“This can’t be more than five or six days old.”
Dace lifted his head. “But who built it? Those dead warriors back there? Musselwhite?”
Diamondback straightened up and tied his knife to his belt again. From here Sea Girl’s waves sounded loud, crashing against the shore of the small cove. “No, Dace,” he answered. “No warrior would choose this place to camp. It’s too exposed. Look around. Your enemies could sneak up on you from three sides, and the sound of the waves would cover their approach. You’d be dead before you knew it.”
Hope lit Dace’s young face. “You think it was Pondwader?”
“That would explain my mother’s hurry after she killed those warriors. She may have been worried that they had reached Pondwader before she’d seen them.”
Dace craned his neck, seeking the place in the trees where the dead men lay. “But … she could have seen this camp from there … I think. If she could see Pondwader—”
“Maybe it was night, Dace. He could have been rolled up in his blanket sleeping, and she didn’t know whether he was alive or dead.”
“Maybe.”
A smile curled Diamondback’s lips. “I think she found him, Dace. I think she found him and they’re together right now.”
Dace closed his eyes and exhaled an elated breath. “If so, they should already be at Standing Hollow Horn Village. How long will it take, us to get there?”
“If we can keep up this pace, two days.” Unconsciously, Diamondback lowered his hand to massage his aching leg. It always felt better after he’d walked the stiffness out, the pain not quite so fiery. “And we can, I think.”
Wind flapped Dace’s braid against his back. “We may be too late to help them. In two days, they could have rescued your father and already be on their way home.”
“ … Or they may have been captured.”
The thought had been running through Diamondback’s souls, though he had not, until this moment, mentioned it aloud. Mostly because he did not wish to contemplate the possibilities. He watched Dace’s eyes narrow.
“Then we had better hurry,” Dace said. “Cottonmouth is not known for treating captives kindly.”
“No,” Diamondback murmured, staring down at the old firepit again.
“Let’s find Kelp,” Dace said. “She was netting killifish in that small pond due west of where we camped. The sooner we eat and start up the trail, the sooner we will reach Standing Hollow Horn Village.”
Dace started to turn, and Diamondback gripped him by the arm. “Let’s not mention the possibility to Kelp that they might have been captured. Let’s just tell her that we’ve found good evidence that Pondwader is safe with my mother.”
Dace smiled. “I wager, my friend, that she considered the possibility of their capture long ago—but, yes, I agree. If she doesn’t mention it, I won’t.”
Diamondback nodded his gratitude. “I don’t know why I keep trying to protect her when I know she’s a very smart woman—”
“Girl,” Dace said and punched Diamondback in the arm so hard he staggered sideways. “She’s a very smart girl.”
Diamondback smiled. “Keep reminding me.”
In a small pool surrounded by palmettos, water sparkled, smooth and transparent. Moss cushioned Moonsnail’s feet as she used her walking stick to pry open a path through the dense fronds. She knelt by the pond. Fragments of shells and old leaves coated the bottom. A young watersnake swam along the edge on the far side, sending out glimmering silver waves. She dipped up a handful of the crystalline liquid and drank. It went down cool and earthy.
People filed by her, heading on down the game trail. Men scouted the lead, their atlatls nocked and ready, while women carried heavy packs and shepherded dogs hauling travoises. A few held infants on their hips. Polished Shells walked in the middle of a crowd of laughing, skipping children. Thorny Boy trotted at her side. He’d become fast friends with Polished Shells’ youngest daughter, Little Darter. Old people brought up the rear, walking as fast as they could, but not nearly quick enough to keep pace with the younger clan members. More than a dozen tribal elders straggled along at the end of the line. Seedpod stopped and waved to Moonsnail. She waved back. He seemed to be waiting for her. He’d backed up to lean against the trunk of a tall pine, resting, watching her.
For two days, cougars and wolves had been paralleling their path, slinking through the trees, just beyond dart range, growling softly, threateningly. No healthy animal would attack a group so large, but they might leap upon a straying child, or attack a lone elder. Is that what worried Seedpod? That she might get eaten? At night, around the cooking fires, people muttered curses and retold stories about close calls. Not a single rain cloud had darkened the sky since they’d left Manatee Lagoon, and Moonsnail had heard more than one person whisper bitterly that they ought to turn around and go back. Mutters traveled through the ranks, people saying that Dogtooth was an old fool—and so was anyone who listened to him.