Boca Grande

Thinking is not my own way. All our people think.

Rubbing between my legs, that is my own way. Thinking and rubbing together, especially good. When I am old I will make rubbing part of the initiation. Once the others try it, they will want to continue.

Sleeping alone is my own way. I do not always like to sleep all tumbled together in the cave. I do not like telling my dreams and having them picked over like bones in the ashes. So I sleep sometimes outside, by myself. I rub myself, and I sleep alone, and I think, and what I think is: sometimes thinking is not enough.

The thinking ones in the mountains told me what to do, to make a child with the elder brothers. The elder brothers do not speak. They do not like fire. But they are very, very strong.

I brought dried meat, many armfuls, as a respectful gift.

The thinking ones put slime on me to make me smell right.

I rubbed myself until I was soft and wet.

The thinking ones held me still. And I mated with the elder brothers, three of them, just to make sure.

Now a child is growing inside me. When they see it, my people will be angry, but they will not kill it. To thinking people, all children are precious.

If I live and stay strong, I will mate with the elder brothers a second time. So there will be two to stand together when I am gone, two beautiful children with thick fur and long arms.

I bring strength to our people. Thinking, alone, is not enough.