Winter Approaches, Four Tribes Brood
While the Fire Tribe was busily preparing for expansion with fiery enthusiasm, four neighboring tribes of similar size were shrouded in the shadow of the approaching winter and anxiety over dwindling supplies.
The Bison Tribe lived in a river valley lush with grass and plentiful water, renowned for taming and hunting bison. Their warriors were as strong and tough as bulls, and their chief, Jijiao, was the tribe's greatest warrior. Yet now, Jijiao stood beside the tribe's animal pen, his brow tightly furrowed.
The pen was nearly empty. Only a few scrawny calves remained, their ribs jutting out as they huddled trembling in a corner, their eyes filled with terror. The sturdy adult bison had long since been slaughtered to stave off hunger during the earlier food shortage.
"Chief, these are the only breeding stock we have left. If we really can't make it through winter..." an old hunter said anxiously.
Jijiao heaved a heavy sigh, helplessness written all over his bronze face. "I know! But what else can we do? Let our people starve to death?" He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "For this year's small market, we'll bring more hides and see if we can trade for some dried fish and cured meat from the Fire Tribe or the White Pig Tribe. As for coarse salt... ah, the Fish Tribe is too far away. Feeding people and horses along the way would be another huge expense. We can only send five people with the bare minimum to trade for a little to tide us over."
He gazed toward the distant Fire Tribe. He had vaguely heard that their lives had improved lately, but he had no idea just how much. He considered sounding them out to see whether the Fire Tribe would exchange food for their techniques for raising calves. Though these were secrets the tribe never shared with outsiders, to survive...
The White Pig Tribe lay where the mountain forests met the marshes, skilled at raising wild boars and using the marshes' resources. Their chief, Zongmao, was a shrewd middle-aged man. At that moment, he was staring worriedly at the tribe's few remaining half-grown piglets.
"We've eaten all the big ones. If we eat these little ones too, we'll be tearing out the roots," he muttered to himself.
His wife gently suggested, "I hear the Fire Tribe has a lot more food lately. Let's take more woven mats to this small market and see if we can bring back more food. As for salt... we'll just have to use it sparingly."
Zongmao nodded, a calculating gleam flashing in his small eyes. "The Fire Tribe seems to have come up with something new lately, called 'hemp clothing.' They say it's more comfortable than animal hides. If we can trade for some cheaply and have the hunting party wear it, winter will be a little easier. As for taking wives..." He shook his head. "Forget it this year. We don't even have enough food for ourselves. How could we feed more mouths?"
The Green Sheep Tribe lived in more remote mountains. Its people were as gentle as the green sheep they raised, making their living mainly by gathering, hunting small animals, and raising goats. Their chief, Wenshi, was a mild-mannered elder.
At that moment, the tribe's mood was particularly bleak. The year's harvest had been poor, with fewer wild fruits and vegetables than in previous years, and the goats had produced few kids. Looking at his people's pale, underfed faces, especially those wide-eyed children, Wenshi felt as though a stone were weighing on his heart.
"Chief, this winter... I'm afraid it'll be hard to get through." An old woman wiped away her tears. "Even if everyone eats just one meal a day, the food in the storehouse won't last until spring."
Wenshi remained silent. How could he not know? He gathered several of the tribe's decision-makers and spoke with difficulty. "For this small market... let's, let's bring a few more women of marriageable age. Talk to the Fire Tribe, or the Bison Tribe and White Pig Tribe. As long as they're willing to give enough food as a betrothal gift, let the girls go to them... At least that will give those who stay a better chance of surviving."
At those words, the hut fell silent, filled with unspoken sorrow. Marrying off daughters in exchange for food was the most helpless of choices.
The Deer Tribe lived deep in the dense forest, keeping out of worldly strife. They excelled at tracking and gathering and had tamed a few deer. Their chief, Lujiao, was an agile and kind man. Yet this year, the forest, too, had been exceptionally stingy with its gifts.
"We've nearly dug up all the edible tubers, and the game in the forest keeps hiding far away, as though it knows we're trying to catch it," a young hunter complained.
Lujiao took stock of the tribe's scant food reserves-some dried mushrooms, a small quantity of wild chestnuts, and air-dried venison-and his heart kept sinking. Their circumstances were little better than the Green Sheep Tribe's.
"Let's bring some girls," Lujiao said, his voice a little hoarse. "And the soft deerskins we've tanned. We'll see if we can trade for food. I hear the Fire Tribe will bring a lot of dried fish this time. Hopefully, we can get some."
The two relatively weak tribes had independently reached similar decisions. Unable to obtain resources through force, they could only use their craftsmanship and their own flesh and blood to trade for a thread of hope that their tribes might endure. For them, the small market was not an opportunity for growth, but a trial upon which their survival depended.
Winter's shadow shrouded the land and weighed upon the hearts of these four tribes. With their own worries, calculations, and helplessness, they prepared goods to take to the small market, their gazes all turning involuntarily toward the Fire Tribe, which was said to have had "good luck" lately.