Nine Killer, halfway to his feet, stopped short in a half crouch, expression startled. Panther looked up blandly, refusing to betray the smile that tugged at his lips.
Twenty-three
Frost silvered every blade of grass, every twig and weed, with a white crystalline lacery. Thick mist had rolled in from the warmer waters of the Salt Water Bay, pushed up Fish River, and billowed through the trees and over the fields. Now it hung low in the air, masking Flat Pearl Village in ghostly gray.
The Panther could barely see across to the palisade as he passed the Guardian posts set around the plaza with its ritual fire pit. Each of the carved faces looked gloomy, as if their spirits, too, were dampened by the thick fog. From inside the House of the Dead, he could just smell the smoke from the eternal fires. Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear had been dutiful in fueling them.
Panther walked unsteadily this morning, his joints aching from the damp cold that, despite the fires Rosebud had maintained, had still managed to penetrate his old hide.
As he walked, he could hear Sun Conch’s wary tread behind him. The girl was keeping an eye on his back, as usual.
Panther missed Nine Killer’s company. The sawed-off War Chief had proven a good companion. Not only insightful, the man had a well-balanced sense of humor, and a genuine concern for his people and what Red Knot’s death meant for them. And, to be honest, that expression on the War Chief’s face as he’d left for his wife’s had been priceless. To Panther’s absolute delight, the War Chief had seriously worried that an old chunk of human flotsam like him might crawl into Rosebud’s blankets.
A figure materialized out of the mist, tall, muscular, and it took Panther a moment to identify Flat Willow. The hunter had his head down, his expression anxious. Panther came to a stop. Flat Willow almost walked into him, and started, his eyes going wide with recognition. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Sorry to intrude. You looked as if your clan had just disowned you.”
Flat Willow gave him a disgusted glare. “Are you still around, stirring the pot to see what floats to the top?”
“I found you.”
“Yes. Now, leave me alone.”
Flat Willow started to step past, and Panther said, “If you didn’t kill her, why don’t you tell me what you were doing out there that morning? I find it curious that you would have picked that morning, of all mornings, to pack up and go hunting.”
“That’s what real men do, Elder. We hunt. Someone has to bring in food. Men hunt and fish. I realize you never have to. You just move into someone’s house and they feed you. But for some of us, it’s a full-time occupation.”
“Oh, I’ve done my share of hunting. It’s good practice for war.” Panther studied him in the half-light. “Why, you’ve shaved the left side of your head. If I was to guess, I’d say it was to look like the Great Tayac’s warriors.”
Another bit of the puzzle dropped into place. But, did it fit? “How I cut my hair is my business. I’ve been through the Huskanaw. No one tells me what to do.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.” Panther lowered his voice. “And I think I understand.”
“Understand what?” Flat Willow crossed his arms.
“Living without parents, being passed around the clan like a basket of walnuts. It’s a lonely way to live, never quite being one with a family. Always apart.”
Flat Willow’s expression softened, then the hardness returned. “You have nothing to tell me, Elder. You and your fawning puppy, Sun Conch, can dive to the bottom of Salt Water Bay and be fish bait for all I care.”
Sun Conch crossed her arms, glaring malignantly at Flat Willow.
“You could help me, Flat Willow. I’m not your enemy. I’d say, right off hand, that none of this would have happened if Copper Thunder hadn’t arrived. You’re misplacing your loyalty.”
“The Great Tayac recognizes talent when he sees it. Unlike so many around here, he has vision, a plan for the future.”
“I see, but have you asked what the Independent villages will be like when his plan ripens?”
“Like the fields in fall, old man, we’ll be a lot better off than before the harvest.” He took a quick breath. “We’re stale, all of us. The Mamanatowick and the Conoy are squeezing us between them. I don’t want to end up with my skull resting in some Weroance’s House of the Dead with the other war trophies. I have kin in the upriver villages that will welcome me.” He glanced around at the rolling mist. “I’ve listened to the Weroansqua, heard her ramblings in council. This place, well, it has had its day.”