Lichen drove her legs up over the crest of the bluff and slumped down on the warm stone. Stretching out on her stomach, she lay quietly for a time, breathing raggedly, stifling her tears. "Oh, Mother ..."
Her mother's voice echoed in her memories: "Stop crying. Lichen! How many times do I have to tell you that tears are useless? They don't do anybody any good — least of all, you. If Screechowl kicks you again, pick up a stick and smack him."
Lichen had never seen her mother cry—not even once. Oh, she had seen tears in her mother's eyes. They'd been there yesterday, when she'd first gotten home, but nothing more. Her mother always faced life with a glare, daring the world to fight with her.
"I can't help it. Mother," she had said.
The more Lichen thought about being alone, the worse she felt. Tears leaked from the comers of her eyes. She braced her chin on her arm and wept softly.
She wished she had had more time with her parents, that she had grown up with Wanderer living in their home. Never before had Lichen missed having two parents—but now, when she might never see them again, she wished with all her heart that she had a whole family.
Wanderer? Are you all right? You don't have to come for me. She rolled to her side and stared out across the sun-washed basin. Just take . . . take care of my mother. She needs you now. Bird-Man? Take care of my mother and father. I need them to be all right.
Elkhorn plodded on weary legs to the lone cottonwood tree on top of the grass-covered knoll and leaned a shoulder against the tree trunk. From here he could look down on his fleeing enemies. The fierce afternoon sun had sucked the moisture from his body and spread it over his arms and legs in a thick sheen of sweat. His brown breechclout clung to his loins in clammy folds. On his left, the eastern bluff rose to scallop the sky with humps of gray. Was someone up there, watching? A lookout? Reporting back to Petaga that his ten warriors had escaped Elkhom's best efforts to kill them?
In the gully below, the warriors dashed about, skipping across rocks when they could, looking as happy as could be. Faint laughter wafted up with the heat.
Five of his own war party trotted into the shade cast by the cottonwood.
"We've lost them.** Elkhom wiped the sweat and dirt from his chevron-tattooed forehead. At the age of twenty-four, he stood only ten hands tall, but his cunning more than made up for his height. New sweat trickled from his matted black hair and ran into his eyes before it pooled on the tip of his stubby nose. He lifted his bow and shook it at his retreating foes. "I can't believe it! I thought we had them."
Soapweed eased up beside Elkhom. "So did I. If I didn't know better, I'd thiiic they had the attack and their escape route all carefiiUy planned. How else could ten men and women evade our seventy warriors?"
Elkhom glanced at Soapweed's round face that rarely showed emotion. He had tied a length of green fabric around his head to keep his loose black forelocks from obscuring his vision. The longer Elkhom peered into Soapweed's deadpan eyes, the more his nervousness grew.
"It did seem that they had it all planned, didn't it?"
Other warriors came forward to cast curses after the escaping enemy warriors, who had now skirted a raspberry brier and jumped lower into the drainage channel. Only the tops of their bobbing heads remained visible.
'*You sound like you have an idea," Soapweed countered. "Like maybe you know why they struck our camp at night and lured us way out here."
Elkhorn grimaced. Lured? That thought had occurred to him as early as noon, but it annoyed him to have someone else echo his deepest fears.
Heat rolled off of the bare stone beneath his sandals, searing the bottoms of his feet. They had been at Henfoot Village when the attack came. What are you up to, Petaga?
"Should we chase them? They look like they're heading toward One Mound Village. We might be able to catch them before sunset," Soapweed pointed out.
Elkhorn squinted after the warriors. "We won't catch them by sunset. They're moving too fast."
He pushed away from the tree and walked a little way down the slope. Cracks and crevices drew jagged lines of shadow over the face of the bluff, creating perfect hiding places. Had Petaga stationed warriors up there with their bows, ready for the first fool who would follow his fleeing forces into the gully?
Elkhorn hiked back up the slope. "Let's stick to Badger-tail's original plan. We'll join Black Birch south of Bladder-nut Village. After that, we'U meet Amaranth outside of Balsam Village, then head south to join Badgertail near One Mound Village."
Soapweed canted his head inquiringly. "You think that's what this was all about? Petaga is trying to provoke us so that we'll mess up Badgertail's war plans by flying off and getting ourselves kiUed in an ambush?"