People of the Owl(222)

Salamander blinked hard to fracture the vision. He glanced back at his house, satisfied that Anhinga still slept soundly. After completing his errands the night before and tucking his daughter in, he had taken her to his bed. For a hand of time they had alternately held each other and coupled until she had fallen into a deep and exhausted sleep.

It was afterward that he had lifted the thin bit of mushroom to his lips and begun calling for old Heron.

The mint leaves swirled slowly in the hot water, the fresh tang flavoring the very air. In the growing light Salamander could see that the water had turned amber. Satisfied, he used an old rag to wrap his hand and moved the stone bowl to one side. Then he opened the little pouch and sprinkled a powder into the steaming liquid, making sure to keep his nose upwind of the rising steam.

He had realized that the tea was necessary to his plans when he noticed the missing ax and fitted it to the vision. Its spot in the collection of tools was ominously vacant. Coupled with the silence, he could guess at the reasons for Pine Drop’s absence.

“It will be better this way,” he told the morning, and glanced eastward. A glowing iridescent rose light surrounded by a softening lavender filled the northeast beyond the mist-shrouded trees across Morning Lake. Brother mushroom tugged playfully at his souls, smearing the colors in the sky.

Salamander smiled, imagining the view from the Bird’s Head. It was going to be a glorious morning. He wondered how many of the people in Sun Town would take the time to enjoy it.





Mud Stalker smiled and stretched as he sat up on his bed. He could hear the murmur of voices outside, and the angle of light through the door told him that Mother Sun was nearly two hands high above the horizon.

“Is it morning?” Three Moss asked as she rolled onto her side and slitted her sleep-heavy eyes.

“It is.” Mud Stalker bent his head back, feeling the bones in his neck crackle and the muscles pull.

Three Moss stretched before she threw back the elkhide, wiggled past him, and stood. The nipples on her full breasts looked like burnished copper. The width of her hips compensated for her thick waist, and the gleaming black wealth of pubic hair reminded him of bear fur.

“Would you like to eat with Mother and me before the Council meeting?” Three Moss watched him as she caught up her loose hair and pulled it back into a shock behind her head. She smiled as his gaze fixed on her taut breasts. “I would think you hadn’t been with a woman for moons, Speaker. Had you forgotten what a woman’s body is like?”

He chuckled. “I had indeed. Moons, yes. It’s been even longer than that.”

“I enjoyed myself,” she told him evenly, eyes measuring. “Myself, I would have no objection to sharing a bed with you every so often.”

“And your husband?” He raised an eyebrow.

“He is a hunter who prefers the swamp—and I think he spends a great many nights in beds that aren’t warmed by my body.”

“I see.”

“For now, just consider the advantages that might be of benefit to your clan. After today, I would expect Snapping Turtle Clan to have a great deal of prestige. Frog Clan, with my influence, might be a solid ally for you, Speaker. I can’t wait to tell Mother that Moccasin Leaf has agreed to return our root grounds. It will make her most happy. Almost as happy as I was several times last night.”

He nodded. “I, too, enjoyed last night. At my age, and for as little practice as I have had in the last turning of the seasons, it was a delightful reminder that I’m not decrepit.”

She laughed at that. “No, indeed you are not.”

“But I will pass on breakfast. Give my regards to the Clan Elder. I have some things to see to before the Council meets. This is too important to allow anything to go amiss.”

She nodded as she found her kirtle, wadded on the floor where it had been hastily discarded the night before. Her eyes held his as she slipped it on. “Why do men always give a woman that look when she dresses?”

“Because deep in our souls we see it as an ending rather than a beginning,” he replied. “Endings are always laced with regret while beginnings are sprinkled with hope.”

She stopped at the door, one hand on the cane-pole frame. “This is just the beginning, you know. After Owl Clan, you still have to unseat Thunder Tail. Deep Hunter will be thinking the same thing.”

He nodded. “I have plans for him.”

She smiled. “Will I see you tonight?”

He stood, making a face as his bones complained. With his good hand he recovered his breechcloth and belt. “If all goes as I hope, I was thinking of feasting the Council tonight. Invitations have already gone to the Clan Elders. Had you not been otherwise occupied last night, you would have heard.”