Diamondback proudly clamped a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Bless the Spirits.”
Seedpod’s gaunt old face slackened as he saw the dead sprawled around the village. Ragged Wing lay not far from Shoal, both young warriors dead. Pain tightened Seedpod’s eyes when he saw Ashleaf—the elder had managed to stay alive long enough to pick up a miscast dart. He lay on his side with that dart clutched in his outstretched hand.
Seedpod said, “Where are the others?”
“People ran into the forest, but many of Cottonmouth’s warriors followed. I think Black Urchin ran out to defend our women and children. We can only hope that some of them …” Diamondback shook his head.
Seedpod nodded. “Where is your brother? I don’t see him.” Fear and anguish laced his old voice. His gaze searched the dead, landing on tiny bodies.
“I told him to run and hide in the forest.” Diamondback cupped a hand to his mouth and called, “Thorny Boy? Thorny Boy!”
Palmettos thrashed in the forest and the little boy came running from the shadows, his face and arms scratched, old leaves stuck in his black hair. His eyes had gone the size of small moons.
Seedpod knelt and scooped up Thorny Boy, then hugged him tightly. “I was worried,” he said.
“I hid in a badger hole, Grandfather, and pulled old branches over the top! Warriors ran all around me!”
Seedpod fiercely kissed the boy’s forehead. “You were very smart. You will be a great warrior one day.”
Diamondback patted his brother’s back and limped over to the Lightning Boy. Pondwader was a good hand taller than Diamondback, but he had yet to fill out in the shoulders, and so looked very skinny in that long robe. He still shook badly, and he was breathing hard, as though he’d run all the way from Heartwood Village to halt the slaughter. As Diamondback drew closer, the Boy squinted and two upright lines etched the pink flesh between his thin white brows.
“I am Diamondback,” he said, “Musselwhite’s son … . You were very brave to face those men without an atlatl in your hand.”
Pondwader looked up, wet his pale lips, and replied, “No, not—not really. I couldn’t see any of them. Now and then—” he gestured uncertainly—“I caught a blur moving across the village, but I wasn’t even sure it was human. It could have been a big bear for all I knew.”
Diamondback gazed up into those eerie pink eyes and said, “You can’t see?”
“Only up close. I can see you pretty well.”
Seedpod joined them, carrying Thorny Boy on his hip. When Thorny Boy got close to the Lightning Boy, he stared unblinking. Seedpod said, “Thorny Boy, this is Pondwader. He is your mother’s new husband.”
Thorny Boy brought up a finger and tucked it into his open mouth. Around it, he slurred, “I saw you scare away those warriors, so I don’t wish to kill you anymore. It might be good to have you around.”
Pondwader frowned at Seedpod. “Your grandson wanted to kill me?”
Seedpod’s white brows lifted. “That’s what he said, but I don’t—”
“Wait.” Diamondback raised a hand. Seedpod turned to him, waiting, and in a soft, tired voice, Diamondback said, “Cottonmouth sent a runner ten-and-one days ago. Father is alive. He’s a prisoner in Standing Hollow Horn Village.”
Seedpod bowed his head. He didn’t say anything for a time, then he whispered, “Let me tell your mother.”
“Yes, Grandfather.” Diamondback glanced at the Lightning Boy.
Pondwader bit his lip and closed his eyes. In a heartfelt voice, he said, “Thank the Spirits.”
“But I wish to help, Seedpod.”
“No, Pondwader. This is not your concern. You are new here. I fear that your presence will just cause more turmoil. Please. You are still trembling. Go to Musselwhite’s shelter. Let us tend our dead by ourselves.”
Pondwader nodded and turned.
It had taken more than a hand of time for people to begin wandering back into Windy Cove Village. A few men came first, followed by women and children.
Pondwader entered Musselwhite’s shelter and knelt by the cold firepit, listening to the grief of his new relatives as they moved among the bodies, cracking off dart shafts, carrying their loved ones to the southern side of the village to await burial. A variety of beautiful colored blankets had been spread over the dead. Tomorrow they would be washed and dressed and prepared for burial. Pondwader would be an outsider, relegated to observing. He did not mind, but he felt … alone. He was a stranger here. Out of place. No one, except Musselwhite’s immediate family, had so much as looked him in the eyes. And Musselwhite had not yet returned. His heart cried out for her. Was she alive? Or had Cottonmouth’s warriors killed her and left her in some dark place in the forest? He feared they might do that, just so he couldn’t find her and she would be condemned to wander the earth forever.