Awar knows exactly where to find the right kind of rock, even in the snow. The spot is called Angel's mountain, and it's said to be haunted. But Awar is a fearless warrior, and he deliberately laughs off the old legend. There's not much choice, the tribe desperately needs flint stone.

Old flint-chopper Sagar carried most of the remaining quality cores in his log boat when he capsized in the rapids, yesterday. Sagar made it with a broken leg. With some luck he will eventually learn to walk again. But his precious cargo of stones remains lost. And the hunters need arrow points if the tribe wants to survive till next spring.

So Awar volunteered to visit the old mine.

An icy wind carries the cold from the mighty glacier. The ground is frozen, and to open the mineshaft, Awar needs his axe. He polished the solid greenstone blade to perfection on a slab of fine sandstone. This is a tool to be proud of, and Awar fears to damage the edge by hitting hard rock. But there's nothing to be done about it, he must gain access to the quarry. Finally, a muffled thump announces the rough wooden boards covering the shaft's entry. The rest will be relatively easy. He glances up, calculating. The bright sky of early morning has long since turned grey and overcast, the leaden light promising heavy snow before nightfall.

~

Selene's eyes flutter open to complete darkness. She struggles to regain control of her body and memories. Erratic thoughts move sluggish in the manner of molasses dripping from a spoon. Why is she so apathetic? Did she join another of Captain John's infamous parties? Unlikely, or her head would hurt far worse.

She tries to turn over and fumbles for the glass of water supposed to rest on her bedside table. When her hand slams hard against the cold metal skin of the pod, the ugly truth hits her like a truck running over an unsuspecting snail.

The ship crashed during final mission stage. Vague memories of hurrying to the pods while the hull screeched under the strain of involuntary atmospheric entry flood her mind.

She's sure she has to consider herself lucky to be alive. Wait, wasn't this a two-person pod? Where's Anton? The engineer should lie beside her. Softly, she calls his name.

There is no answer. Selene struggles with the safety net and curses the darkness. Emergency lights are supposed to glow in the capsule at all times when passengers are awake. Something is completely off.

A cold shiver runs down her spine and a wave of panic surges through her brain. Why did she wake up? This is definitely not the routine cycle she remembers from training.

"Anton? Please answer. I need you, hear me?"

A booming thump resonates through Selene's coffin-like prison.

~

Awar adjusts his bear tallow candle and studies the head-sized flint nodule he pried loose from the mine's wall. A smile spreads on his face. This is the excellent quality he remembers. He'll be able to carry another two or three boulders home. Too much, and he'll endanger himself while crossing the frozen river.

Using his walking stick instead of the precious axe, he works at the softer chalk and silt layers containing the useful hard enclosures. With all his force he pushes the hardwood into the malleable material. It hits a solid surface and a hollow bang is the answer.

Eyebrows knitted into a frown, he scrutinises the cave wall. Rock and earth shouldn't be able to emit such a sound.

Awar continues digging with a shrug. Whatever he found, it's bigger than he thought at first.

With forceful strikes, he frees the strange object from its silt cover. The material is something he hasn't seen since early childhood and even then as an odd rarity. He doesn't dare to hope yet. The dull colour could be plain rock, covered by burnt, blackened crusts. Awar hits it tentatively with his axe, and the crust crumbles away to present a vulnerable grey surface. Where his stroke left a dent, it shines brightly in the candlelight.

Metal! He found a treasure of the mythical resource of the ancestors. Awar picks up his digging with renewed vigour.

~

Irregular thumps reverberate through the pod and Selene's headache turns from bad to worse. The air is stale, and she claws for the exit hatch in impenetrable darkness.

Her hand finds the lever by pure luck and her training sets in without glitch. Clamps click and seals deflate hissing. The hatch moves aside a few centimetres and gets stuck. Damp earth crumbles over Selene's outstretched hand. Is the pod buried?

She reaches out to push against the cold lining and is surprised when the hatch's resistance gives an instant later.

