Create a Culture

A young girl stands between two craggy boulders. She's perfectly still, her eye on that fat goat three yards away. Hardy things, those animals are, surviving on the hard, scraggly trees that grip the mountainside. Smothered in grey mud, her clothes made of dirty, soft wool, she was perfectly camouflaged in the dark shadows all around. The people of Shanarki had no weapons, so in her hand, instead of the knives or bows that the valley people used, she held a simple rock. Taking a deep breath, she hefted it over her head, watching as it sailed through the air. She heard the satisfying clunk, and the goat fell.
"Mari!" A wiry, strong boy about five years old jumped towards her in fright. "What was that?" He watched as she headed silently towards the goat, slinging it over her shoulder.
"Not fair! When will I be able to hunt?" He grumbled, impatiently shouldering his heavy sling-over goatskin bag, sagging with snake bones and eagle eggs that he'd stolen. As she watched, something wriggled in his pocket.
"Goro, what do you have in your pocket?" She asked suspiciously, as she climbed over the boulders, with him close behind. In the Shanarki tribe, every boy's name ended with 'o', and girls' names ended with 'i'.
"Oh, it's an eagle baby." He announced proudly. Reaching in his pocket, he rested a scrawny little bird in his dirty hand, where it cheeped frantically. "I think he just hatched today."
"That's a good sign." Mari answered, as they began to scale a steep cliff. The Shanarki adored eagles. Birds of power, they called them. To own and train an eagle was an honor. A newly born eagle would definitely cause a stir.
As soon as they'd scaled some feet, they came to a ladder, swinging in the cold mountain breeze. It was made of the sturdy roots from the trees the goats loved to eat. Grasping it, the agile children climbed up, their movements keeping them warm.
"Mother! We're back!" They pulled themselves into a large cave, glowing with warmth. Pushing away the goat skin curtain that hung over the cave, they plopped themselves onto the skin mats that covered the floor. Their mother, who sat in a cozy corner, clutched her coat, an expensive one made of rare tiger skin, around shivering Goro.
"Mari!" She clucked in her valley tongue, "you know better then to take Goro out in this cold weather! Oh my poor baby..." The woman quickly went to their huge iron pot, boiling with a thick stew with goat chunks and leaves. Pouring some into two stone bowls, she gave it to the two children to eat as she put coals wrapped in skin on their feet.
"Mother, you know at his age he has to learn how to hunt and gather." Mari scoffed, dumping her goat into a corner in the cave as she began to skin it.
"Yes Mother, I just turned ten yesterday. Although Mari didn't even let me hunt today." Mother was busy emptying Goro's bag, murmuring on how she could use the snake jaw for a new pouch clasp, and the spine could be traded with the valley people for grain. The eggs were added to the soup, and the others saved for later. The Shanarki treasured eagles so much, they never threw away the eggshells, although they ate the eggs. They believed the eggs could give them strength.
"Shh, children, I think I hear your father coming."
Goro instantly abandoned his soup and crawled to the opening of the cave. Indeed, it was their father, climbing down the ladder above them. The Shanarki families lived in separate caves, each one on top of the other. Mari and Goro's family lived right below Chief Karlo.
The big, pale man spied his son's filthy face peeking out. "You need a wipedown little kid." He told him affectionately as he crawled in next to Goro. "What did you get this time Father?" Goro asked excitedly, rummaging through his father's bag. Mari and her mother watched with interest.
"Oh my cave...." Mother gasped as Goro pulled out a cloak of eagle feathers. It was exquisitely made, glossy and jet black, and probably took at least four huge eagles to make.
Father put it on his shoulders, strutting about. "Now I look just like Chief Karlo!"
"That is Chief Karlo's cloak, isn't it?" Mari mused.
"Oh Timo," Mother ran her fingers against the glossiness, "Whatever did you trade to get it?"
"A tiger's paw, a ten goat horns and hooves, and that rare root I found. I pounded it up and gave it to the chief. Good thing he had an irritating rash from sour goat skin, or I might not have this."
Mari, Goro and Mother eyed Father strangely. It wasn't like him to spend so much on an eagle feather cloak.
Father saw their looks. "I just thought we needed something special, you know, for the Hatching."
The Hatching was a special festival, where all the recently turned ten year olds would gather in valley, along with the rest of the tribe. They would be put to the test, and if they won, would be rewarded by the honor of 'hatching from an egg, to a bird." They would be taken out of their caves, blindfolded, and then taken far far away down to the valley. Together, they would have to learn to make their own shelter, find their own food, and find their way back after five days.
As Mari watched her brother's stout, determined face, her father's proud one as he took a wet goatskin and wiped the dirt off his son's face, and her mother as she stirred the stew. Tomorrow would be the first day of the Hatching, and she wondered how it'd all turn out.