Little Darter skidded to a stop, breathing hard. Sand coated her tunic and legs. “Grandmother!”
“Hush! Your cousin is ill.” Moonsnail threw her rag into the gourd of cool water, and glowered menacingly at her granddaughter. In response, Little Darter’s square face reddened. She put her hands behind her back and stood as if turned to stone. Only her dark eyes moved, trying not to look at Moonsnail. “All right. What is so important?”
Little Darter’s tan tunic flared out as she swung around and pointed to the large shelter at the edge of the forest in the distance. “Dark Rain is back! She grabbed me by the arm and tried to shake the liver out of me!” Little Darter held up her arm to display the red fingerprints. “See? Look what she did?”
“Dark Rain?” Moonsnail squinted at the woman standing in the council shelter, but could make out nothing more than a blur dressed in red. She reached for her walking stick and used it to steady herself while she got to her feet. “What does she want?”
“She ordered me to run and fetch you. She would not tell me why.”
“You asked, eh?” Moonsnail chuckled. “No wonder she was after your liver. Probably wanted to eat it for such impudence.” Little Darter twisted to look up, and Moonsnail put a gnarled old hand on the girl’s head, patting it gently. “But you were right to ask. She has no business here. Now, go find Kelp. She may wish to see her mother before I cast Dark Rain out of the village again.”
“Yes, Grandmother!”
Little Darter sped off toward the ocean with her dark hair flying. As she cut across the village a flock of laughing children and barking dogs fell in behind her, churning up a sandstorm with their feet as they angled out of sight toward the green water in the distance.
Moonsnail used the wet rag to push the straggling ends of gray hair out of her eyes. Dark Rain. Hallowed Shining People! The woman had more gall than a black bear. How many times did Moonsnail have to cast her out before it stuck? Moonsnail dropped the rag into the water again and touched Pondwader’s pink cheek. “I’ll return soon,” she whispered. He did not awaken.
A golden veil of sunlight draped Moonsnail as she hobbled toward the council shelter. The cool pine-scented breeze played with her short hair, fluttering it around her face. She worked toward the shade of the trees which encircled the village on three sides, passing the shell midden—the mound where people dumped empty shells after eating the contents. Short beards of hanging moss draped the surrounding oak branches, swaying in the wind. The shade soothed Moonsnail. She had spent so much time tending her grandson in the last four days that she had managed scarce sleep. But she had been caring for members of her clan for six tens of summers. That’s why the Heartwood Clan had grown large and strong.
Three tens of shelters filled the plaza.
Early that morning, the clan had gone into the woods to gather what they might for the day’s meals. Wooden bowls overflowing with freshly picked elderberries and mushrooms sat on the palmetto-mat floors. Moonsnail’s mouth watered. She loved nothing better than skewering a tree mushroom on a stick and roasting it slowly over the fire.
The council shelter sat with its back to the forest and its face to the open plaza. Six body-lengths wide and five long, it stretched three times the size of a family shelter. Rolled-up lengths of smoked fabric lay in long tubes against the roof. For privacy, or when night came and the Mosquito Nation sailed forth on another war walk, the clan would unroll the lengths of fabric to seal the shelter. Gourds of sea turtle oil mixed with powdered dogwood root hung from each pole for those who wished to rub their skin—an added protection against biting insects.
Moonsnail stabbed the point of her walking stick into the sandy soil at the northwestern corner of the council shelter and braced herself a moment while she caught her breath. Her oldest daughter, Dark Rain, stood on the opposite side of the shelter, leaning haughtily against one of the pine pole supports. Her left hand brimmed with black nightshade berries. She ate them leisurely, as though each were the last of its kind, and deserved her unwavering attention.
Moonsnail concentrated on the squeals of playing children, the barking of dogs, the hushed words of adults as they hurried from shelter to shelter, telling of Dark Rain’s sudden appearance. Surprised gasps and a few curses laced the wind. Soon, they would begin gathering on the far side of the village, faces turned toward the council shelter. Everyone would want to know whether Dark Rain wished to petition the clan for readmittance.
Dark Rain picked another berry from her hand and tucked it into her prim mouth.