People of the Lightning(36)

Beaverpaw’s brows lowered. “Perhaps three tens more. Our related clans are very small. They haven’t many warriors to offer.”

“But if your relatives would provide three tens and Windy Cove added ten-and-one, together we would have a total of over ten tens of warriors. With such a force, we might be a match for Cottonmouth.”

“So …” Beaverpaw paused to examine her. Wind whipped his short hair around his fat cheeks. The blanket of fog shimmered, but the color had drained away, leaving pale gray where only moments before a glittering pink cloud had existed. “You truly do plan to marry the Lightning Boy?”

“It remains to be negotiated,” she answered honestly.

Beaverpaw shrugged. “Such things are often necessary, but he is an odd boy. Just agreeing to marry him proves your courage beyond any doubt. Have you met him?”

“No. I was told he is still ill, sleeping in his grandmother’s shelter.”

Beaverpaw swiveled his head to peer over his shoulder and frowned. “That’s what Moonsnail said, eh?”

“Yes, why?” She tried to follow his gaze, but several shelters lay that way, and she clearly wasn’t certain which he’d been staring at.

“Well, it’s just that he is sitting up, speaking with his sister, Kelp, at this very instant. Moonsnail must want to delay your introduction. If I were you … no, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“If you were me you would go over and introduce yourself? Is that what you were about to say?”

Beaverpaw gave her a lopsided grin. “If he is to be your husband, you should have the chance to see what you’re getting into. Perhaps that’s why Moonsnail told you he was sleeping. She doesn’t wish to scare you away. I know she wants this marriage as much as your clan does.”

Musselwhite scanned the village again. “Which shelter belongs to Moonsnail?”

Beaverpaw pointed to a shelter in the rear of the village, just beyond the shell midden.

“Thank you,” Musselwhite said, “I would speak with you more later, Beaverpaw, if it will not interrupt your supper.”

“I will be waiting for you. Just ask for directions to my shelter when you are ready.”

Musselwhite nodded to him, and walked lithely away, heading toward Moonsnail’s shelter. As she passed the intervening shelters, people stopped their supper preparations and stared. Excited whispers sounded. Children pointed, their eyes wide.





As Musselwhite neared the shelter, Pondwader watched Kelp rise from where she had been kneeling beside him. She wiped her palms on her tunic. “Blessed Spirits,” Kelp whispered. “Here she comes.”

Pondwader smiled. He could feel her approach, like an afternoon storm coming, but he could not see her, because he lay on his left side, facing the forest. Her footsteps shished in the sand.

“You must be Kelp,” Musselwhite said in that deep, beautiful voice. “Beaverpaw has been telling me about your abilities with an atlatl. He says you can dart a field mouse in the head at five-and-ten paces. Is it true?”

Kelp’s fear seemed to lessen. She smiled. “If Beaverpaw says so.”

“Don’t let her lie to you, Musselwhite,” Pondwader said softly. “Kelp can dart a mosquito at ten tens of paces.”

“I would like to see that,” Musselwhite said and laughed.

“Yes,” Kelp replied awkwardly, “so would I. And now, if you will excuse me, I think I will go and … and … find something to do. Drink all of your tea, Pondwader. I’ll be back later.” She nodded respectfully to Musselwhite. “Good evening, War Leader,”

Kelp hurried out and trotted across the village toward the council shelter. With the sound of her retreating footsteps, Pondwader took a deep breath. Then, with great effort, he rolled onto his back to look up at Musselwhite. Great Shining People, she was even more lovely than he remembered. In the clear depths of those dark brown eyes, he saw kindness … and very tired souls.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” A smile moved his lips, and he used his chin to indicate the council shelter. “But much of my family isn’t. It seems your boldness has disrupted the marriage negotiations.”





Musselwhite looked over her shoulder. Dark Rain had walked out of the shelter with her fists clenched, while Moonsnail’s old face had gone as pale as sea foam. Seedpod, on the contrary, smiled broadly. Musselwhite ignored them and sat down beside Pondwader. Her dark green tunic spread in a halo around her hips.

“They did not wish me to see you,” she said. “They told me you were too ill to speak with anyone.”