“Oh,” Night Rain mouthed in return.
Pine Drop reached for her kirtle and gestured. Night Rain dressed silently and followed as Pine Drop ducked out the door. The house was new, built on the ruins of her old structure. It had been on this spot that Blue Feather’s dead body had been processed before the ritual cleansing. Now nothing remained of him except his Dream Soul. Had it been prowling around the house, watching this new man as he slid his manhood into her? Had Blue Feather known that she was dreaming of him, that she had willed White Bird’s hard member to be his?
Night Rain turned her young face up toward the cloudy sky. A faint misty rain was falling. It speckled the young woman’s hair in silver specks. “Remember how we used to talk when we were little? How we swore that one day we would have a household together, that we would marry the same great warrior? That we would live on that way forever? Now, here it is, and it’s not like I ever thought it would be.”
“No.”
“Will I ever enjoy coupling with a man?”
“Perhaps, with time.” Pine Drop reached out and placed an arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Pine Drop felt Night Rain’s shrug. “It just wasn’t what I thought, that’s all. I expected lightning, and joy, and some great experience like riding on clouds.”
“And instead?”
“It was uncomfortable. He’s …”
“Big.”
“Yes.” She glanced sideways at Pine Drop. “I thought it would feel more like a finger.”
“I’m sorry.”
Night Rain shrugged. “Do you think I’m going to get pregnant?”
“Eventually.”
“You didn’t. I mean with Blue Feather. And you were married for almost six moons before …”
“Yes, well, sometimes it doesn’t happen right off in first moons you spend as a woman.” She tried to keep the regret out of her voice.
“We have done our duty to our lineage and to our clan.” Night Rain smiled sadly. “We are the granddaughters of the Clan Elder. That is all that matters.”
How could she say it with such simple faith? “That doesn’t mean that we must like it. What has possessed the Elder and the Speaker? We have always been adversaries of Owl Clan, especially that haughty Wing Heart. She acts so superior to everyone else. Did I ever tell you about the time she kicked me out of her path? I was little then, maybe four winters old. She treated me like dirt.”
“Now we are married to her son.” Night Rain’s eyes were on the long lines of houses that surrounded them. Cattails were waving green fronds above the dark water in the borrow ditches that separated the house ridges. “I wanted to marry Saw Back, of the Alligator Clan.”
“Well, you had better forget him—and hope that White Bird remains alive,” Pine Drop cautioned. “At least he is a Speaker, young though he is. He has war honors that will transfer to our children and clan. He has prestige and status, and from the looks of things, it will only grow greater.”
“That is supposed to reassure us?” Night Rain asked hollowly.
“Yes, because the alternative is that if anything happens to White Bird, we go to that witless Mud Puppy! Think about that the next time our husband crawls on top of you and parts your legs.”
Night Rain chewed her lip thoughtfully. “What could Grandmother have been thinking? I don’t understand this new alliance with Owl Clan. It makes no sense.”
Pine Drop sighed, looked furtively back at the doorway to make sure that White Bird hadn’t awakened, and whispered, “We are to learn what we can about Wing Heart and help our clan gain ascendancy, silly gosling! The Speaker didn’t talk the Elder into marrying us to White Bird to make us happy. We are here to serve the clan, and that, Little Sister, is what we will do.”
Night Rain nodded. “I understand, Sister. When it comes to the clan I will do my duty.”
The Serpent
My old teacher once told me,
When you are running, just run.
When you are walking, just walk.
When you are standing, just stand.
But never ever wobble.
That’s when the Sky Beings see you.
Thick patches of black cloud came sliding up from the gulf, accompanied by low rolling thunder. The moon after equinox was a time for storms. Wing Heart glanced up at rain-swollen heavens as she wondered whether to take down her loom and move it, and the half-finished fabric, into the shelter of her house. Faint teasings of a southerly breeze toyed with her hair and the fine strands of glossy hemp that she played through the warp, knotting the strands on certain threads to create a pattern before pressing it tight with her fine-toothed deer-scapula comb.