People of the Moon(146)

“It must be a terrible thing to have such responsibility placed on your shoulders.”

“My shoulders?” She laughed. “That morning you decided to climb the mountain to help Ripple with his elk, did you think about it first?”

“Well … no.”

“Choices. Who knows how decisions you make here will change your life and the lives of thousands of others?”

“Elder? I can’t leave you alone.”

“Go with the sunrise, young friend. Save yourself and your family.”

Spots stared at her, trying to fathom what she was up to, how she would defeat Webworm in the safety of his lair.

The voices in her pack whimpered in fear.





At the sound of people talking, Crow Woman blinked awake, startled to find herself in a pit house. Morning light slanted through the smoke hole to illuminate the inside of a mud-daubed wall. Several white-slipped pots, corrugated-ware cooking vessels, and plain brown seed jars occupied the bench beneath the rectangle of light. Folded clothing rested on a willow mat next to them. The four roof supports had a honeyed look in the morning. Beside her, Wrapped Wrist still slept. With dismay she realized that his chest was pressed against her back, her buttocks neatly formed into the angle of his crotch.

Panic clutched at her heart, a fist squeezing her lungs. She willed herself to take a breath.

It’s all right. This is Wrapped Wrist. He’s safe … inconsequential.

Her heartbeat slowed as cool air entered her lungs. It was just an accident of the way they were sleeping that they’d ended up this way. It had been cold in the night. That’s all.

How long had it been since she’d felt comfortable near a man? She swallowed nervously at the memory of his soft voice, cooing as he climbed on top of her and looked down into her eyes.

Snake Head. A witch. He’d eaten whole pieces out of her souls—left them a patchwork that she’d sewn back together with the greatest difficulty.

“He’s here,” a woman’s voice said from outside. “He arrived last night.” A pause. “With a woman.” Another pause as she tried to make out the second voice. “I don’t know. She’s some woman. She was wearing a war shirt, carries a war club, bow and arrows. And she’s tall!” Laughter. “You should see her. She towers over him like a ponderosa!”

Crow Woman rolled her eyes.

“When I left they were moccasined.”

Moccasined? What did that mean?

Crow Woman eased away from Wrapped Wrist’s warm body and sat up. Loose strands of hair fell about her face and shoulders where it had come loose from her bun. She reached back, pulling the deer-bone stiletto and spilling the whole mass of it down her back.

“I’ll see if he’s awake,” the voice called. “Or if you’re interrupting anything.”

The tone in the woman’s voice left no doubt what she might be interrupting. Crow Woman balled a fist and thumped Wrapped Wrist’s thick muscles with a hard punch. Gods, the man was solid steak. He slitted an eye, mumbling, “I never touched you.”

“Someone’s coming. I think it’s a woman.”

Wrapped Wrist sat up, rubbed at his eyes, and stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “Gods, you’re absolutely …”

“Yes? What?”

The walls were trembling as someone climbed up and stared down the smoke hole.

“Absolutely—”

“Wrapped Wrist?”

Crow Woman looked up as a young woman clambered down the ladder. She wore a brown skirt woven from some fiber or other, her bare breasts small, the nipples smoothed by the indirect light. She stopped short to give Crow Woman a hard measuring assessment.

“Fir Brush?” Wrapped Wrist asked as he smiled. “Blood and dung, it’s good to see you! I see you’ve kept out of the First People’s grasp.”

She gave Crow Woman a meaningful jerk of the head. “It looks like you haven’t. Who’s she? Another one of your conquests?”

“Uh, my wife,” Wrapped Wrist muttered.

Crow Woman slitted her eyes just long enough to promise retribution, then cleared her expression in time to say, “I hope worms infest your hair, little forest imp,” in First People’s tongue.

“She doesn’t speak like a human,” Fir Brush said in amazement. Then her brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re married? I mean, without approval from the clan? No one even knows! And if you’ve married in opposition to the clan, you’d better hope the Blue God has mercy on you. Old Rattler sure won’t.”

Wrapped Wrist grinned sheepishly. “I’ll tell you … but only because you’re being hunted by the First People, too. We’re only supposed to act married in case the Red Shirts come by. No one is supposed to know she’s here.”