As he shoved the bough aside, the pungent tang of spruce needles encircled him. He listened to the forest.
No wind whispered. No birds chirped.
He had learned from long practice that a man could not be too cautious when approaching a village that had been recently attacked. Some became overzealous in their pursuit of security. Three winters ago, he’d heard that Jumping Badger had attacked Grand Banks Village. The foodstores had been raided. Since starving people often traded rare and precious goods to feed their children, Cornhusk had loaded his packs with corn, marsh-elder and sunflower seeds, beans, squash, and other staples, and hit the trail. He’d blithely trotted into Grand Banks Village with a broad smile on his face. Before he’d reached the center of the plaza, dozens of bow-wielding people had surrounded him—many too young to realize the ill effects of killing a Trader.
He’d discovered soon thereafter that the Grand Banks Clan believed a Trader had betrayed them to their enemies, in order to profit from their needs.
He had genuinely been innocent. But it took a few very disagreeable days, and watching them eat all the food in his packs, to convince them.
He didn’t wish to repeat that experience.
Spotted Frog edged alongside Cornhusk. Flying Skeleton had coiled the patron’s black braids on top of his head and secured them with a wooden comb. The patron’s bloated face glowed red from exertion. “What do you see?”
Cornhusk ran his tongue between the gap in his missing front teeth. “Thick mist, Patron.”
Spotted Frog gave him an incredulous look. “Is this the way to Sleeping Mist Village?”
Cornhusk cocked his head, and scrutinized the trail. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
Warriors crowded behind. Spotted Frog, peering over his shoulders, their bows nocked and ready. Murmuring broke out.
“I can’t be sure, Patron. I could verify our position from any high point—if we could see. But we can’t. The most I can say, then, is that I think this is the trail.”
Spotted Frog wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve. “Are there no other landmarks on this trail? Boulders, lightning-struck stumps, oddly shaped trees?”
“Yes,” Cornhusk replied. “There is a hillside of downed trees half a hand of time before reaching Sleeping Mist Village. A tornado ripped through two winters ago. It snapped trees in two, and flung them about like kindling. But I haven’t seen that yet.”
Spotted Frog inhaled and let out a deep breath. “Well, let us proceed. If we are on the wrong trail we will know it by dusk, won’t we?”
“Definitely. Even with this fog, Sleeping Mist cannot be more than two hands of time away.”
“Very well.” Spotted Frog nodded. “Continue, Cornhusk. We will follow you.”
Cornhusk shifted his weight to his left foot. If anyone out there had laid a trap, the first person in line would be a sacrificial offering to appease their uncertainty. He didn’t particularly like the idea that it might be him.
He said, “Patron, are you certain you don’t want your warriors to lead the way? After all, there are so many more of them, and they are far better—”
“Yes. I’m certain. My warriors have never been here. You have.” Spotted Frog lifted his chin, and drummed his fingers on his bow, daring Cornhusk to display more spineless traits.
After glancing at the slit-eyed warriors, Cornhusk decided he’d better not.
He waved them all forward. “Yes, come along. Follow me.”
Dust Moon, Rumbler, and Sparrow stood in the circle with fourteen members of Sleeping Mist Clan. Rumbler leaned against Dust’s legs, his hands buried in the folds of her skirt, his white hood covering his short black hair. Sour gum trees towered above them. The fire sizzled in the shower falling from the branches.
Hungry Owl stood with his arms folded, looking down at Gull who knelt before him, his silver-streaked braid over his left shoulder. Gull wore a beautifully tanned buckskin coat, but it had no decorations, no beads, or quillwork, not even a fringe. Nothing to catch the eye, and reveal his position to an enemy warrior. He carried his bow and quiver over his right shoulder. Firelight shadowed the deep wrinkles in his heavy brow.
“We have advance scouts out, Patron,” Gull said. “But I do not expect them to be of much use in this fog. At most, if they see someone coming, they may be able to give us a few hundred heartbeats of warning.”
“I understand,” Hungry Owl said. “Go on.”
Gull drew a map in the mud with his finger. “Our eleven warriors will assume their former hiding positions.” He made dots in the mud showing the locations. “The rest of you may join any warrior you wish. I assure you he or she will be glad for the extra eyes. And we should leave one person here to keep the fire built up.”