Wanderer shook his head at the berries. "Locust, are you aware that your sister-in-law is about to have twins? You'd better be getting home very soon or you'll miss the excitement. I . . ." His voice faded as his eyes went huge and frightened.
Locust's breathing stilled. Wanderer looked as though monsters had risen up from the Underworld to claim his soul. "What? What's wrong? Is it Green Ash?"
"No, I'm . . . just seeing glimpses."
"Glimpses? Of what?"
"A thousand tomorrows—and more," Wanderer answered. He peered intently at Locust.
Taken aback, Locust gripped Wanderer's shoulder and shoved him back, sending his handful of berries pattering across the grass. "Listen, Wanderer, we have to fmd that Wolf. Where is it? What have you done with it?"
Wanderer blinked inquiringly. "What do you think I did with it?"
As the old man bent over attempting to retrieve his elderberries, Locust threw up her arms in frustration. "This is ridiculous. Why am I even trying?"
"Well, most likely because Badgertail told you to. Poor Badgertail. He dimly realizes that this battle-walk will be his last. It must be very hard on him." Wanderer patiently ordered his berries into piles again. "Did you know that the patterns of elderberry wrinkles take five major forms? Sharp zigzags, sinuous slithers ..."
Locust peered at Wanderer. He was calmly flipping over a single berry so he could examine the wrinkles on the other side. "How do you know that?"
Wanderer looked up, affronted. "Because I've studied them for cycles. Locust. I'm an expert on elderberries. You'd be amazed at how many berries I've analyzed in the past five hundred moons."
Angrily, Locust demanded, "About Badgertail! How do you know this will be his last battle-walk?"
"Well, it doesn't take any special Powers to see that he's lost the heart for war. Even you can see it, can't you? Everyone knows what happens to warriors who lose that."
Locust swallowed hard. This old man had just pronounced Badgertail's doom, and done it with no more alarm than if he had been forecasting a windstorm. Shaken, Locust asked, "What sort of a man are you, that you could talk of Badgertail's death so—"
"Well, for one thing," Wanderer responded, "I'm not a man. You see, years ago when I was swimming in the Silence, a raven came and—"
"Oh, Blessed Thunderbird," Vole moaned.
"You know it's true, Vole. As I recall, you were very upset by it—ordered me out of the house when I started picking at dinner before you'd had a chance to cook it."
"I hardly think this is the time to discuss your peculiarities. Wanderer," Vole responded sharply.
"Peculiarities?"
She gave him a sour look.
"It wasn't my fault that the pack rat who'd taken over my soul was afraid of ravens. You should have seen that bird when it first dove at me. It had a wingspan as wide as the Father Water. I couldn't blame Pack Rat for running. Of course, it disturbed me that he picked that precise moment to go, but you said yourself that nothing was happening anyway, so—"
"What does this have to do with anything?" Vole snapped.
"Locust wanted to know. Didn't you, Locust?"
Locust massaged the back of her neck. "You're crazy."
"Yes. Well, anyway ..." Wanderer very carefully opened the pouch on his breechclout and dumped the berries back inside.
With relief, Locust saw Badgertail break from the huddle of warriors and walk toward the dogwoods. Dried blood still spattered his tattooed chest. He had tied his warshirt into a sash around his waist. He seemed nervous, fidgety.
Badgertail inhaled a deep breath before he said, "Locust, what have you discovered?"
"About the Stone Wolf? Nothing. These two say that the Wolf was stolen cycles ago."
Badgertail turned to peer at Wanderer. The old man's expression didn't change, but as he tucked his bound hands into the folds of his red shirt. Locust saw them shake.
"Badgertail. It's been a long time. How are you?" Wanderer asked in a gentle voice, as though inquiring about the health of a long-lost friend—^rather than that of the man who had captured him last night and who would probably be his executioner.
"Well enough, Wanderer. And you?"
Wanderer tilted his head apologetically and lifted his wrists. They had ab'eady developed sores from the scratchy rope. "Things haven't been going my way lately."
Badgertail stared into Wanderer's wrinkled face, contemplating each line as if it represented an event in Badgertail's own life. Locust noticed the hard set of Badgertail's jaw sag before he sighed, "Forgive me. Wanderer. I'm not doing this to humiliate you."
"No. You're following Tharon's orders. I know that, Badgertail. What does he want of me?"