Salt.
I looked around the village.
Nobody used it.
Nobody even seemed to miss it.
Of course — they had lived their whole lives foraging whatever the land gave them. But salt was too far from their daily habits, too much effort for something they didn't know existed.
But for health… for preservation… for flavor… they needed it.
A small group sat outside weaving baskets, so I approached them and pointed toward my pot, searching for the right words I had learned.
"Food… good," I said slowly, tapping the pot. "But… something missing."
I pinched the air, pretending to sprinkle something. "Salt. White stone. Sea."
They looked confused at first, then intrigued.
One of the younger women repeated "Saaalt?" carefully, trying to mimic the shape of the word.
I nodded eagerly.
"Sea… water," I said, tracing waves in the air with my hand. "Fire… boil… white sand… but good for food."
Curiosity flashed in their eyes. They began talking quickly to each other in their tongue, pointing south—toward where the sea must have been. I didn't understand everything, but I caught enough: long walk, dangerous cliffs, not much reason to go there.
Until now.
I grabbed a stick and drew in the dirt:
a pot
fire underneath
steam rising
and tiny grains left behind.
Kehnu, who had been repairing a spear nearby, stood and walked over. He watched the drawing quietly, then the pot on the fire, then me. His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.
"White… rock… from sea?" he said slowly in his own language.
"Yes!" I clapped my hands, thrilled he understood. "Makes food better. Keeps meat longer."
That last part made the villagers freeze.
Meat that lasted longer?
That was something worth walking for.
The elder woman approached, tapping the drawing with her stick thoughtfully. She nodded once, then twice — approval.
A small group began forming around us, talking rapidly.
Kehnu gestured toward the forest path leading downhill.
Tomorrow, he seemed to say.
We go look.
And I felt something stir inside me — excitement, fear, hope. Another small step. Another idea. Another way to help them… and ourselves.
Salt. A simple thing.
But maybe the next important change in their world.
Next morning the air was fresh, washed clean by the long monsoon rains. Kehnu waited near the edge of the village with his spear and a small woven pouch. When I approached, he gave a short nod. No long explanations — just the quiet certainty he always carried.
Kate hesitated for a moment, gripping my hand.
"Mom… you'll come back soon?"
"Yes," I smiled, brushing her hair back. "You stay here and play. Stay with the others. They'll take care of you."
The village kids were already calling her.
"Kate! Kate! Come play!"
Their accents were adorable, and she grinned before running toward them.
She was safe. Safer than she had ever been before with strangers. That thought alone told me how much things had changed.
Kehnu set off down the path, and I followed.
The descent was long but gentle. Forest leaves still dripping from the rain brushed our shoulders as we walked. Birds called from deep branches, invisible yet loud. Every now and then he glanced back to check if I was still close.
We walked for almost two hours, maybe more. My legs began to feel the slope, and I wondered how far this sea was and if it was even worth the risk.
Then suddenly the trees opened.
My breath caught.
Below us stretched a narrow sea channel, like a deep blue river cutting into the land, winding between cliffs and dense green mountains. Sunlight hit the water and made it shimmer like glass.
A perfect place.
Close enough.
Not the endless coast I feared we'd have to walk days to reach — but a quiet inlet, protected and rich.
Saltwater.
Fish.
Seaweed.
Shells.
Resources we desperately needed.
"I… this is good," I whispered, almost to myself. But Kehnu heard. He watched my face and gave the faintest smile — the kind he only showed when he understood something mattered to me.
"I want to go closer," I said gently, pointing down.
He nodded and motioned me to follow.
He led me onto a narrow side path hidden by tall grass — the kind made not by people but by hooves. Animals had walked it often, but it was still wide enough for us to go single file. The earth was damp and soft, the smell of salt growing stronger with every step.
As we descended, I felt excitement growing inside me.
This place…
This changed everything.
Salt for preserving meat.
Fish for steady meals.
A new food source the tribe never used before.
And I had a strange feeling that Kehnu already sensed how important this place would be — not just for me, but for all of us.
We reached the water after another half hour of careful walking, and the air changed immediately — sharper, salty, alive. I crouched, dipped my fingers into the channel, and tasted it.
Seawater.
Pure, unmistakable.
My heart lifted.
I walked along the shore and checked the ground. The sand glittered with shells — some empty and broken, others whole and heavy. Closer to the rocks, clusters of living ones clung tightly, dripping with the last retreating wave. All edible. All useful.
I picked a few up and showed them to Kehnu.
"Food," I told him, tapping the shell, then pointing at my mouth.
He shook his head quickly.
"Pain belly," he said, frowning and pressing his stomach.
Ah.
So they did try once — but probably raw, or badly cooked. No wonder they avoided them. Without proper boiling or fire time, shellfish could definitely cause problems.
"Cook long," I tried to explain, making stirring motions. He watched, thoughtful, but didn't reply.
He stepped into the shallow water then, spear in hand, and attempted to catch fish. His movements were fast but the fish were faster. He stabbed the water again and again, splashing, missing each time. I bit my lip, trying not to smile.
Finally, after what felt like a dozen tries, he struck clean — lifted the spear, and a fish wriggled on the end of it. He grinned, breathless and proud, and carried it up the shore.
While he fished, I gathered more shells — not only to eat later, but because they were beautiful. Maybe I could decorate our hut. Maybe press them into clay. Maybe they could serve as sharp edges for scraping. You never know. Every little thing mattered here.
Before leaving, I filled my clay pot with seawater, and even my bamboo bottle. My arms were full when we started the climb back.
The hike up the mountain drained me far quicker than coming down. My legs burned, lungs burning, and Kehnu kept glancing back at me as if to check I wouldn't collapse. But I pushed through until we reached the familiar forest path leading to the village.
By the time we returned, the sun was already sliding lower, warm and orange above the huts. Smoke curled gently from the cooking fire.
Food was waiting — fresh fruit piled in woven baskets, a few roasted roots, and now Kehnu added his hard-earned fish by the fire. A little feast compared to cave days.
Kate ran to me the moment she saw me, shouting "Mom!" and tackled me in a hug. I squeezed her tightly, happy just to feel her small arms again.
"I brought something," I told her, opening my hand to show the shells.
Her eyes widened with delight. She grabbed a handful and darted off to show her friends, their excited voices rising like little birds.
I watched her go, smiling.
It felt like a good day — one that would change many more to come.