenly some commotion broke out outside - it was those two old bastards that always bicker over whose icehole is whose. The chief winced and indicated to me that he'd be a while. He gave me a pat on the shoulder and walked out. He trusts me! In his own tent alone with his own daughter. I felt so honored. I scrubbed the furry flank in my hands with renewed vigor.

She and I worked hard for a while, eyes cast down toward our respective pelts. The commotion had died down shortly, but the chief did not return. Presently, startlingly, she looked up at me, and said something to the effect of:

"He and the [it's an Eskimo word, something like 'old farts'] have probably gone hunting. What's your name?"

Communication was pretty shaky; she doesn't know a smidgen of English and my grasp of the North Canadian tongue remains shaky. But we talked, a little nervously, for some time. I told her my name, what had brought me there. She said that the chief had spoken of me, and told her about the Yeti, and even that he seemed to worry about me, thinking it was foolish to continue pursuit of the beast. I grunted in reply. I don't feel like I could be swayed from that quest -- but, secretly, the Yeti was the last thing on my mind, just then.

The chief returned in the late afternoon. She and I had just finished cleaning, and had laid all the pelts in a neat pile at the side, when he arrived back in the tent and saw us sitting there, awkwardly, across from each other. He gave us the most suspicious glance. Looking straight down, she started to crack up, and then I did too. The chief softened quickly, thanked me for the chore, and I felt so warm, accepted. I didn't push my luck, though; I headed back to my tent, hungry for dinner.

She told me her name, too.

Anernerk. Anernerk, Anernerk. I feel that if I repeat it in my head, the harsh Canadian night will feel as warm and comforting as a swim in the hot tubs back home. She is so gorgeous.
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