His_ name is Mink Stalker, and he’s going to grow up to be one of the bravest and most skilled hunters we have. You’ll like him.”
Star Shell fought the sudden urge to slam the paddle down and turn on him. What made him think that she wanted to go to his northern land with its Caribou people and lakes? For all she knew, the place swarmed with mosquitoes and flies, and ticks hung on every blade of grass.
Is that really why you’re so angry? She made herself paddle, her eyes ahead to where the white sandy shoreline rose to the wave-cut bank. Above that, green forest spread in a leafy mat that followed the gentle undulations of the dissected landscape.
No, the truth was that she was starting to actually like Pale Snake. That impudent attitude refreshed her, somehow lessened the burden of her responsibility.
She stifled the urge to shake her head. He’d see, and with his sorcerer’s Power, probably understand her thoughts. It was crazy! The man was her last lover’s half-brother! Tall Man’s son! A renegade who’d murdered his wife for sleeping with his father—and conceiving an incestuous child!
Against all the warning fires burning uncomfortably in her soul, she couldn’t help but admire the way that he moved. During those hidden moments, she loved to catch sight of his private smiles and the way they affected the snakes tattooed on his cheeks. The twinkle of gentle humor in his eyes haunted her.
She’d bitten off more than one sigh as she’d watched his muscular body, irritated at her awareness of his lean hips and wide shoulders.
He’d made her laugh, and somehow he’d managed to return a part of herself that she hadn’t known was missing.
But do you want to leave everything behind? Travel with him to the north, Trade for silver and caribou meat?
She stole a glance southward, trying to see her father, Hollow Drill, in her soul’s eye. A lifetime of habit and intimacy lay there.
She paddled harder, releasing the frustrations of indecision.
You can’t fall in love with Pale Snake, Star Shell. He’s right, there’s a trap somewhere. But it’s the Mask that’s plotting evil.
I’ll never believe that Tall Man sent me to Pale Snake as a final act of unkindness toward his son.
The Mask—the hideous demon that rode in its pack on her back—had suddenly begun to grow warm. Warmer and warmer.
As though it were awakening from a long sleep. That responsibility would have to be dealt with first. And then, only then, could she decide about Pale Snake and what to do with what remained of her life.
You’re trapped, Star Shell. Trapped … but you just don’t know how.
Forty-five
Wave Dancer made good time, helped by a stiff wind from the west. Pearl’s wind trap pushed them along, water frothing under the fox-head bow as Otter used his paddle to steer them. They’d found from the beginning that by staying far out in the lake, they avoided the coastal fishing peoples, all of whom wished to Trade but had little more than fish to offer. In deeper waters, Wave Dancer could fly along unhindered as she rode the swells.
Otter savored this day of sunshine, wind, and sparkling water.
If only I could make this last forever!
Clouds raced before them, as if the entire world were heading east. Catcher perched on his packs with the usual ease, nose twitching with the wind until he curled up and sighed before dropping off to sleep.
“Being a dog wouldn’t be so bad.” Pearl winced at the stiffness in her arms as she struggled to hold on to her side of the wind trap. “Just guard the packs, play, and sleep.”
Across from her, Black Skull nodded, his big body leaning out over the water as he stretched his side of the palmetto matting.
“There has to be a better way to do this. Maybe use sticks instead of people to hold the mat.”
“You’d still have to prop the sticks somehow,” Otter told them, happy to let the wind blow strands of hair across his face.
“Drill holes,” Black Skull countered. “Then you could drive the sticks into the wood. Attach them to the boat.”
“Not my canoe, you don’t!”
The warrior growled something under his breath.
The wind flattened Pearl’s milkweed-fabric shirt against her skin, and Otter could see every line and curve of her breasts and flat stomach as if she were naked. He’d begun to learn all those curves, exploring each exciting new part of her.
Black hair whipped over her shoulder as she struggled with the wind trap, eyes flashing, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips as she fought the wind. She looked wild, untamed, thoroughly enraptured with the challenge of propelling the canoe.
From the flush in her smooth cheeks to the firm muscles in her shapely arms, her blood pumped with the living thrill of the day.