“Kelp?” He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes a moment, conscious the entire time that her gaze had not left him. His emotions soared and dove like playing kestrels; and they appalled him. They possessed a strength he had never known. He told himself it had to be the drama of the day, finding the camp site, working out the battle, realizing his mother had been wounded, then Dace coming into camp upset. And, finally, discovering that Kelp had become a woman. The past few hands of time had been nothing but soaring emotions. Perhaps … perhaps he should wait to speak to her of this? Until he had settled down, and could think straight? He felt certain his mother would counsel him to wait.
As though his souls feared he might do just that, his mouth rushed to say, “Kelp, if we live through this, I would like to ask your grandmother if I may court you. I—I …” He couldn’t force himself to finish.
Kelp stood quietly, as if in shock, then she leaped forward and flung her arms around his neck with such force that he stumbled backward, and almost fell into the water.
They were both laughing when she said, “Oh, Diamondback, I would like that very much.”
Thirty-eight
Beaverpaw stepped lightly through the shadowed forest around Standing Hollow Horn Village. Shelters dotted the land for as far as he could see, and ten tens of people bustled about, cooking, laughing, gambling. So many fires lit the village that Sister Moon’s almost full face barely penetrated the orange gleam, though a gauzy silver sheen coated the sea and reflected with blinding intensity from the frothy crests of waves. Breakers crashed on the beach. Amid the rush and retreat of water, swallows dove. The weather had been so warm that a haze of glittering insect wings filled the air. Their whine added to the village’s din.
Beaverpaw veered wide around an old lightning-blasted stump and watched the dogs that padded the trails between the shelters, wagging their tails at anyone who paid attention to them. This had to be the largest village ever assembled. People from many different clans had flocked here to be close to Cottonmouth when the end came, praying he could save them. The crowd astounded Beaverpaw. How many fools existed in the world? Too many, it seemed.
Salt-scented gusts of wind blew his chin-length hair over his face. He tucked it behind his ears and narrowed his small eyes as a huge bonfire blazed to life in the central plaza. Sparks flitted and tumbled over the heads of the people gathered there. He heard Dark Rain’s low laugh, followed by a whoop from Hanging Star, and an unknown man’s curse.
They had arrived three hands of time ago, set up camp, and immediately gone their separate ways, Beaverpaw studying the lay of the village, his companions seeking the biggest game they could find. It sounded as though they had achieved their goal. The distinctive rattle of bones being thrown carried above the crackling of the flames. Beaverpaw sincerely hoped Dark Rain was winning. When she lost, she grew hostile and unmanageable. Generally, she stalked back to camp, packed her things, and ordered him to hurry it up, declaring she wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
… He needed her to be happy here. If necessary, he would sell his cherished weapons to provide her with more goods to wager. So long as she could gamble, he had a cover for his wanderings through the village.
Homesickness gnawed him. If everything went well, he would be back in Waterbearer’s arms in five days, maybe six. He longed so to hug his children, to hear their laughter, that he could barely endure the waiting. The only thing that kept him sane was the certain knowledge that he must succeed … or his clan would not take him back. No matter the cost, Beaverpaw must see to it that Musselwhite succeeded in rescuing Diver.
He had already scouted the southern and western boundaries of Standing Hollow Horn. The placement of shelters had at first appeared random, but as Beaverpaw continued his quiet scout, he saw that that assessment could not have been more untrue. Shelters stood around the plaza in a series of ever widening semicircles, like shells nested inside one another. Along the outside crescent, shelters sat next to large trees, and beside each one two men stood guard. The organization stunned him. No one, not even Musselwhite, could have created a more frightening stronghold. Every possible point of attack had been anticipated and sealed. It would take tens of tens of warriors to break through these defenses, and the battle would cost many lives. Indeed, Beaverpaw doubted that any enemy force now in existence could overrun Standing Hollow Horn.
Shaking his head, he marveled at Musselwhite’s grasp of the situation. She had not been here in tens of summers, yet she knew that they could not hope to fight Cottonmouth. How right she had been. Only a small group could ever penetrate this fortress … . But once inside, how would they ever get out?