Rain Bear experienced a leap of the heart at the sight of her, and cuddled Stonecrop before he slid back to make room for her beside him.
Ten tens of generations of women in her family had ruled the North Wind People. The dignity of her former status still showed in her movements, the elegant wave of her hand, the regal way she tilted her head. By Raven’s shadow, had there ever been such a beautiful woman?
She sat down on the mat and gazed serenely around the lodge. She’d braided her long red hair. It hung down the front of her sea-grass cape.
Stonecrop squealed in delight at the sight of her.
An almost unbearable longing filled her eyes. “Hello,” she whispered. “Who are you?”
“This is my grandson, Stonecrop.”
“Hello, Stonecrop.”
Evening Star dug around in her bag and pulled out two small clumps of herbs. “I took the liberty of making poultices for Pitch’s wound.” She handed them to Roe. “I hope that was all right.”
“Are you a Healer?” Roe asked hesitantly.
“My mother was. I learned a few things from her.”
Roe lifted the poultices to her nose. “Umm, I smell sagebrush leaves, willow bark, and … something else. A flower.”
“Coneflower petals.”
Roe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Coneflowers? Where do you get them? When we can find them, they cost us a fortune in blankets and hides.”
“My mother sends—used to send,” she corrected herself painfully, “traders far to the east for them.”
Roe smelled them again. “How long should I soak them?”
“Just a short while, but keep them damp while they’re on Pitch’s arm. You want the juices to sink into his wound.”
Roe crossed the lodge in a hunched position, put both poultices in a wooden bowl, and poured water over them from a bladder. While they soaked, she pulled shredded cedar bark from a hide bag to make a new bandage.
Pitch shifted against the rolled buffalohide, and a groan escaped his lips.
Roe asked, “What’s happening in the camps? Is there still talk of slaughtering Ecan at the Moon Ceremonial tomorrow?”
Rain Bear sighed. “Not as much. I just came from a meeting with the other chiefs. At the moment, the last thing they want is another fight. Their clans have been through too much in recent moons.” The lines between his brows pinched together. “I just pray the villagers will abide by that decision. People are angry and desperate. On top of everything else, the attack on Pitch and Dzoo is like flicking embers on a pot full of pine sap. If one lights, it will be a very hot fire.”
Rain Bear glanced at Evening Star. She was studying him with bright blue eyes. “Which is why I asked Matron Evening Star to come here tonight. Perhaps her counsel can help us avoid future fires.”
Roe carried the poultice bowl and the clean strips of woven cedar bark and knelt at Pitch’s side. As she wound the bark around the poultices, water squeezed out, soaking the wound.
Pitch’s eyes widened. “Wretched gods! That burns!”
“Of course it does,” Roe muttered. “That’s how you know the Spirits are alive.”
He slumped against the hides, completely drained.
Roe sank down beside him and turned to Rain Bear. “What else did the chiefs say, Father? Did you discuss joining forces under one leader?”
“We did.”
She caught the tone in his voice, and being her mother’s daughter and quick of mind, gave him a tired smile before nodding. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong?” Pitch’s gaze darted between Rain Bear and Roe. “What are you talking about?”
Rain Bear gave Roe a sheepish glance and told Pitch, “I’ll tell you when I know more.”
Evening Star bowed her head, catching the undercurrents.
Truth was, Rain Bear didn’t wish to discuss it at all. Doing so would just lead to questions he had no answers for: How many warriors would he have? What were the circumstances that would demand he act? How many chiefs would support him? Could he keep the clans allied despite old blood feuds? What was the ultimate goal of the alliance? Just to stop the attacks, or to break completely the North Wind People’s ability to make war? Or was it something even more decisive?
He needed time to work out the details and to come to terms in his own mind where this might take him, his clan, and his people.
Rain Bear’s gaze dropped to his grandson, and his heart warmed. The little boy had curled up in his lap and was on the verge of going to sleep. His mouth was open, a tiny pink tongue just visible inside.
“I hate to ask this of you now, Pitch, but we have to know what happened out there.”