Diver shifted to bring his right arm up and rest his cheek upon it. The morning’s ordeal, Starfish’s cruelty, all had left him exhausted. He continued listening to Cottonmouth’s Dream about the Lightning Birds’ world beyond the Daybreak Land, but his eyelids drooped. He jerked them open again, and tried to force himself to concentrate.
Cottonmouth rose to his feet, standing tall and slender, peering down at Diver. “You are tired. When you are stronger, we will talk more of this.”
As Cottonmouth walked away, Diver heard him say, “Mulberry, post four guards around the council shelter.”
The order was followed by scurrying feet, darts clattering against each other, and a buzz of voices as men took their positions..
Nine
As Sun Mother sank below the western horizon, shafts of brilliant purple light shot across the sky and permeated the wall of fog rolling toward the beach. It sparkled and glimmered over the sea like a creeping rainbow until it twined with the tree branches and engulfed Heartwood Village. The children seemed to sense Old Man Fog’s silent message that it was supper time. They stopped sculpting dolphins from piles of white sand, waved good-bye to each other, and headed for their own shelters with dogs trotting happily at their heels.
Beaverpaw, War Leader of the Heartwood Clan, watched them begin building cooking fires. Children laughed so much. It sent joy through his troubled souls. The things Musselwhite had told him had left him numb.
He stood beside her, a short distance away from Heartwood Clan’s council shelter. Inside the council shelter, Seedpod and Moonsnail haggled over Musselwhite’s marriage to Pondwader. Dark Rain leaned against the northwestern shelter pole, listening. She kept casting Beaverpaw sultry glances, and smiling like a bobcat stretched before a mousehole. Every so often, Beaverpaw heard Seedpod’s s voice raise in outrage, and caught a few hot words, then Dark Rain’s cold laugh would fill the pause, but for the most part the negotiations seemed to be proceeding smoothly—though Musselwhite did not seem to care at all.
Long, silvered locks of black hair hung over the front of her dark green tunic. Despite her age, she was still a magnificent woman, full-breasted, with a slim waist and long muscular legs. Her oval face with its high cheekbones and turned-up nose possessed a stony dignity. Fringes of sea urchin spines adorned her collar and hem, and when the warm evening breeze gusted, they clicked melodiously.
Beaverpaw wore a plain tunic, unbelted, which hung to just below his narrow hips. A medium-sized man, he had trimmed his black hair even with his chin and tied a tan strip of cloth as a headband around his forehead. He had a tadpole’s fat face, with small eyes and an even smaller mouth. He stood with his arms folded, nervously studying the great woman warrior before him.
A legend … the stories of her extraordinary deeds filled the world. Once, it was said, she had penetrated a heavily armed camp, and rushed ten-and-five enemy warriors to rescue one, one, of her own men. Beaverpaw had heard the story from the man himself: Rockroot. He’.d said that after Musselwhite had cut his bonds, she had covered his retreat, darting four men while Rockroot, weary from torture, had fled into the forest, running with all his might. Musselwhite had found Rockroot later, hiding in a pile of deadfall. Taking his arm over her shoulder, she hauled him back to her camp and tended his wounds … . Rockroot swore that no dart could harm her.
Beaverpaw did not know what to believe. The only thing he could testify to with certainty was that her unnatural confidence and calmness wrested awe from a man.
“So you believe Cottonmouth may attack Heartwood?” he asked reverently. From the moment she had arrived, Musselwhite had treated him with great esteem, listening carefully to his words, regardless of the fact that he was no one compared to her. Oh, he had fought a number of battles, and had won most of them, but at the age of two-tens-and-nine summers, he had barely begun his career as a warrior, whereas she … she was what every warrior dreamed of being.
“It is a certainty, Beaverpaw. No village has been able to stand against him, and the repeated victories have made him overconfident. I wager he thinks he’s invincible. Why shouldn’t he attack every village on the coast? Think of the wealth and status he will gain.”
Beaverpaw let his arms fall to his sides. “Then we must defend ourselves.”
“What do you propose?”
Beaverpaw lifted a hand and gestured helplessly. “I do not know … not yet. Perhaps we should call upon our relatives in other villages to band together with us. If they agree, we might be able to—”
“How many total warriors would that give you?”