A warm hand gripped him by the shoulder and rolled him to his back; then fingers brushed the snow from his face. “You are safe now, Crowfire,” Silver Sparrow said, his voice strong and comforting. “If anyone wishes to hurt you, they will have to face me to do it.”
Blue Raven heard Wren step into the council house, breathing hard, as if she’d been running, but he did not turn.
He concentrated on the blood that marked the hard-packed dirt. He had checked Kit’s body just after her stricken family had carried her home to prepare her for burial, and had seen that Rumbler had not killed her. At least not with the knife. The blade had struck a rib and been deflected, that’s why almost no blood soaked the floor.
“Did you hear?” she asked. “As I was coming across the plaza, people were talking about it.”
“Yes. I heard.”
Mossybill, and Skullcap too, had died little more than half a hand of time ago.
Wren sat down cross-legged beside him. “Do you think the False Face Child did it?”
Blue Raven glanced at her. Snowflakes dotted her hair. A generally pretty child, she had dazzling eyes. Large and dark, with long curling lashes. For the past eight moons Blue Raven had tried to be father, mother, and brother to her—and done a poor job of it. He had never married, and knew little about children, especially girls. But he was all that Wren had. The Spirits knew his own mother cared little about her granddaughter. Frost-in-the-Willows had always found children tiresome. As a boy, Blue Raven had hated her for that. But he had learned acceptance over the long winters; it was just her way.
He pointed to the blood. “How much blood do you imagine it would take to make a spot this size?”
Wren extended a dirty hand to cover the spot. “It’s smaller than my palm,” she said. “A horn spoon would contain more blood.”
Blue Raven nodded. “Yet Matron Starflower said that Rumbler stabbed White Kit in the heart.”
Wren’s dark brows drew together over her pointed nose. “If he had, the floor would be drenched in blood, wouldn’t it? I have seen many deer shot through the heart with an arrow. They bled a lot.”
“Yes. I fear that Starflower did not really see what happened. She saw Rumbler stab Kit, then, when Kit fell and did not rise, Starflower assumed the worst. It is what I would have assumed. Wouldn’t you?”
Wren touched the blood spot and hastily wiped her hand on her cape. “I would have been very scared, Uncle. I don’t know what I would have thought.”
“Starflower was scared, too. That’s why she did not run to examine Kit. I suspect she was too frightened to move.”
“Did you examine Kit’s wound?”
“I did. The knife did not penetrate. It struck a rib, then Rumbler dropped the weapon and fled.”
Wren used her finger to draw an irregular circle around the blood. “But Kit is dead.”
“Yes. I cannot say why. Yet.”
The snow on Wren’s hair had melted, leaving shining beads of water to net her head. “Have you examined Mossybill and Skullcap?”
“That is my next task.”
Wren leaped to her feet excitedly. “May I go with you? I would like to—”
“No.”
Her face fell. “But—”
“No, Wren. The families of the dead will be torn with grief, and saying many things they do not mean. It is not a time for outsiders. As Headman, I must go. It is my duty to try to understand what happened here today. If I did not have to, I would leave them to navigate their sorrows by themselves.” He gestured to the door. “Besides, don’t you have a Teaching this afternoon with Bogbean? I heard her say this morning that she would be showing you how to make wooden bowls.”
Wren’s shoulders slumped. “I truly hate her Teachings, Uncle. She doesn’t like me. She always asks me questions I can’t answer, and the other children laugh at me.”
Blue Raven rose to his feet and propped his hands on his hips. “That tells me that you are not listening very carefully, Wren. You must learn these things, for your own good, as well as the good of our clan. What would happen if our village was attacked and you were the only one left to care for the sick and injured? If you soul-float during all of your Teachings, you will not be able to help them. They will die, and whose fault do you imagine it will be?”
Wren scuffed the toe of her moccasin against the floor. “The person’s who shot them.”
Blue Raven’s mouth quirked.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Wren said. “I will try. I promise. But will you tell me later what you find out about Mossybill and Skullcap? I wish to know if the False Face Child is a murderer.”