Standing Hollow Horn Village lay on the coast in the north. That much, he knew. If he ran hard, he might beat Musselwhite there. Yes. That made sense. After all, if she were moving through the forest, he could certainly travel more quickly out in the open. When he arrived, he would hide in the forest and wait for her. Perhaps she would find him.
The curve of the shore took him inland just as Sun Mother slipped above the horizon, and dusty sunlight shafted across Sea Girl’s dark face, turning it into a waving luminous blanket. The wings of gulls flashed golden as they soared and dove.
A faint roar began in Pondwader’s chest. He placed a hand over his heart and forced himself to breathe deeply. “Not now, baby Bird. Please. I can’t afford any weakness.”
Every time his sandals struck the ground, the roar grew louder, rolling through him like peals of thunder, until even the blood in his veins trembled with the coming storm … .
Moonsnail sat on a blanket in her shelter, tying a band of green cloth around her short gray hair. She knotted it on the side, so it would be easier to reach later. The wind had been stiff all day, shrieking and moaning through the shelters like an angry soul. The earthy promise of afternoon rain scented the world.
Kelp stood in front of Moonsnail, using a forked stick to lift bags from their pegs on the rafters. A pile of cordage, blankets, and baskets already lay piled outside the shelter, waiting to be packed on the dog travois and hauled to the new village site. Moonsnail sighed. Despite the fact that she knew the move was necessary, she hated to leave this place. Of all their camps, this had been her favorite. Heartwood Clan had been coming here for five tens of summers. As Moonsnail looked out across the village, she remembered every death, every birth, every marriage. Life had been good here. Four of Sandbur’s sons had been born here—and died here, all within days of each other, during a terrible fever. How long ago had that been? Oh, a very long time, almost forty summers.
Kelp retrieved a small bag containing pine nuts and let it fall to the sand with a soft thud. The rich scent of pine sap filled the air, bringing Moonsnail from her reverie.
“I’ll miss this place,” Moonsnail said softly.
Kelp glanced over at her. She had tied her long hair back, and her face, with its short, pointed nose and big, black eyes looked even more than usual like a raccoon’s. She wore a tan tunic; faded yellow geometric designs shone around the hem and neckline.
“I don’t understand why we’re packing,” Kelp said. “Tailfeather hasn’t even returned yet to tell us whether the Manatee Lagoon site will suit our needs.”
Moonsnail rocked back on her bony hips. Puffs of pure white clouds sailed westward, but far out on the eastern horizon was a solid wall of deep blue. Already, thunderheads reached long arms across the sky. A lot of water lived in that storm. “No, but he will. Old Seedpod is knowledgeable. He wouldn’t have mentioned the site if he hadn’t believed it was a good place. It will prove out. You’ll see.”
Kelp stood on her tiptoes and hooked her forked stick under the handle of a dried palm berry bag. As she brought it down, she fished in the bag for a handful, plopped several berries in her mouth, and chewed them thoughtfully. Hesitantly, Kelp asked, “Do you think we’ll ever see Mother again?”
Moonsnail’s mouth pursed in disgust. “Of course. My worthless daughter can’t stay away for long. The instant she runs out of men she’ll be back.”
Kelp sat down cross-legged and ate another berry. “What about Beaverpaw and Bowfin? Bowfin could come back if he wanted to, couldn’t he?”
“If he were willing to accept the clan’s punishment for consorting with an Outcast woman, yes.”
“Would the punishment be harsh?”
Moonsnail lifted a shoulder, and reached down to straighten the hem of her pale green tunic. “I doubt it. I suspect the council would take your mother’s wickedness into consideration and let him go with some minor penance, like shaving off the knots on all the dart shafts for a moon or two.” She spread her brown hands wide. “Then again, the council might vote to cast him out, too. A good deal would depend upon how contrite he was about his crime. If he crawled into camp on his hands and knees begging forgiveness, it would go a long way.”
Kelp bit her lower lip and pushed the berries around her palm with her index finger. “And Beaverpaw? Is he gone forever?”
Moonsnail’s eyes lifted to the place where Waterbearer knelt on the beach with her children, using sand to scrub out the breakfast bowls. Little Manatee Flipper had been crying off and on for five days straight. From the first morning the boy had awakened and found his father gone, he’d been wandering around the village like a homeless ghost. Waterbearer seemed just as miserable. Poor woman, she had loved Beaverpaw with a loyalty almost unknown these days. When the council had summoned her and told her about her husband’s adultery, she had flown into a rage, shouting his innocence to the entire village, maintaining that he had just gone off hunting and would be back soon. Then, as the truth became apparent, she had dragged her children from one elder’s shelter to the next, declaring that she did not care what he had done, she loved Beaverpaw and wanted him back. Her children had stood at her side, screaming for their father. Waterbearer’s devotion had touched everyone.