Basket Weaving 101

The Azu-nah left me to myself for most of the afternoon. I rested for a while in my tree tent and unpacked a bit. Much of my pack, as I’ve said, is composed of life support materials. But I feel very uncomfortable keeping my entire supply on me all at once. One really bad fall and the entire thing can be destroyed. And while I’d be physically safe waiting for a supply drop from Ground Zero, they wouldn’t appreciate it, and it would quite literally shorten my time on the planet. We only have so many supplies stored. Ships regularly go back and forth between Epsilon Eridani and Sol, but, you know, it’s like the interstellar Pony Express.

So I carefully unpacked my kit and hung the stuff not immediately needed on the odd shelf-pocket that made up the top corner of the tree tent. My pack actually comes apart a bit, so I was able to disassemble it into something that would be better for carrying my day-to-day tools: computer pad, life support/first aid supplies, ration bars, comlink, binoculars, multi-tool, and my survival knife.

The tree tent itself was quite fun. I’ve always liked tents. I turn into a little kid for a few seconds no matter how many times I climb into one. It reminds me of camping as a kid, breathing fresh, wild air in the morning and listening to owls and insects and bats. The tree tent is made of a really odd fiber. It isn’t woven, like cloth, but it doesn’t seem to be leather either. It has tiny holes in it here and there, and the texture is oddly stiff. Outside, the bottom is braced by a woven pallet of slim branches, which provides a basket-like floor to sleep on. Inside, it feels less like a tent, and more like being wrapped in an enormous leaf. I liked it immediately.

It didn’t take me long to unpack, repack, and enjoy a twenty minute catnap. Beyond that I didn’t know what to do. So I ended up climbing down from my tent and wandering around. Kohric was nowhere to be seen. I assume he was off chatting with his friends, recovering from spending two and a half days with the wheezy, grunting, troglodyte woman. The other Azu-nah I encountered seemed to have been warned that I didn’t speak much of their language. They bobbed their heads in greeting or said a simple “kaganu.” I attempted to mimic their head bobbing, feeling like I probably looked more like a really bad rock music fan, and returned their greetings.

The Azu-nah camp is difficult to define, visually. There is no visible boundary where wild land ends and D’Keda begins There isn’t a lot on the ground that’s obviously camp-like. The trees are filled with the odd tree tents, but since they’re mostly much higher off the ground than mine, you don’t really notice them right away. They’re hidden in all the foliage. There are a few tents on the ground, but even they’re hard to see initially. They’re perched right up against the trees, like a big root extension, and they’re colored exactly like the trunks. I get the feeling the Azu-nah don’t like to make things that stand out against the natural background.

As I was wondering, a small, grey-brown Azu-nah female with black stripes on her back trotted up to me and gestured. She moved her hand and tail in a scooping, “come” gesture. Even with my utter inability to read Azu-nah body language, she seemed to exude a sense of authority. That, combined with the creases around her eyes and mouth, and my brain immediately labeled her as “Grandma.” I followed her to a circle of other Azus surrounding an enormous pile of flat, dry grass. Several of those in the circle had half-finished baskets in their hands, and were skillfully weaving pieces of grass between reed supports. Apparently Grandma figured I better make myself useful. A tawny yellow female came to sit next to me, introduced herself as Oreeaht, and set a freshly made reed base in my hands. She began carefully showing me how to weave the grass onto it.

I slowly got the hang of it. My basket was small, and I was incredibly slow. The others were working on much larger ones, and their fingers seemed to move without them even paying attention. They sang as they worked; a rhythmic, repetitive series of chanted words and whistles, with their tails gently thumping the ground behind them to add a drum-like base. I found myself humming the tune after the first few repetitions, much to the delight of Oreeaht and Grandma (later introduced as Nanahan).

Several hours, three paper—er, grass cuts, and a lot of good natured teasing later, and I had completed the Ugliest Basket Ever. The weave is lumpy and uneven, but dammit, it can hold things! Oreeaht, grinning just as Kohric had, kept pressing it into my hands when I’d try to put it in the pile with the others. Apparently I’m to keep my hideous basket to myself, thank you very much. I grinned and thanked her (“hetche”) and headed back to my tent. It was growing dark, and most everyone was making for their own tents.

I set my basket down in the corner of my tree tent and decided it’d be a good place to store my rations. I’d been avoiding eating Azu-nah food, and as of yet I hadn’t been directly offered any. I’m afraid of offending someone by putting some of it in my test kit. I don’t know how to articulate that I really appreciate their food, but I don’t know if it’s any good for troglodyte grunting alien women. I’ll have to do something soon, though. I can’t just blow through my rations in a week and a half.

Tomorrow, I’ll have to sample Azu-nah cuisine.