Hanging Star eased up behind her, whispering, “What is it? What does he see?”
“How would I know? I haven’t talked to him!”
“Not in days, I think.” Hanging Star bit her neck, hard.
Dark Rain shoved him away. “Why aren’t you up there helping Beaverpaw? These are probably your relatives, isn’t that right?”
Hanging Star grinned. “Probably.”
Dark Rain smiled, too. “You have souls worthy of a water moccasin, Hanging Star. Or is it that your relatives might dart you on sight?”
Hanging Star glanced at her, then craned his neck to watch Beaverpaw, who had stood up and lowered his atlatl. “Come. It looks as if we’re safe.” He put a hand on Dark Rain’s arm.
She jerked it away. “No thanks to you,” she said and stalked forward.
When she rounded the curve in the trail, she stopped dead in her tracks. Beaverpaw stood with Musselwhite and Pondwader! Blessed Brother Sky! Could she never get rid of that boy? Musselwhite wore a thick bandage around her head, but she stood tall, her eyes gleaming with deadly intent—as usual. When Pondwader saw Dark Rain, he went even paler than normal. He’d pulled his long white hair back and plaited it into a single braid, which accentuated the lines of his oval face and pointed nose. His long tan robe bore streaks of dirt and sweat stains. He didn’t look as if he’d bathed in days.
Musselwhite did not so much as glance at Dark Rain. Her gaze remained riveted to Beaverpaw, as she listened intently to him murmur, “Thank the Spirits we found you. I have things I must tell you.”
Dark Rain smiled and walked to stand beside Beaverpaw. He instantly stopped talking.
Musselwhite said, “Hello, Dark Rain. I hope you are well.”
“I am. But you look poorly. Is that a head wound?”
Musselwhite’s face showed no more emotion than a wooden statue’s. To Beaverpaw, she said, “Come. Let us speak in private.” Then, to the others added, “We will return soon.”
Musselwhite led Beaverpaw five tens of hands away and they crouched together beneath an old oak’s hanging beard of moss. Both had grim expressions.
Dark Rain turned to Pondwader, who seemed to wilt. “Well, well,” she said. “Come and sit down with me. Tell what has been happening with you.”
“Perhaps I should go sit with my wife, she might need—”
Dark Rain grabbed his arm. “She needs no help from you, Pondwader. She and Beaverpaw are probably talking about warfare or raiding—things you know nothing about. I need you more than Musselwhite does.” She dragged him to the spotty shade of a spindly dogwood tree. “Sit down.”
Pondwader knelt, but appeared as nervous as a fox with its hind foot in a snare. Hanging Star flopped on the ground beside him, and Pondwader frowned.
“So this is the White Lightning Boy,” Hanging Star said in wonder.
“Yes, this is my son, Pondwader. Pondwader, this is Hanging Star,” Dark Rain said glumly. “He’s from Standing Hollow Horn Clan.”
Pondwader just squinted.
Hanging Star said, “Shot down any Shining Eagles lately, Lightning Boy?”
When Pondwader didn’t answer, Hanging Star lifted his brows and asked Dark Rain, “Does it have a voice? Or is it just white hair and pink eyes?”
Dark Rain ordered, “Pondwader, say something.”
Her son shifted uncomfortably. In a pathetic whisper, he asked, “What?”
Hanging Star chuckled. “Well, it has a voice, but not much of one. Tell me, Dark Rain, how did you convince the illustrious Musselwhite to marry the likes of … this?”
Dark Rain stared at him coldly. “Go find something to do, Hanging Star. I wish to speak with my son alone.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Pondwader close his eyes as if in pain, but just for an instant, then he jerked them wide again, and stared at Dark Rain as if expecting punishment.
Hanging Star surveyed the two of them, then laughed out loud. “Oh, yes, Dark Rain. I can see the boy is very eager to speak with his loving mother. I’m not going anywhere. This could be the most entertainment I’ve had in half a moon,” he said, insulting her lovemaking on purpose. When her lips pressed into a hard line, he gave Dark Rain the full benefit of his rotting teeth.
Pondwader glanced back and forth between them, red rising in his cheeks.
“Ah,” Hanging Star said, “your son knows you, Dark Rain. But then, how could he not? You’ve scandalized your clan … how many times? Three, or is it four?”
“F-four,” Pondwader stammered.
Dark Rain smiled elegantly, and stretched out on her side between the men, crossing her long beautiful legs. “So my association with Beaverpaw makes it four, eh? What is your grandmother saying? She must be livid.”