People of the Nightland(99)
“You’re welcome.”
She finished the cake, sank to the floor, and exhaled slowly. “May I dip myself a cup of tea?”
“Please.”
As she did, he unrolled the deer hide and found the piece of charcoal he’d been saving from the fire.
She shifted positions, brought one knee up, and propped her cup on it. From this side view she seemed all the more slender. It touched something inside him, some illogical masculine need to protect—as if this warrior needed anybody’s protection. Nonetheless, it softened his guarded responses to her.
“Windwolf, tell me something?”
He lifted his brows, expecting something unpleasant. “Go on?”
“Why is it that Sunpath People keep plotting to kill our Guide? We’ve wiped out one nest of conspirators after another, but more spring up immediately.”
He listened to the lilting note of the flute. If he let himself, he could almost feel as though he’d stepped backward in time, and Bramble was still alive. He could hear their son laughing … .
“Your Guide preaches the extermination of anyone who believes in Wolf Dreamer. What do you expect my people to do?”
“Some have converted. Like the Seadog band.”
“Yes,” he said. “I remember. It was the first day I took my son into the forest and started teaching him how to throw a dart and swing a war club.”
In a graceful motion, she made a sweeping gesture to Headswift Village. “So, he owes all this to you? Is he grateful in his praise?”
He lightly stroked the fine hairs on the deer hide. “My son is dead.”
Her stony expression melted. “Forgive me. I didn’t know.” After a few heartbeats, she added, “The earlier a boy learns to fight, the better. You were clearly a good father.”
She looked like she wanted to ask him what had happened, but restrained herself.
He was thankful for that. It might have been one of her darts that had killed Lion Boy four summers ago. The fight had been swift and hot. Nightland warriors had struck the Hunting Horse camp fast and hard before they dashed away into the forest like cowardly dogs.
In the fireglow, her hair had shaded golden, as though a glistening web of real summer sunlight netted her head. He fumbled with the piece of hide, suppressing an ache for the family he’d lost, for the scents of wet dirt and wildflowers, the rustling of wind through pines around the Hunting Horse camp.
“What have we done to ourselves?” she asked softly.
He said, “That almost sounded friendly.”
“Did it? I must be exhausted beyond good sense. But I’m not blind, Windwolf. My angle of vision is just different from yours. I’ve seen the Sunpath People kill many of our children, too.”
“I’ve never killed your children.”
She smoothed her fingers down the side of her cup. “No, you haven’t.”
Thoughtfully, he rolled up the hide, then unrolled it again. “Deputy, I know some of the stories of the Nightland People. Do you any Sunpath stories?”
“I know about the Exile and the climb through the hole in the ice to this world of light. I know about Wolf Dreamer, and his battle with Raven Hunter.” She smiled wistfully. “They used to be our stories, too.”
“There are others. Every time my people got settled into a nice comfortable place, something went wrong, and we ended up running for our lives. It was as though Wolf Dreamer had abandoned us. So we dedicated ourselves to seeking the One. We …”
She put a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn, and Windwolf said, “Am I boring you?”
“No, it’s not you. It’s just … I’ve never been this exhausted in my entire life.”
He unrolled the hide again. “Draw this map for me and you can go.”
He started to rise; to hand her the hide and charcoal, but she reached around the fire to touch his sleeve. He could feel the chill of her delicate fingers through his shirt.
“I’m sorry; it’s not you.” She laughed, as if amused at herself, eyes softening. “Odd, isn’t it? Here I am, facing my enemy, and I feel at ease.” She hesitated. “Can we talk while I draw?”
He lowered himself back to the hide. “Of course.”
“For just this one moment, can we forget who we really are?”
He lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “What would you like to discuss?”
“Only things that don’t matter. Tell me …” She drew a line on the hide and shrugged. “If you could have one wish, what would it be?”
“To be left alone.” He looked down at his hands. “The problem with life is that you never know what to miss until it’s gone.”