Chapter 4

“Alright, William,” said Umky (polar bear), his breath misting in the cold air, “today you come with us.”

The words hung in the early morning light, a promise of work and camaraderie. William looked around the Yaranga his eyes settling on the worn-out axe leaning against the far wall. He knew what this meant. The Chukchi men were preparing to venture out into the Siberian tundra to collect wood before the weather turned sour. As the newcomer to the village, he had been mostly hunting but now it was his turn to contribute in another way.

William had taught his wives to kiss so he kissed them goodbye.

The men gathered outside, their breaths visible in the chilly dawn. The snow crunched beneath their booted feet as they moved with purpose. William felt the weight of their expectant gazes.

They set out into the frosty landscape, the silence only broken by the occasional crack of ice or the distant howl of a wolf. The reindeer pulled sledges, laden with tools and supplies, slid smoothly over the hardened snow. William’s heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He’d never been out for a day of wood collecting before.

As they journeyed deeper into the tundra, William noticed how adept the Chukchi men were at navigating the seemingly endless white expanse. They moved with a confidence that came from a lifetime of experience, their eyes scanning the horizon for signs of the right trees. The cold air stung his cheeks, but William felt alive, his eyes wide with wonder at the beauty of the untouched wilderness surrounding them.

They eventually arrived at a small grove of birches, their twisted trunks standing out like sentinels against the stark snow. The men began to unload the sledges, distributing axes and saws with a sense of urgency. The wind picked up, whispering a warning of the storm that was fast approaching. William stepped forward, grasping the axe with both hands and mimicking the smooth, powerful swings he had seen the men make. The first few attempts were clumsy, the axe head burying itself in the snow with a dull thud.

One of the older Chukchi men, named Ropt-yn stepped beside him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took the axe from William’s hands, demonstrating a precise, almost graceful motion that split a piece of wood cleanly. “You must let the axe do the work,” he said “Not your arms. It’s in the timing.”

William nodded, his cheeks reddening from both the cold and his embarrassment. He watched intently as the men worked, their movements fluid and efficient. Each swing of their axes sent chips flying through the air, the sound echoing through the quietness. The pile of firewood grew steadily under their expert hands.

Ropt-yn handed the axe back to William, giving him an encouraging pat on the back. William took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the tool in his grip. He focused on the base of the tree, visualizing the perfect angle to split the wood. With a mighty swing, he brought the axe down. The wood cracked, but held firm. He adjusted his stance and swung again. This time, the axe bit deep into the frozen trunk, sending a jolt up his arms.

The Chukchi men watched him with a mix of curiosity and patience. They had seen many outsiders struggle with their ways, but something about William’s determination made them hopeful. He took their gentle corrections in stride, eager to learn. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, William’s rhythm began to match theirs. The sound of ringing obsidian and falling branches filled the air.