Gaho opened her eyes to the light of day.

She lay on her back, looking up. Sunlight filtered in softly, but the rays pierced her eyes like daggers. She could hear the bustle of her daughter's tribe outside, preparing for the day. Somewhere in the distance, the birds sung, celebrating the dawn. It should have been a lovely spring day, a mind empty of worries like the blue sky was of clouds. Gaho just lay there, focusing on her breathing, on the earth moving beneath her, trying not to slip back into Darkness.

Everything of her hurt. Her body hurt, aches and pains that shot up her muscles in she so much as shifted. Even just laying there, on her back, was painful. Her muscles had all sorts of tight knots and kinks, which made her about as flexible as a plank of wood. Pain throbbed behind her eyelids, and blazed white-hot whenever she closed her eyes, which were red and raw from the night before. Crusty leftover tears clung to her face, and her dress was in covered with wet blotches. Not that she cared much of her dresses, of course.

But the worse pain wasn't just physical. It was also what she was feeling inside, spiritually. She felt emotionally drained, empty, lifeless, dead. None of her bodily pain could compare to what she was feeling in her heart. It was a chunk had been ripped savagely ripped out, and the wound was seeping blood. This was a mother who believed that she would have her children for eternity, never bear the pain of losing them. This is a mother who, even though she didn't see them often, was incredibly close to her children. This was a mother who would forever feel guilt of not having to chance to saw goodbye to her beloved son. The pain killed her. She hadn't seen him in maybe two hundred years. His island had always been so distant, so out of the way... Why couldn't she had just found the time to visit him? Now he's gone forever. What will happen to him now that all Beothuk's people are gone? Who will perform the rituals, who will bury him?

The thoughts nearly sent Gaho over the edge. She wanted to close her eyes again, sink back into the Darkness, into bliss. No, she told herself. I will not go back there. She imagined how beautiful the day was, with the blooming flowers and the signs of new life. She imagined her other children, who were still here, and still needed her. Epsecially, she imagined Akecheta and Matoskah, her newest sons. They needed her, and she just couldn't abandon them. So, keeping a mental picture of their faces, their sweet, angelic faces in her head, Gaho found the strength to push herself up into a sitting position.

Blood rushed down from her head, making her dizzy. When the world had finally stopped spinning around, Gaho slowly stood up on her feet, and made her way outside. L'nu'k wasn't anywhere in sight, and Gaho felt like she had some very urgent things to say to her daughter. So, Gaho lifted up the flap-door that marked the entrance, and stepped outside. She needed the fresh air to clear her mind anyway.

Outside was sunny, as Gaho suspected, with only a slight breeze coming from the sea. Summer defiently was on the way. And with it would come the Soltice, a time of feasting. It was a festive holiday, with families coming together, and people often getting married. People made merry, but Gaho couldn't imagine being happy for the festivities. She couldn't imagine being happy ever again.

L'nu'k tribe was already bustling in the morning hours. A group of men were paddling away in canoes, while their wives stood on the shore, wishing them good hunting and a safe return. Young children were splashing about in the shallows, while their mothers worked nearby, gathering shellfish. Away near the tree-line, Gaho could see women harvesting wild roots and berries, and then stocking them into their hand-crafted baskets. They were to be used for food, medicines, and as materials for weaving.

A group of small children sat infront of their elders, who were teaching them to weave baskets. Gaho, despite herself, couldn't keep herself from smiling a little as she saw the youngsters try to master the art. She could remember the first time she had tried to teach Akecheta and Matoskah basket weaving...

"Gaho, this doesn't make any sense!"

"Gaho, the spoke won't stand up straight!"

"Gaho, my weavers are too stiff! They won't bend!"

"Gaho, I got a splinter!"

"Gaho, this is too complicated! I can't understand this!"

"Gaho, can you do this for me?"

The memory almost made her chuckle. Almost. Say, where were her boys, anyway? Shouldn't they be causing some big ruckus right now? She felt guilty about leaving them to their own devices for the night, while she had been too caught up in her own grief. Looking around, Gaho couldn't see her sons anywhere in the camp, which, of course, worried her. Don't be silly, she thought to herself. L'nu'k probably has them... But where was L'nu'k? Shouldn't she be here?

Gaho walked up to one of the elders instructing the children, an old woman with a weathered face but shining eyes. She taught the children with endless patience, repeatedly showing them the steps, never scolding or getting frustrated. She was a good teacher, the best kind.

"Excuse me, Grandmother," Gaho said, crouching down beside her. She might've been much, much older, but elders always deserve respect. "Might you be able to tell me where I may find my daughter?" The old woman looked up into Gaho's eyes and smiled, giving a slight bow. Of course she knew who Gaho was, everyone did. She pointed off into the direction of the forest where Gaho could just barely make out a small path. "Thank you very much for your help.." Gaho turned to leave, but the old woman reached up and, quick as a snake, clutched her wrist.

Her hand was wrinkled and bony, yet surprisingly strong. The old woman stared at Gaho, harder and harder, until Gaho was eventually forced to look away from the woman's gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, the old woman released Gaho's wrist. "Look at this." She spoke so softly, Gaho had to lean in closer. The woman pointed a bony finger to the basket she was working on. "The spoke must be strong to support enough the weavers, or else the basket will not keep its shape. But, a basket with only one spoke is no good. The weavers are intertwined with all the spokes, so not one spoke does all the work. It is a team effort, with all the spokes working together with the weavers. Only then," the old woman held up a now completed basket, "Will there be a whole." She offered the basket to Gaho, who took it gingerly into her hands. It was a beautiful basket, not overly large, with a blue pattern intercrossing the middle. It was obviously made by a hand with much skill.

Gaho gave the woman a bow. She had no idea why the old woman would bring that up. Of course Gaho knew how to weave baskets, she had down so most of her life. Nevertheless, she was grateful. "Thank you, Grandmother, for your lesson and the gift." The woman smiled a toothless grin before waving her away, and starting on another basket.

Hi, everyone...

I'm sorry about going all AWOL there for a while, I really don't have good excuse for that. I think I just got caught up with everything, and it began to slip my mind... But I do apologize, to everyone. Also, thank you to all those who have shown support! It really means alot to me. Now, hopefully we won't have to wait five months for the next chapter, heh?

(...Sorry, not cool)