Panther raised a hand to calm Sun Conch. “What can you tell me about Flat Willow, War Chief? What sort of man is he? My impression is that he’s looking for recognition and glory, but unwilling to do the work such rewards entail.”
Nine Killer resettled himself, glancing quickly over his shoulder to insure that their talk was still private. “A potter couldn’t make a better impression in soft clay with a cord-wrapped paddle. He’s all of that. His clan, Star Crab, is respected, if not influential in Flat Pearl Village. His mother and father were killed by the Mamanatowick’s warriors when he was a boy of four. He went to live with this mother’s brother, Green Starfish. Green Starfish went out fishing one time, and never came back. Drowned, we think. Flat Willow would have been six then. After that the boy shuttled from family to family, never quite fitting in.”
“In trouble?” Panther asked.
Nine Killer shrugged. “What boy isn’t? But, yes. He’s unruly, loudmouthed, and as abrasive as wet sand on greenstone. He has a reputation as a scrapper—generally picking fights he can’t possibly win. You know the type.”
“Elder?” Sun Conch said, and tucked her fingers beneath her arms, as if suddenly chilled. “Flat Willow used to tell such lies. When he was a boy. Things we couldn’t believe. Stories about huge fish he’d caught—but no one ever saw the fish. Or, he’d tell of seeing deer that jumped over whole trees, and flying monsters. If one of us said no, that it was just a story, he’d start a fight to prove himself right.”
Panther stared at the embers in his pipe bowl. “Not the most reliable of people to find the body, but in this case, do you think he would have lied to me? You said you ran straight up there. How long after dawn was it?”
Nine Killer sighed. “Sometime around midday. It took a while to determine that Red Knot was missing. We organized a search, and were warned of Winged Blackbird’s approach. We intercepted the raiders, and it wasn’t too long after that when Flat Willow called that he’d found Red Knot.”
“You saw the girl.” Panther winced and resettled himself, as if his bones were aching. “How long would you say she’d been dead?”
Nine Killer shrugged. “I’d say she died sometime around dawn.”
The Panther frowned. “That fits what both High Fox and Rat Willow have told me.” “Indeed,” Nine Killer agreed. “But, the question remains. Did either of them tell the truth?”
Darkness grayed into dawn, softly illuminating the forest beyond the palisade of Flat Pearl Village. Here and there, scruffy dogs ambled about, sniffing at bits of broken pottery. Sun Conch sat with her back against the side of Rosebud’s house, her war club beside her, watching the tatters of mist that floated by. A few of the star people still gleamed, but most had closed their sparkling eyes to sleep.
Sun Conch yawned and folded her arms. Restless, she had left The Panther snoring in his blankets, and come outside to greet the morning. The cold breeze ruffled the red and blue feathers of her cape and fluttered her long black hair. From this place, she could survey the entire length of Flat Pearl Village. A finger of time ago, an old man had stumbled around the corner of a long house and spilled his night water; then Copper Thunder and two of his warriors had slipped out of the village with their bows. To hunt for breakfast, she assumed.
Sun Conch tipped her head back to watch a tuft of mist curl over the thatched long house roof. She had slept poorly. Throughout the night, images of High Fox’s pleading face had assaulted her. She had never seen him look so pitiable. Who would he turn to now? Red Knot was dead, and Sun Conch was gone. Was there anyone left in the world to comfort him? For the first time, High Fox had no one.
And, given the things Panther had discovered, he was in the worst trouble of his life.
Her soul kept replaying the happy, joyous days of their childhood together, and she longed to go to him. Just to—to talk. She needed to talk with him.
When they’d been children, she had followed him around like a happy puppy, often embarrassing him in front of his friends, who thought that a girl demeaned their approaching manhood. Sun Conch smiled to herself. Despite the taunts from his friends, High Fox had never shouted at her, or told her to go away. Of course, none of the other children had really liked him, either. Oh, he had ignored her on occasion, but then, later, when they had been alone, he’d apologized for it, and promised to make it up to her. And he always had. Many mornings she had awakened to find treasures deposited near the foot of her bed—the farthest he could reach without actually coming into her house, which would have been impolite—flowers, beautiful seashells, brightly colored autumn leaves. Things he knew would please her.