Writing for Fun
January 2019
Nomads (Part One) - Maureen Rampersaud
Tom viewed his latest creation with satisfaction – a wooden bowl, carved with acorns and oak leaves. His mother, Gwen, would think the carving unnecessary but he knew that his grandmother, Gertie, would appreciate it.
‘Hey, Gran, how about this to serve your special herb bread in?’
‘Why, Tom, it’s beautiful, too good for everyday really. Where’s your ma?’
‘She’s out hunting. I hope she gets a deer this time, I’m sick of rabbit stew.’
Gwen appeared from the trees and threw down the rabbit carcass in front of them.
‘What were you saying, son? It’s 2037, not 2007, game is scarce. You’re welcome to try your luck.’
Tom blushed, knowing that he hadn’t his mother’s skill. She went on, ‘I seem to remember that the last time you tried, you fell over your own feet, broke the bow and made such a commotion that every animal in the vicinity disappeared.’
Gertie piped up, expertly avoiding a confrontation between her daughter and grandson, ‘Tom, fetch some water from the lake, while I prepare the rabbit.’
Wistfully, she remembered when she lived in a house with taps and running water. That was before the war. Tom snatched his handmade wooden bucket and headed for the lake, grateful to escape. If only Ma valued his talents once in a while, he would accept her mocking his clumsiness.
He lay beside the water, gazing at his reflection. A red-haired boy of seventeen, not unpleasant to look at, despite his wonky nose, broken when he tripped over a tree root. He rippled the water with his fingers, and was startled by a bearded man’s reflection over his shoulder.
‘You live round here, boy?’
Tom jumped up.
‘Who’s asking?’
The hirsute stranger stuck out his hand, which Tom tentatively shook.
‘I’m Owen, travelling from the borderlands, hoping to find somewhere peaceful to live.’
He turned and called, ‘Jenny, you can come out now!’
A girl appeared from the bushes and joined Owen.
‘This is my daughter, she’s about your age, I reckon. Now you know about us, it’s about time you told us about yourself.’
Tom introduced himself and deemed it safe to bring them to meet Gwen and Gertie. There was something in the way Owen met your eyes that made you trust him. Besides, he was sick of being the only male in the camp, he was fascinated by Owen’s easy authority. Gwen was always saying that men are brutes, forgetting that he was even there.
Back in camp, Gertie welcomed them warmly, offering her special tea and oatcakes, while Gwen was watchful, and quiet for once. Tom smiled as he thought, ‘This could be interesting . . .’