From the moment Dark Rain had dumped the children in Moonsnail’s lap, the three of them had grown together like greening vines in spring, twisting and twining around each other, protecting, loving, until it became difficult to imagine what life would be like with one of the strands cut. But, that was, after all, the way of human beings. Though Moonsnail didn’t like thinking about it, some day soon, she would lose Kelp to marriage, too—the knowledge stabbed her to the heart.
“I don’t know, Moonsnail,” Seedpod said with a shake of his head. His cheeks seemed more hollow this morning, as if gouges had been carved in his leathery flesh, leaving his blunt chin jutting forward while his wise old eyes sank deeply into their sockets. “I cannot think of a single place which possesses all the things you demand. Fresh water, yes. There is a large pond on Manatee Lagoon, about halfway between Heartwood and Windy Cove villages, but will it be large enough? All ponds grow shallow this late in the season, and when we move together we will have over ten tens of people.”
“And maybe more,” Moonsnail said, “if we can convince related villages to join us. What about nut trees and berries?”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. There are many varieties,” Seedpod answered. “Easily enough to sustain our combined villages for three or four moons. And Manatee Lagoon will provide plenty of shellfish, mussels, oysters, and clams. But there are not many deer, and few rabbits.”
“Well,” Moonsnail said as she rubbed her aching hip. “The large pond should provide other meat. Ducks and geese?”
Seedpod nodded. “Yes, and herons, grebes, and turtles. We will not starve, not if we use the resources wisely, and move the village when it’s prudent.”
Floating Stick finished his last bite of persimmon and threw the empty orange skin into the cold fire pit in the middle of the shelter. “I have another concern,” he said and sat up. He wiped his mouth with his claw-like hand. “What about the Sacred Ponds of our clans? Will this new location allow us to reach our Ponds within two days’ time, as is required to set our relatives on the path to the Village of Wounded Souls?”
Seedpod thought about that. A frown incised his forehead. “Yes, I believe so. Your Pond will be farther away than ours, but I’m fairly sure it is within two days’ travel time.”
Floating Stick rubbed his wrinkled chin. “And what of plants for making fabrics? Does this new site have enough palms for thread?”
Seedpod gestured uncertainly. “I honestly do not recall. Before we move either of our villages, we should send someone to check for all of these things. Just to make sure this spot will serve our needs.”
“Who?” Floating Stick asked. “Did you have someone in mind?”
“No.” Seedpod shook his head. “But it should be someone who understands defensive needs as well as domestic ones. Perhaps your War Leader? What’s his name?”
Dark Rain smiled seductively and said, “Beaverpaw. His name is Beaverpaw.” Her voice came out like silken fibers pulled over polished shell.
Kelp’s mouth puckered as though she wanted to spit, and Moonsnail almost shouted a reprimand … but didn’t, because it was not like Kelp to malign a person of status and reputation for no reason at all. So. What did Kelp know about Beaverpaw that Moonsnail did not? Later, after this discussion ended, Moonsnail would wring the truth out of the girl.
Moonsnail turned back to Seedpod. He watched her with sharp old eyes. Obviously he’d seen her scrutiny of Kelp, and wondered about it. He was perceptive, all right. She could see his sudden doubts about Beaverpaw. “Let us leave the decision about who we should send for another time. I—”
“Why?” Floating Stick inquired. “I think Beaverpaw is a fine choice. He—”
“I do, too,” Dark Rain added, giving the old man that shark’s tooth smile.
Seedpod’s gaze rested on Kelp, and finally shifted to Moonsnail. A knowing glint shone in those brown depths. “That decision can wait. Instead, let us speak of when we should plan to move.”
Floating Stick said, “How long will it take Windy Cove to pack up?”
Seedpod’s expression turned grim. “After four attacks by Cottonmouth, three upon our village and one upon our scouting party, we have little left, people or possessions. We could be ready within three days. What about Heartwood?”
Floating Stick bent forward and laced his fingers together in his lap. Sparse white hair fluttered around his wrinkled face. Only ten summers ago he’d had thick lustrous hair, but since then it had fallen out in handfuls, leaving a wispy covering for his freckled scalp. The nostrils of his hooked nose flared. He said, “I should think we could be ready in five or six days’ time. After, that is, the runner returns to tell us if the site is right for us. What do you think, Moonsnail?”