Eating Grubs and Beetles
The brilliant morning sun was insistent, stirring Helga from her sleep. She winced immediately—pain shot through every inch of her body. Her shoulders, legs and back felt like burning coals were buried in them. Slowly, she tested her movement. Pain and more pain. She could not move her legs, and one of her arms seemed useless.
Remembering what had occurred, she looked around to see if her attackers were still present. No one could be seen. She remembered vaguely that she had seen them going over the side of the cliff during a brief fit of wakefulness.
“Papa!” she thought solemnly. Then her sense of practical courage went to work. “Well, I’m no good to Papa now. If the All allows, the Ancient Ones will assist him. I’ve got to see to my wounds.” Helga realized that there was nothing she could do for her father now. She must place her focus on protecting and healing herself.
Unable to stand on her mangled legs, and weak from her wounds, Helga dragged herself toward some nearby bushes. The ground was damp around them and inching a little further, Helga found a trickle of water. Somewhat further on, she also found some Raven berries. Filling one of her pockets with the fruit and soaking a piece of torn cloth in water, she struggled back to her pack.
She greedily stuffed the fruits in her mouth and soon her mouth was stained with purple juice. Using the piece of water-soaked cloth, Helga cleaned her wounds as best she could. Using some of the birdwood leaves that she always carried rolled up in her leggings for emergencies, she packed leaves and mud on the worst of her injuries. Birdwood poultice was known for its healing properties. The soothing effect strengthened Helga to drag her belongings over into a shady spot.
By the time she had done these things, Helga was exhausted. Terribly weak and with only one of her arms and legs working, every activity drained her energy. Finding a few pieces of rock crackers in her pocket, Helga lay down, sucking on the rock crackers while she rested. “Well, I’ll just rest a while until the heat of the day passes. Then we’ll see.” Pulling her wide-brimmed hat over her eyes, she slipped into a peaceful doze.
Later, able to sleep only fitfully, Helga considered the situation. She did not know exactly where she was. Somewhere in the Don’ot Stumb Mountains, she knew. From the higher vantage point she now had at the top of the cliff, she could see that the mountains went on and on. Somewhere, though, she knew the mountains ended to the east. With her mobility so limited, she could not see as much as she wished, but she knew her hope lay in the direction of the rising sun. “We began this journey with our faces set toward the new day,” Helga thought grimly, “and we will not leave that hope behind. I think not of the past, but of the future. No matter what may have happened to Papa, I cannot live in the past and in fear. I will live in hope and for the future. This was our pledge when we left the Hedgelands, and I will not turn from our decision.” Helga felt that, even if she were not to see her father again, this was the choice he would also make in such circumstances.
From that time on, Helga moved toward the east. Each day, for the next month, Helga dragged herself toward the rising sun. To conserve energy and water, she traveled only a few hours in the morning and a few hours just before and after sunset, when it was cool but there was enough light to see the way. Little by little, each day Helga’s wounds improved. As she changed the mud and birdwood leaves dressing each day, she saw injuries that looked less ugly and she was freer from pain. But the deep damage was done. Her legs would not work fully and she had trouble controlling the use of one of her arms. Nevertheless, little by little, Helga learned to make the best of her arms.
Day after day, she half-crawled and pulled herself over the rough terrain. Living mostly on wild cherries and berries, Helga was gradually able to forage more widely as she gained strength. Sometimes she would find the carcasses of large pike and trout that eagles had caught but had only partially eaten. Making a small fire with her flint and some dried grass; she would roast the fish and hungrily feast on it.
As the days wore on and Helga steadily gained strength, she was able to increase her rate of travel. Each day now, she covered what she guessed was more than a mile. Her improved rate of progress, however, was still far too slow. Her clothes were quickly falling into tatters and the night temperatures were cold. She knew that she would have to do something else.
On the 14th day after the attack, Helga decided that she must try to stand. Using a tree to pull herself upright, excruciating pain shot through her legs. Gritting her teeth, she held on. Feeling dizzy and with tears filling her eyes, she tried desperately to maintain her balance. “DO NOT PASS OUT, HELGA! DO NOT PASS OUT! CALL ON THE ANCIENT ONES!” she commanded herself silently. Gradually, several minutes of shakiness passed. Helga’s legs were painful but, clinging to the tree, she found that she could steady herself.
Feeling greatly encouraged by her brief experiment, Helga slumped back to the ground. She realized that with the help of some support, she could learn to hobble. It might be painful, but at least she would make better progress. She had to be out of the mountains by winter or perish. Even without the onset of winter, the risks were great. Her best hope was to go on and find some kind of settlement. Surely the lands before her were not completely uninhabited.
Despite her grim prospects, she felt strangely happy. “The pain is not enough to stop me,” she thought happily. “I was afraid that my legs would not hold me up, but I can hobble along. By the power of the Ancients, I think I can get through this...” Helga leaned back against a tree and began to consider her next move.
She planned to use her flicker-pole as a walking stick, but thought her progress would be faster if she could make a comfortable armrest for it. By the end of the day, she had located a sturdy scrub oak branch. She used a large rock as sandpaper to fashion a detachable armrest piece that attached to the flicker-pole, so she could use it more easily as a crutch. Helga picked this particular branch because it looked strong and had a curiously pleasant sound coming from one of its gnarled curves. Helga, in all her years as a Wood Cow, had never heard such a sweet, but unusual, tone in a piece of wood. It sounded like it would make a very comfortable crutch. Now her flicker-pole could be used both as a staff and as a crutch. Helga found that with this additional help, she could now make perhaps two miles a day. Still not great, but better.
She wondered if she would ever find help. How could she possibly survive in the wilderness like this? Although her wounds had gradually healed, she was losing weight from lack of proper food. The little food she could locate was mostly fruits and roots and sometimes a bit of scavenged fish. Lately, there had been no fish and she was reduced to turning over rocks and rotting logs to find grubs and beetles. When she found nice, fat grubs, she squashed them and squeezed the slippery goo through a piece of cloth, straining it. This she mixed with pollen she collected to make a paste. Adding some cherry juice made the taste palatable. Although it was surprisingly nutritious, she continued to lose weight and spent more time each day gathering food. It took a lot of grubs, pollen, and fruit to make enough paste to feed her. How long could she continue?