Seeing Lynn rise to leave, the chief hurriedly stood up as well, gesturing animatedly and babbling away.
He meant that he had already had his people prepare a meal and wanted Lynn to stay for something to eat before leaving.
Before Lynn could refuse, he called out toward the entrance.
The door flap lifted, and several people filed in carrying things.
The first held a large chunk of smoked and roasted seal meat, its surface golden-brown and sizzling with grease.
The second carried a bowl of blood-red mush, steaming hot—it was seal blood porridge mixed with some unknown grains.
The third carried a slab of snow-white whale blubber, thickly layered and frozen hard as a rock.
The fourth held a small basket containing more than a dozen bird eggs, their shells still speckled.
The fifth cradled a clump of dark green stuff that looked like some kind of seaweed. It had been pickled in salt and dripped wetly with water.
The sixth carried a clay jar sealed with animal hide, containing pickled "fermented sea fish."
The seventh carried a wooden tray neatly lined with rows of dried fish slices, thin as paper and translucent.
The eighth...
The eighth approached carrying something round and bulging.
It looked like the stomach sac of some animal, its opening tied shut with rope and its surface smeared with a layer of dried grease.
Inside the stomach sac were the corpses of seabirds, their feathers somehow still intact.
Pickled auk.
Freshly caught auks were stuffed directly into a seal's stomach without being gutted or plucked. The sac was sewn shut, buried in frozen soil, and left to ferment for months or even years.
It was dug up and eaten as-is, the highest form of hospitality the local tribes could offer distinguished guests.
As for the