OK, I know it’s difficult to plan for a trip like this. Everyone’s running around like a reindeer with its head cut off.
But we had a whole lunar cycle to coordinate. I know nobody wants to stand around outside on the tundra making small talk only to find your lips and eyeballs have frozen solid, but … “What are you bringing to eat on the way there? Oh, really? I was going to bring a small handful of rabbit organs, too! Maybe one of us should bring something different!” You know, a little gossip never killed anybody. I suppose it killed Gorf. More accurately, a sharp rock thrown by Ooni’s husband killed Gorf. But I digress.
Let’s just make sure I’m not overreacting. Going down the line, what did we bring? Half a squirrel. Piece of bark. Recently stomped baby bird. Handful of seeds. Handful of poisonous berries. Nice gathering there, Peela.
I see appetizers. I see desserts. What I don’t see is a single hunk of fish, deer, bison, or even the desiccated flesh of a hated enemy. I don’t know about you people, but trekking dozens of miles across a narrow strait into an unknown land makes me more than a little edgy. And when I’m nervous, I get hungry. And when I’m hungry, I like to eat something a little more substantial than squirrel ass!
Someone’s just handed me a moose bladder full of a primitive, foul-smelling root liquor. I’ll be totally honest: this will do.
Pass the seeds.