VillipoikaPoika villiintyi sinä kesänä
Kasvoissaan villieläimen silmät
Rakkaimpiaan metsän hämärä
Levottomat tuulet ja yöt kylmät
Ei tiennyt äitinsä surua
Ymmärtänyt ihmisen tuskaa
ImperfectPallav was sitting in front of his cave, enjoying the afternoon sun. It was finally spring. The birds were singing. The ground was warm. The woods smelled of summer. Yellow old fir needles were picking his feet, and the stone wall behind his back felt cold, but he didn't mind. The world was awakening, and he was happy. Whether that would be his last summer, he didn't quite care.
He had a new summer cloth, made of a deer hide. An old woman had given him for healing her son's wound. He wasn't sure whether the woman knew none of his herbs or treatments had any sort of magic or witchcraft to them, or was her deep gratitude genuine. Either way, the wound healed, the young was able to hunt again, she didn't lose her son, and he got a fine hide for the summer.
Somewhere down the rocky hill, a woman called his name. He forced himself to open his eyes, knowing none of the tribespeople would dare to interrupt his peace unless absolutely necessary. A young woman, carrying a package, was climbing