Outliers

Not matching.

Glancing over my shoulder and turning fully around to scope things out, I saw that no one was even looking in my direction. All the others were either setting up camp  or gathered around Trini's tent. Trini was about to have a baby, her fourth one. When someone has a baby in our camp (and this is something Ivan told me is different from what you might be used to), the baby belongs to all of us. We all are its parents. The more people that are around to see the baby come into the world, the luckier that baby will be and the more love-grants it receives. Love-grants are ways we keep all together. I was supposed to hammer down the chicken coop and get right down to Trini's tent but all of that just whooshed out my right ear as I crouched down on all fours and crept toward the dead bush, toward the Outlier, and, as I learned later, toward my future.

The boy in red had frozen stock still. As I got closer I could tell that he was hungry. Very hungry. And cold. His clothing was made from some thin stuff, not fur or wool or even loose-weave. More like flower petals or something, and it was red. My own coat, and cape and hood as well, were of elk skin lined with rabbit fur. And even though it takes a while to read all this stuff I'm telling you, you should know that this has all happened in about three blinks of the eye.

Ivan didn't shuffle back any more as I approached. I think maybe he could tell I meant no harm? But he didn't take his eyes off me, and he clutched a small bag closer to his chest. I stopped when I was about an arms-length away and took a good long look. He took a long look at me, too. I couldn't say anything; my throat felt all chokey with the moment and all it meant. An Outlier. After a few minutes, he spoke.

"Adhlalehl dkekleke uuugh"

That's basically what his speech sounded like to me on that first day. It was so stupid and animal sounding. Animals sound better than that.

But it hadn't sounded angry. I told myself to relax and hear his tone. It was weak and scared, and maybe a little bit like a little child who is asking his mother "why?"  I decided to say something myself.

"I won't hurt you. What are you doing here?"

His brow furrowed; it almost looked like he was thinking what I had a moment ago; that my speech sounded harsh and animal. I knew then that our speech didn't match. We couldn't make words together.

My brain jumped from thought to thought to thought. I scanned the area behind the Outlier boy. I saw no others. Something in my heart told me he was alone, and had been for some time. I knew he needed help. Although I have not had any babies yet myself, I have been a help-mother to thirty-three babies in our camp. I know when someone needs food, or love-grants. He was almost of the age where he was a man, not needing a help-mother anymore, but he was so narrow and hungry looking that my first instinct was to help.

Decisions must be made, so I made one. More thought later. Not bothering to try to make words again, I stood up and grabbed the boy by his upper arm and yanked upward. He struggled a little. I made some what I hoped were soothing humming sounds and hurried him toward my tent.