“Earlier today,” Tall Blue said, “Matron Dust Moon suggested that if the Forest Spirit had truly married into the Paint Rock Clan, as they claimed, he might care for this youth. The warrior is, after all, a relative of the Forest Spirit’s.”
Sparrow shifted to peer around Tall Blue’s broad shoulder at Dust Moon. She stood warming her hands before the bonfire, but her eyes were glued to Sparrow’s camp. He longed to tramp down there and tell her just how ridiculous she was being.
Instead, he leaned toward Tall Blue, and confidentially whispered, “Forest Spirits are the bringers of plagues and droughts, Tall Blue. I’ve never heard of a renegade Healer among them, have you?”
The corners of Blue’s mouth turned down. “Matron Dust Moon feared you would speak this way.”
“No, she didn’t, Blue. She knew I would.”
“I think she was hoping you would heed her wisdom this time, so that we would not have to move in the middle of the Moon of Frozen Leaves.”
“Tell my former wife that if she wishes me to heed her wisdom, she should be brave enough to share it with me herself.”
Tall Blue nodded curtly. “Yes, Elder.” He rose to his feet, and said, “I will do that. Good evening.”
Tall Blue marched down the hill, his cape flapping in the wind.
The crowd around Dust Moon’s fire fell silent as Tall Blue descended the hill. Dust Moon shouldered through the gathering to meet Blue halfway. When he arrived, they spoke, and Dust threw up her arms in a gesture of utter disgust.
Sparrow ladled stew into his bowl. Lifting his horn spoon, he gingerly tested the hot mixture. It tasted rich and tender.
Dust Moon tramped up the trail.
Despite her fifty winters, she had a lithe, supple body, and long hair the color of starglow.
When she stepped into the firelight, she gruffly asked, “Are you trying to kill us all?”
Sparrow ate another bite of stew. “No, Dust.” He used his spoon to point to the opposite side of the fire. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kill. Please, sit. Share my fire.”
She threw up her arms again. “You do not even know this warrior! Why would you risk the lives of your relatives to protect him?”
Sparrow took his time chewing a large piece of succulent meat. “He’s sick, Dust. I can’t just let him die. You are a Healer. You should understand that.”
“I don’t. Your own people should come first. Besides, this young warrior is a relative of Briar’s and—”
“And you go blind when it comes to relatives of Briar’s, and many other things, I might add, including me. Now fluff up like a mating grouse and tell me I’m just as blind as you are, and worthless, too, and when you are finished strutting, I’ll explain why I must try to Heal this boy.”
She propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I don’t care to hear it. Briar has made you—”
“That’s a curious thing to say, given that Briar was your best friend for ten winters.”
At one time, Dust had affectionately called Briar her “little sister.” When Briar discovered she was pregnant with the Forest Spirit’s child, Dust had been her only friend. Everyone else had fled as if Briar had contracted a deadly disease. Dust had run all the way to Paint Rock Village when she’d heard Briar was giving birth. Briar’s relatives had refused to touch her, so Dust had brought that child into the world with her own hands.
“When our son Flintboy was dying—”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “You begged Briar to come and help Heal him, and she refused. After all the love you’d given her, you felt betrayed. But she wasn’t at fault, Dust, and you know it. When you called her, half of Paint Rock Village was ill with the same fever. Her own people needed her more than you did.” He pointed at her with his dripping spoon. “Weren’t you just speaking of how one’s own people should come first? You’ve never been able to understand that in others. You think you and yours should be first to everyone.”
The lines around Dust’s eyes deepened, and Sparrow had to clamp his jaw against his own hurt. He had watched each and every wrinkle in Dust’s face come into being. He knew them by heart. The long jagged line that cut down around her right eye had been formed as she’d watched their fifth son die. The son Briar had not Healed. He’d seen eleven winters. Dust had stayed by Flintboy’s side light and dark, barely eating. Those twenty days had been the longest of her life … and his.
“Besides,” Sparrow said. “I know that Briar regretted that decision. Every time I visited Paint Rock Village, she apologized again, and asked about you.”