“Ah.” She smiled. “Yes. It has been mentioned that you Traded quite a bit of squash last winter for raw hematite to make net sinkers out of. Something about that deal Salamander made with those Wash’ta Traders last fall. People thought him a fool for stripping his clan of all their finery. Then, while his clan wove and crafted beautiful replacements through the winter, that same fool was judiciously giving away hides, stone, and dried buffalo meat to the needy. When people weren’t approaching him for some of that Panther sandstone, that is.”
“Yes, well, Speaker Salamander seems to have uncommonly good fortune.” Mud Stalker smiled flatly at Three Moss to hide his delight that Cane Frog had brought up the very subject he wished to pursue.
“Good fortune? Is that what they call it?” Three Moss asked, the faintest hint of amusement curling her lips. “Many would like to say that Owl Clan has lost most of its prestige. At least, we hear that among the Speakers and Clan Elders and from those who are versed in the intrigues of the Men’s House.”
“And the Women’s House, too, no doubt,” Mud Stalker returned in a gracious voice.
“No doubt,” Three Moss agreed, her round face betraying nothing. “So we find it curious that while the leadership speaks of Owl Clan’s doom, people in the clans keep slipping over there for a piece of that Panther sandstone, or a buffalo robe, or a bit of tool stone from the far north. All the while, I keep tallying the amount of obligation that my clan has incurred to that young man. In another few turnings of the seasons or so, I’m afraid half of my clan grounds will be owed to Owl Clan.”
Mud Stalker tried to read her expression. Was Three Moss for or against Owl Clan? He couldn’t be sure.
Cane Frog surprised him when she said, “Quite the Speaker, isn’t he?”
“Your pardon, Elder?” Mud Stalker asked.
“Salamander,” she replied. “Let me guess, old friend. You didn’t expect this, did you?”
“Expect what?”
“His success.” Three Moss made no bones about it. “The amount of obligation he seems to accumulate.”
“I can only be pleased with Speaker Salamander’s success. His abilities reflect on my nieces.”
Cane Frog erupted in a rasping laugh. “Indeed. A good reflection indeed. This time last summer, as I recall, my Three Stomachs and your Pine Drop were polishing the spear. A fine reflection indeed. In a more public display, people still wonder why he took Night Rain back after that fiasco last winter.” She smacked her lips. “Touchy bit of business, that. Had tempers been allowed to flare, it could have become very nasty.”
“Yes, well, responsible heads prevailed. Pine Drop, in particular, stands out in my memory. She counseled patience and restraint that day.” Mud Stalker inclined his head pleasantly to Three Moss. The woman still had her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Something about the way her fingers moved on the old woman’s skin caught Mud Stalker’s attention. Then, in a flash, he thought he understood. Did the younger woman signal to her mother? Was that why they always touched during the Council sessions?
“It was more than Pine Drop.” Cane Frog sucked her lips back over toothless gums, and added, “Although I think she will make a very competent Clan Elder when she comes of age. Very competent indeed.”
“Our lineage thanks you for your confidence in her. We are obliged.”
“I think you are even more obliged to young Salamander for his eloquence that day, Speaker.” Cane Frog tapped her right ear. “These have grown sharper since my eyes went away. They hear more than most people know. Your Salamander did more than his share in keeping the lid on an overflowing pot.”
“Some would say he did almost too well,” Mud Stalker replied offhand.
“Indeed?” Three Moss asked. “You wanted an ugly brawl with Alligator Clan to break out?”
He made a face at the incredulous tone in her voice. “Not at all, Elder. I am glad that the situation was resolved in a peaceful manner that satisfied all parties.”
“Then what did you mean?” Three Moss asked.
“I mean it’s curious, isn’t it, that anyone’s misfortune seems to end up as Salamander’s advantage?” Mud Stalker tried to read Cane Frog’s reaction in the firelight. The old woman’s face might have been a mask.
After several heartbeats Cane Frog asked, “What do you want, Speaker? Talk to us in words that do not balance on the tongue like a magician’s trick.”
Mud Stalker fingered his scarred elbow and considered his next words. “Some people have begun to worry about Salamander’s continued good fortune. Even my nieces cannot understand how he always seems to come out ahead. It is unnatural.”