People of the Moon(160)
“A quarter?”
“A quarter? You wanted an abalone pendant the other day.”
She shrugged. “Trade hasn’t been so good recently. Not with this drought. Things have tightened up. Who’d have ever thought a Trader with a painted seed jar would rather Trade for a sack of corn than a night with me?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Come on, a quarter’s not much. Not for a bed and a hot meal. And you can drink all the water you want. I just packed it up from the river.”
Spots chuckled to himself. Besides, he wasn’t going to get in and see Nightshade at this time of night. “All right. A quarter.”
“Good!” She stepped forward, grabbing the length of rope he’d used to tie the bundle together and dragging it possessively toward her house.
Spots followed her to the ramada, where she bade him sit.
“Want a drink?”
“Yes. It’s a long day’s journey. I was looking forward to making the river.” He produced his cup, and she filled it from the brownware jar.
As she busied herself with a fire bow and kindling, he sat and sipped. The water was cool, kept that way by evaporation as it permeated the clay sides of the water jar. The evening was quiet, only broken by a dog barking in the distance. Every muscle in his body felt tired.
She rose from the fire pit in front of the ramada as flames crackled up. “There. Now, what did you have in that pack to eat?”
“Rabbit and corn cakes. The rabbit I stunned with a throwing stick today while I collected wood.”
She was in his pack in an instant, pulling out the stiff rabbit.
“So, how did you get those scars all over your body?” She glanced up at him as she placed her foot on the rabbit’s head, grasped it by the back feet, and jerked the head off. The latter she tossed into the flames.
“House fire.” Spots watched her peel the rabbit out of its hide. “Only my sister and I escaped.”
“Must have hurt.” She hesitated only to use a sharp obsidian flake to cut the feet free as she turned the rabbit inside out.
“More than I could ever tell you.”
She sliced the gut cavity open, slinging the intestines, stomach, and lungs into the fire. The rest she dropped into a corrugated cooking pot she produced from just inside the door. Adding water, she placed it in the fire, wiped her hands on her skirt, and dropped all of his corn cakes into the pot.
“Hey! That’s all of my corn cakes!”
She stared at him, irritation on her face. “Well, what do you expect? You don’t think I’m just doing this for you, do you? Not for just a quarter load! I’m hungry, too!”
Spots opened his mouth, then shook his head as she refilled his cup with more water. Instead of complaining, he asked, “What happened at Dusk House today?”
“Nothing much.” She settled herself cross-legged on the ramada matting and added another stick to the fire. “With most of the warriors headed to First Moon Mountain, the place is dead. Matron Desert Willow cut War Chief Wind Leaf off. He’s fuming.”
“What do you mean, cut him off?”
She gave him the same look she’d give an idiot. “They were lovers. Every other night he was slipping himself into her sheath. Well, just before and after her moon.”
“Why only then?”
The “you’re an idiot” look returned. “She didn’t want his child growing in her belly. Remember what happened to Night Sun?”
“Oh.”
She was squinting at him in the firelight. “You don’t know much, do you forest boy?”
He shrugged, embarrassed.
“Do you have a wife back up in the hills?”
He shook his head. “Uh, I’m not very attractive to women. I’ve never pushed my clan to find a wife. At least, not yet.”
She was sucking on her lips again. He was starting to think it was something she did when she was thinking. “But you’ve been with a woman?”
“Of course.”
“Bleeding gods, you’re lying!” She laughed at the horrified expression on his face.
“I am not!”
Her laughter increased. “Oh, don’t worry.” Then she seemed to consider. “Of course, for the rest of your firewood, I could change that.”
“No.” He raised his hands. “No, thank you. I’m fine. In fact, after dinner, I’ll just take the rest of my wood and make my way—”
“I see,” she said with a smirk. “Afraid, huh?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be any good.”
“You’re sure? For the rest of your wood I’d—”
“No!”
She stared at the fire, sucked at her lips, and sniffed as the first tendrils of steam rose from the pot.