People of the Lightning(128)
He smiled his forgiveness. “You were worried sick about Diver. I knew that, Musselwhite.”
The warm stir of wind brought him the distant switching of an alligator’s tail as it hunted the swamps. A crane let out a sharp shriek. Flurries of wings and more desperate shrieks followed, then died away abruptly.
Pondwader scooped ashes out of the firepit, laid a small bed of dry pine needles and twigs in the hole, then reached for his fire drill and fire board. The board, a flat piece of pine about three hands long, and a finger wide, had two drill holes in it already. He selected a new spot. The drill consisted of a sharpened cattail stem, and stretched as long as his arm. Pondwader stood his drill on the board and grabbed it up high. As he rapidly spun the drill, he applied a constant downward pressure, so his hands descended the stem as he worked. When he reached the bottom, he had to move his hands to the top again and start spinning all over.
In less than ten tens of heartbeats, a thin gray spiral of smoke rose from the fireboard and Pondwader carefully lifted the board, dumped the hot drill dust onto his kindling, and blew gently. The pine needles caught almost immediately. Sparks crackled and spat as tiny tongues of yellow licked up around the twigs. Pondwader kept blowing as he added larger branches, until he had a good fire going. Then he skewered the fish on long sticks and propped three of them up to roast. The fourth fish, he laid to the side.
“Saving … one?” Musselwhite asked.
Pondwader grinned. He felt somehow different this morning. Happy. Strangely confident. Older. “No,” he answered and reached for his pack which lay near the firepit. He pulled out a chert blade and held it up. “As soon as I’ve stripped out the fish fat, I’m going to melt it with the sundew leaves and plaster the mixture on your head.”
“I’ve never … heard of that.”
“Oh, it’s very good for open wounds,” he assured her. “Grandmother Moonsnail has used it on me tens of times. Injuries always heal faster with a sundew poultice.”
Pondwader used his blade to split the fish open all the way, then laid the halves back and carefully scraped the fat into a wooden bowl. After dumping in the wilted sundew leaves, he stirred the mixture, and set the bowl at the edge of the fire to warm, and skewered the fish on a stick. He propped it over the fire alongside the others. He’d started humming to himself, a beautiful lilting lullaby that he remembered from his earliest childhood. A song about warriors and honor. His grandmother had sung it to him. He missed her very much.
“Pondwader,” Musselwhite said. “You seem … different today. Is there a reason?”
He stopped humming and shifted uncomfortably. His long white hair fell around his young face, highlighting his pink skin and white brows. How could she be so perceptive? She seemed to sense his every thought. He tucked his skinned fish into the empty basket that had held the sundew leaves, and scooped up some of the fat to rub on his hands. It felt cool and soothing.
“I—I feel well today,” he answered cryptically.
“You don’t have to talk … about it,” she said. “I was just wondering. That’s all.”
When he turned to look at her, he found her watching him. “I do wish to speak with you about it. I am just not sure … that the time is right. You are hurt. We are vulnerable out here alone in the forest. Perhaps it would be better if I waited until a time when—”
“You may tell me … whenever you wish, Pondwader. Now. Later. Or never. I will understand.”
“No, I will tell you,” he assured her. “You are my wife. I must tell you.”
Musselwhite shifted her shoulders to take some of the ache out of her back. “No,” she murmured. “Tell me only if you wish to. There are many things, Pondwader … that I—I will never share with you. Not because I don’t trust you. But because remembering them hurts me … too much. I don’t expect you to share everything with me … . Just the things you wish to.”
He flipped their fish so they would roast on the opposite side. The sweet scent filled the air, along with the faintly pungent odor of steeping sundew leaves. He added more branches to the fire. Just thinking about last night left him nervous. He tossed on another piece of wood. Flames leaped up, crackling.
“Pondwader,” Musselwhite gently pointed out. “Not too much wood … please. The smoke will rise and be visible … for a great distance. We don’t want—”
“Oh!” he yipped. “Great Dolphin!” He lurched to his feet and began kicking dirt over the fire. A haze of dust rose and wafted upward through the tree branches. “I can’t believe I am so stupid!”