Panther sucked squash from his fingers. “Weroansqua, you and I have seen life from most of its different sides. Two old warriors like us, we can look each other in the eye and know that each will keep some secrets inviolate. I have mine, you have yours. Some things I will not say. Not because I’m being mysterious, but because I’ve lived as long as you have, and in doing so I’ve cursed well earned the right to keep some things to myself.”
She grunted. “And the rest?”
“Ask.”
“Why did you leave White Smoke Rising?”
Panther stopped in rnidchew, staring into her black eyes. “You want the truth?”
“Don’t act like a simpleminded fool. Why do you think I’m here?”
“All right, here it is: I was sick to the bottom of my guts. Sick of leading good men and women out to kill other good men and women. Sick of the success. Sick of the dead bodies rotting in the sun. Sick of them crawling with flies as they swelled up and hissed with gas. Sick of returning to that heartless serpent curled up there on his polished red cedar throne. Sick of knowing that he’d never be satisfied, no matter how many villages I captured and burned, or how many slaves I drove back to kneel before him.” He glanced up. “Does that make sense to you?”
“I don’t know. What difference did it make to you? They weren’t your clan, were they?”
Panther licked a bit of squash from his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Weroansqua, do you know one of the things that makes us human?”
“I know many things. Get to the point.”
“I’ve spent a great deal of time watching animals. For the most part, when they kill, it’s done cleanly, efficiently, and without the investment of any more emotion than is necessary to get the job done.”
“And weasels?” she countered. “Bobcats? Otters? They enjoy it.”
“They do, but the killing of small prey is different for them. They flip it around, bat it here and there. That’s play, Hunting Hawk. Play that is done with small inoffensive prey that can’t hurt them back.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at her. “Humans, however, can always hurt back. Of all creatures, we are the only ones who routinely kill our own kind. Not to eat, or for breeding, but for trophies. The other thing we do, the critical thing for me when I left White Smoke Rising, is rather difficult for most people to grasp.”
“And that is?”
“Humans, of all animals, have the ability to imagine themselves in their victims’ place.”
Her flinty gaze didn’t change. “So?”
He shrugged. “So, I started to live too much in their skins. When I dreamed at night, it was to see myself through their eyes. I didn’t like the way they looked at me, the way they felt about me. Each child’s cry was burned into my soul as I stood over the bloody bodies of their dead parents. There was one little girl, a pretty thing, with all of her life ahead of her…” He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight, as if to drive the vision from his soul.
Hunting Hawk waited quietly.
Swallowing hard, he said, “Killing is more than just taking a man’s life—it’s killing dreams, Weroansqua. Hope, love, ambition, and purpose, all are left to rot with the putrid corpses.”
“And that little girl?” Hunting Hawk asked, tone softening. “Who knows? If she’s still alive, she’s a slave, her eyes dull with despair, her hair matted with filth. She’s never had a chance to love a tall young-warrior, never gotten to see his eyes shine for her. If she’s borne a child, it was one planted in her by a man who used her as a camp bitch. And the child, if it lived, would only have a life like hers to look forward to.”
He poked his finger absently into the squash. “What right had I to do those things, take those things from people? Authority makes us arrogant, Weroansqua. I had been arrogant all of my life.”
“So, you left it to find humility on an island in the Salt Water Bay?”
He nodded, then scooped out another handful of squash. “It didn’t take all that long to fill my soul with angry ghosts, but I fear it will take forever to lay them to rest.”
She picked up a stick to prod the fire. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. What difference does it make to you if my granddaughter was murdered? What do you get out of this?”
“The chance to forgive myself for being stupid when I was young.” He savored a mouthful of squash, letting the sweet flavor run over his tongue. “In light of the things I’ve seen and done, it didn’t amount to much. Not really. The trouble is, when you are young, and in love, it seems like the end of the world. Sun Conch assured me that High Fox didn’t kill Red Knot. I could see the desperation in her eyes, and my curiosity was piqued. One youngster had made a mistake. Maybe I could keep another from making a worse mistake. So, here I am.”