Locust shifted her head on Primrose's muscular arm so she could look at him. His deep-set eyes and delicate bone structure gave his face a frail, innocent quality. He had washed and brushed out his long hair in preparation for her homecoming. It spread over their blankets like waves of pitch-black silk. She extended a hand tenderly to stroke the glistening strands.
"Still awake?" Primrose whispered.
"Yes."
"Worried about Badgertail?"
"I can't stop thinking about him."
Primrose always seemed to know what troubled her. It was as if so much of his soul lived inside her that he couldn't help but know. When she had first taken him for wife, her relatives had scoffed and snickered behind their hands. "You're taking a berdache for your wife? Ridiculous! Find a good woman who will care for your house and can bring you children." Every woman warrior had a female wife, and most of those wives had borne babies through lying with select men—^generally Sunbom. But Locust did not want a pack of brats running around her house; she wanted the freedom of a quiet life with Primrose. Now she lifted a finger to trace the smooth line of his jaw. The boyish purity of his face belied the strength of his female soul.
"He's alone, Primrose. And he's never been alone before. I don't know what he's going to do."
"Being lonely is terrible."
Locust squeezed his hand. Primrose knew about loneliness. Most people found him an enigma, others feared him. Many, like her, knew and reverenced the special Power bestowed upon him by Earthmaker. He was a bridge between the worlds of male and female, Light and Dark. But few people felt comfortable in his presence. That meant he forever hovered at the edges of society, respected by some and hated by others, never fully admitted to any group.
Primrose braced himself on his elbows to peer down into her face, and the curtain of his hair tumbled around her in a shimmering wealth. Locust let herself drown in the warmth she saw in those deep-set eyes. "Badgertail will learn to survive, believe me."
"You sound so certain."
"I am. He's a strong man. He'll find someone else to confide in. I hope it will be you. Locust. You're his only real friend now."
She turned away uneasily. The breeze that blew through the gap chilled the sweat that had pooled on her throat. Though she desperately wanted Badgertail to rely on her, she feared it, too. They'd never quite managed to quell the childhood attraction they had felt for each other, and sometimes, when Badgertail looked across the fire at her after a difficult battle-walk, she could see pain in his eyes and desire for her—^and then she longed to soothe him in the only way she knew how.
Incest! The people would kill you for it.
Only Primrose would understand. He was berdache, half-man, half-woman. He understood human weaknesses better than other people did. Primrose would know that the melding of flesh was nothing more than an attempt to ease two aching souls.
Nevertheless, it would hurt him.
Like a warshirt torn in the heat of battle, the magic would go out of their precious life together. Locust knew it as surely as she knew that she would never stop seeing the effect of her betrayal in Primrose's eyes. Some men took great pride in their invincibility, in their stalwart skill at allowing no injury to penetrate their soul. But Primrose was berdache and held nothing of himself from her. Every ounce of his strength and love, his entire soul, he gave willingly—because he trusted her with it.
For that reason, he would forgive her for breaking his heart. He would find some way to blame himself, or to explain it away by saying that things just happened on battle-walks. And they did. Men and women pushed to the limit of endurance often took momentary solace in each other's bodies. It meant nothing to the warriors involved except the chance to escape the horrors of war for the blink of an eye. Locust had seen it often enough to know. Battle-walk romances flared—^and then died the instant the palisades of home came into view.
Locust would never tell Primrose, of course. She could never deliberately hurt him. But he would know. Just as he had known tonight that her thoughts lingered on Badgertail.
"How is Green Ash?** Locust asked, changing the subject.
Primrose pursed his lips as he trailed his fingers over her bare breast. "Not well. She's only seven months, and the child is so large that . . . well, the old women have begun to say that something might be wrong."
"You mean they think she might die?" Locust asked in her usual direct manner.
"It's just talk. I ... I don't believe it. Some babies are larger than others. Nettle is a big man, he must have planted a big child."
"When are they to be married?"
"When the baby is bom. Not long. Locust, I sense something odd about the baby."