Loon Spot said, “He’s not crazy. He’s senile. There’s a big difference.”
“He meant you, Cousin.”
She gave him a disgruntled look. “Just wait until you’ve seen six tens of summers.Your aim won’t be so good either.”
Ashes smiled, and it warmed Lookingbill’s heart. She had a soft, luminous look in her dark eyes, betraying the desperately tired little girl beneath.
“It’s good to see somebody around here has a sense of humor.” Loon Spot leaned across the floor to pat Ashes’ arm affectionately.
“How come you aren’t sleeping?” Loon Spot pointed a crooked finger reprovingly. “When I went to sleep, you said you were going to take a nap.”
Ashes’ smile faded, and she stared down at her restlessly twisting hands. “I can’t sleep, Loon Spot. My Dreams are bad.”
“Well, whose aren’t? You should have seen what Lookingbill looked like as a dog.”
Ashes laughed, and it made Lookingbill smile. From the instant they’d met yesterday afternoon, Ashes and Loon Spot had been fast friends.
Loon Spot waved to her. “Come here. Tell me about these Dreams.”
Ashes walked over and sat down. Loon Spot put a skinny arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear. Ashes sniffled in response.
Gradually, their two low voices intertwined, barely audible, and he could tell the little girl’s fears had ebbed. Her tone grew calmer, brighter. Lookingbill shook his head. Who knew that gruff, sharp-tongued Loon Spot could speak so kindly to anyone?
Loon Spot whispered, “So he came and floated over your bed?”
Ashes nodded, twining her fingers in her cape. “Mother said he was dead. Just like Wolf Dreamer.”
“Did he look dead?”
“Only a little. He had eyes like black stones.” Ashes’ mouth puckered, and tears glistened on her lashes. “Why is he coming to see me? I don’t want to see him.”
“Tell him that; maybe he’ll go away.”
Ashes toyed with the fringes on her leggings. “I’ll try to sleep … if you stay here and watch.”
“Oh, you bet I will. Someone bring me another basket. I’ll toss it at any nasty raven that flutters close.”
A raven? Lookingbill wondered.
Ashes curled up on the hide and closed her eyes. Loon Spot gently kissed her forehead. It seemed only moments before the girl was sleeping soundly.
Lookingbill whispered, “You two get along too well to have been strangers only yesterday. Are you sure you haven’t been giving her gifts in secret?”
“I don’t have to buy friendship. You’re just jealous because you’ve never had a way with women.”
“For once in your life, you’re right.”
They sat in silence for a time; then Ashes moaned.
Loon Spot waited until the girl’s face slackened, then she whispered, “Did you know Raven Hunter was speaking to her in Dreams?”
Lookingbill’s breathing stopped. “That’s what she told you?”
“That’s why she doesn’t want to sleep.”
“Blessed gods.” Lookingbill massaged his brow. “I’m so tired. It never occurred to me to ask why—”
“Of course you’re tired,” she interrupted. “A few days ago you were sitting around enjoying the sun on your face. Now you’re in a fight to the death with the Nightland Elders.”
He lowered his hand to his lap. “I had to help the Sunpath People, Loon Spot. Someone had to.”
“Dipper says the food stores down in the ice caves will be gone by the next quarter moon.”
“She’s right.” He gave her a dull appraisal. “Windwolf has been meeting with the chiefs. He’s preparing the refugees to head west. They’re to leave in small groups, escorted by warriors. He thinks that in small bands, traveling by different trails, many can make it to safety in the Tills.”
“How soon do you think the Nightland Elders will find out Windwolf defeated Kakala and took him captive?”
Lookingbill picked up one of the stone balls and tossed it toward a hole. He missed. It kept rolling until it hit the wall.
“Two or three days, if we’re lucky. Then they have to gather warriors, depending on where Karigi and Blackta have gotten to. Windwolf calculates that it may take as long as a moon to assemble the number necessary.”
“And then?”
He gave her a sad look. “By then, we’ll be a quarter moon’s travel west of here, making the best time we can toward the Tills.”
Forty-one
Kakala weakly pushed the hide off his chest and rolled onto his side, blinking at the hazy ceiling. His flesh burned with fever. Thirst plagued him. Dim silver light came from somewhere.