Dust set the dress aside, pulled her deerhide cape over her shoulders, and rose to her feet.
As she ducked out of her lodge into the fog, she gave Planter a questioning look. A pretty woman of thirty-four winters, Planter carried her infant son bundled in her arms. Planter shrugged, letting Dust know she hadn’t the slightest idea why Cornhusk had decided to visit them again so soon. A prestigious Trader, he rarely deigned to trade with the smaller villages.
“When I saw him coming, I built up the plaza fire, and brought my pot of tea from my lodge. It’s your mixture, Mother.”
“Thank you, Planter.” Dust patted her daughter’s hand. “He wished to see me? Not our clan patron?”
“He asked for you, Mother.”
Fog ghosted through the village, revealing houses, then swallowing them again. The bare maple branches had been dripping since dawn, and pools of water filled every hollow in the plaza. Dust stepped around them as she headed for the central fire. No one else was out The ten conical lodges of Earth Thunderer Village sat quiet and still.
“A good day to you, Cornhusk,” Dust said and settled herself in her usual place on the log before the fire. The rich scent of hickory smoke hung in the air, but the crackling blaze did little to stave off the cold. The fog had rolled in so thickly that Dust could not even see Goose Down Lake to the south, or Sparrow’s lodge up the hill to the north. “I’m surprised to see you here, Cornhusk. You were around only half a moon ago. I’m afraid we have nothing new to Trade. Especially not at your prices.”
The ugly Trader grinned, showing rotted front teeth. “How are you, Matron?”
“I am well, Cornhusk. Please sit.”
Cornhusk crouched across from her, tall and lanky, his hands extended to the flames. His small dark eyes kept flickering back and forth between Dust and Planter. His knee-length buffalo coat looked shabby. Patches of curly brown fur had fallen out, giving the coat a mottled appearance.
Planter sat down next to Dust, and rested her son in her lap. She resembled her father more than Dust, her round face owlish, with large eyes and Sparrow’s beaked nose. She was the only child Dust had left. All Dust had to do was look into Planter’s eyes and the tumultuous world seemed to settle down. She cherished her daughter’s companionship.
“Please help yourself to the pot of tea, Cornhusk,” Dust said, and pointed to the tripod at the edge of the blaze. Wooden cups nestled near. “It’s my own mixture of rose hips, rose petals, and spruce needles.”
“Thank you, Matron.” He reached for a cup. As he dipped it into the pot, steam billowed up. “What a miserable day.” He finished his first cup in four swallows, let out a satisfied belch, and dipped up another.
Dust Moon lifted a brow. Cornhusk had an irritating habit of eating and drinking everything in sight before he got around to conversation. She folded her arms beneath her cape and tried to smile.
Planter gave her a look that begged patience, and Dust sighed.
Silver strands had just started to invade Cornhusk’s black braid. To hear him tell it, the gray had come from leading an adventurous life. He often regaled people with stories of the curious palace builders who lived far to the west, or the strange animals that crawled the swamps to the south. Somewhere in his journeys, his nose had been broken. It sat like a crooked thumb between his broad cheekbones. Wrinkles incised his forehead, but the rest of his oblong face remained smooth and brown.
Cornhusk smiled. “Yes, this is good tea, Matron.”
“It soothes me.” Dust reached for her own cup, and filled it. The fragrance of roses bathed her face. Resting the cup on her knee, she said, “What brings you here on this bleak day? If I were you, I would be holed up in some warm lodge somewhere, surveying my wealth.”
“Oh, please, Matron.” He held up a hand. “I am just a poor Trader.” He chuckled and lowered his gaze to his tea. “But you are right. I should be far to the south by now. I am taking a grave risk being here.”
Dust’s eyes sharpened. Whatever he was selling, his price had just gone up. “Indeed. Why?”
“If the matrons of Walksalong Village were to find out that I’d been here, they would gladly plunge a stiletto into my heart.”
Dust had been fearing this, that Jumping Badger would hear of the Paint Rock warrior in their camp and come trotting in with a war party. Is that why Cornhusk had come? To warn her? Blast Sparrow and his wicked Spirit Helper!
Her stomach ached, but she asked calmly, “Why would the Walksalong matrons care where you’ve been?”
Cornhusk finished his second cup of tea and gestured to the pot. “May I have another? It’s such a cold day.”