Mellow light floods the pod's interior. The first thing Selene recognises is Anton's desiccated skull, skin stretched tight like parchment over bone, bared teeth fixed in an eternal grin, gleaming in the flickering orange light.

With a shriek, she pulls back. Her friend must have fallen from his cot during impact. His mummified body lies crumpled against the lower part of the hatch. Above his grisly, dead features two very vivid eyes blink at her.

Selene stares in horror at the hairy face of an alien.

~

Awar contemplates the foreign woman's lean features. She is no great beauty, her complexion too pale and her lank hair the colour of the night. Her body is encased by tight material resembling fish-skin. At least she is obviously alive, in contrast to this weird cocoon's other occupant.

Awar wonders if it was a mistake to break the shell. But what's done is done, and soon they'll run out of time. It must be midday already, and the way to the winter cave is long with a stranger unused to snow drifts. Experience tells him no one will survive the storm of the coming night without shelter. If he wants to save the woman, they must move. Awar reaches out a hand.

"Come," he says, in the tone he would use with a child, pleading for trust.

"We need to leave the slopes before the blizzard strikes."

~

Selene scrutinises the savage's hand and registers chipped fingernails combined with scars covering the knuckles. Then she looks into brown eyes almost hidden behind tousled locks of a sun-bleached mane. Undeniably, like the hands, like the few words the stranger spoke in heavily accented standard, they are human.

Reluctantly, she takes the offered hand and lets herself being pulled out of the battered, scorched wreck of her rescue pod. It sheltered her for—how long?

A last, longing glance at Anton is a mistake. The ghastly sight will haunt her dreams. Tight-lipped she follows the wild man and his fickle light through a narrow shaft out onto a steep mountain flank and into a windswept, alien landscape. Rocky slopes fall down towards a forest of blueish-green conifers.

Is this the planet she travelled so far to explore? From obit, she longed to study its flora, cursed the impossibility to touch and classify unknown species, restricted to be a frustrated, distant observer of a biologist's paradise.

Now she stands here, on the planetary surface, and although she wished for exactly this opportunity, a sour taste of dread fills her mouth.

~

In broad daylight, the woman looks even paler and very thin. She must be freezing in her fish-skin clothing. But Awar isn't quite ready to leave the mine. He came here for flint, and now he forgot his single good nodule in the shaft.

With a quick excuse he ducks back into the mine, searching for the precious stone. Ah, there it is, right beside the woman's cocoon. Awar stares for a moment at the dull grey material. Two quick strikes of his axe break the moving part loose. He picks it up together with the flint and hurries outside, worried the woman might have disappeared.

She still stands beside the shaft, unmoving, taking in the landscape.

~

Selene speaks slowly, deliberately pronouncing every word.

"I'm Selene, the Helios' biologist. How long did I sleep?"

The savage's eyes widen.

"Helios? You rode the chariot of the sun? It's been many winters since real gods visited World."

"How long? How many winters?"

"More than even the oldest remember. The tribal song mentions twelve generations under fifteen great leaders."

Selene shivers in spite of her insulation suit. Twelve generations translate to two hundred and fifty years, give or take. This man, this savage, must be a descendant of her crew mates. And to judge by his primitive, stone age equipment, they barely survived.

Her new acquaintance doesn't register Selene's uncomfortable silence. His toothy smile reminds her of Captain John.

"I'm honoured to meet an ancestor. My name is Awar. Please, we must move before the snow starts."

~

The woman, Selene, nods, but her face clearly shows distress. Maybe she's afraid they will not pay her the respect a godly ancestress is due? Awar suddenly fears his behaviour was rude and decides to make up for it. With his best encouraging smile he points to the piece of metal shell he carries.

"Your gift will provide the tribe with strong arrowheads for many seasons to come. There will be bear fat soup and fermented blackberry juice in your honour, tonight. And everyone will listen to your heroic song."

~

For the first time in her life, Selene feels ready to faint.