After his uncle's outburst, Ench had determined to be a Dkota at any cost, and remain on Terra when Jorval left. Even if he had to hide out when the time came, though he didn't believe it would come to that. Despite his previous self-destructive behavior, he was quite intelligent. He understood from the first that to be a Dkota meant recreating himself, and almost as quickly that he could take little for granted. Thus he was quickly and increasingly alert to the clues in his environment.
He'd learned the household protocols without significant embarrassment. It had required noticing what others did, trying to copy them, and paying attention to their reactions. Almost at once he'd become comfortable eating with his fingers, and was learning the rituals central to Dkota life. Using a saddle, he could now ride at full gallop without falling off his horse. His first fall had shocked his young tutor, Franz-Goes-By-Himself, whose life had given him agility, balance, quick reflexes, and a deep sense of how horses behave. Fortunately, Ench's heavy-world heritage had given him strong bones and a compact, durable body.
His appearance was less adjustable. As gifts, he'd been given deerskin leggings, shirt, and moccasins that fitted, but in June, worn over his fur, they were too hot, so despite his furry appearance he'd settled for moccasins and breechclout.
He hadn't seen his uncle since he'd connected with Franz. Jorval knew where he was, of course. When Franz had asked his parents' permission for Ench to live with them, they'd gotten Jorval's approval through Mazeppa. In fact the horse Ench now rode was a gift from Mazeppa, who'd dismissed their brief confrontation, finding the Fohannid youth's ambition interesting and admirable.
Besides good starts on horsemanship and Dkota behavior, Ench, with Franz's guidance, spent a lot of time on archery. He was well coordinated and, like the Fohanni in general, strong. Soon he was shooting practice arrows into the vicinity of willow wreaths, and sometimes through them. Then Franz had him shoot from horseback, at first with the horse walking. As his horsemanship improved, he'd shot with the horse trotting, and finally galloping. To begin with, the arrows had no tips. Later they had tips, because with tips they flew differently, and at any rate they were generally recovered for further use. Soon he'd be taught to straighten and fletch shafts, flake flint points, hammer out steel points, and fasten them into place.
Many arrows—especially buffalo and war arrows—were made and prayed over by old men who no longer hunted, but every male child learned the skills.
Ench had also learned to pray to the spirit of the buffalo, deer, wild plum, camas—whatever was to be hunted, plucked, or uprooted—asking their agreement in advance to become food, hides, and other products. To give up their lives for human beings. In return, the hunters promised respect and gratitude, in the hunt, the kill, the cutting into parts, and the subsequent uses. Also Ench had learned to pray to the Great Spirit, citing the need for food and hides, and promising respect to the prey.
Actually Ench didn't truly pray, he recited, for spirits great and small were unreal to him. What had become real was that others believed, devoutly. And as a side effect, he was learning respect for others, and for the ecosystem.
If Ench fell well short of being Dkota, he was a genuine and true-hearted apprentice, and now it was time for him to kill meat. Small bands of buffalo had arrived in the large, casually defined area called Many Geese, though not near camp. Small parties had gone out to kill a few, distributing the meat and hides to their extended families. And to those who had no family, for the Dkota were communal.
Even Franz had not yet been included in hunting buffalo, though he expected to be that autumn. Obviously Ench was far from ready for such dangerous activities. So Franz, and Franz's younger brother Karl, took Ench to hunt antelope. With Franz out ahead, as scout, they rode for more than an hour before he returned to them. He'd spotted a band of thirty or so, over a low ridge. He told Ench to ride to a notch in the ridge, half a mile west, with a copse of aspen below it. There, on his pony, he was to position himself, screened by the slender trees. Franz and Karl would circle around, undertaking to get on the far side of the band, then try to drive one or more of the antelope through the notch.
"Remember," Franz murmured, "it is common for such hunts to go wrong. There are only the three of us, and the antelope may scatter, with none of them going in your direction."
Ench nodded. Then "Go," Franz said.
The young Fohannu waited in the aspen copse for what seemed a long time, hearing nothing except meadow larks, the piercing "scree" of a high-circling red-tail, and the faint rustle of aspen leaves, trembling in the breeze through the notch. Waited with his ready bow, an arrow nocked, wondering if the plan had been aborted. He heard no shouts, no hooves.
Suddenly an antelope was there, through the notch, running swiftly, low to the ground, in grass as high as its back. Ench raised and bent his bow, released the arrow . . . and saw the animal fall, bouncing, cartwheeling. Two more antelopes followed, one veering left past the fallen. The other veered right, almost into the copse, passing within four yards of the hunter. But buck fever had jerked Ench from his focus. He hadn't reached back to bring forth and notch another arrow, and the last prey scooted away through the grass.
Only now did Ench hear hooves, as Franz and Karl raced through the notch. Excitement swelled in the young Fohannu, and he raised his bow, calling to them. They slowed, and trotted down toward him.
"I GOT HIM! I GOT ONE OF THEM!" he shouted exultantly, then quick-stepped his pony to where the antelope lay. "RIGHT IN THE NECK!"
They rode up to him and looked down. "Good shot," Franz said, then slid from his mount. Standing by the antelope, he began thanking it for giving its life, that a young hunter would be able to bring delicious meat and a soft skin to the people, that they might eat, and be protected against the weather. "We will treat your body with gratitude and respect, cut it into the pieces, and in the order taught to our ancestors by First Antelope. And we will remember you while we enjoy the food, thanking you for what you have done for us."
Ench looked on embarrassed. He'd forgotten what he'd learned about showing respect to the animal he'd killed.
Franz continued. "White Bear is a new hunter, and you have helped him experience a successful hunt. As sometimes happens in a first hunt, he forgot, and shouted joyfully at your death. But he did not intend disrespect. Now he will speak his thanks and respect to you and to the Great Spirit."
Embarrassment warmed Ench's cheeks; Fohanni blushed too. Sliding from his saddle, he prayed as he'd been taught. Not verbatim—there was no verbatim prayer—but simply expressing respect and thanks in language much like Franz's. Then the two youths gripped each others' shoulders.
"You did well," Franz said. "Especially considering you have so recently learned to shoot. It may be Jesus has special things in mind for you."
Ench was no longer uncomfortable with praise or physical contact. He'd grown used to them, was warmed and gladdened by them. This was indeed, he felt, the life for him.