Oxbalm rose and wiped his clammy hands on his pants. “Maybe.” Horseweed ducked through the entry, his eyes wide. “What did you find?” “Come and look at this, Grandson. Quickly. Then we must get out of here.”
Horseweed knelt before the scatter of wolf hair, picked one up, then threw it down as though it had burned him. He lurched unsteadily to his feet, breathing hard. “I think we should go hunt him down and dart him to death right now.”
“Yes, I—I agree,” Dizzy Seal said.
Oxbalm’s eyes widened. “This is no proof. There are those who will defend him. They’ll say that Catchstraw just went out into the forest to gather plants again, and that when we saw the dire wolf and found Catchstraw gone from his lodge, we jumped to conclusions. Old woman Yucca Thorn will accuse us of hating Catchstraw and trying to malign his character. The village will split. Half of our relatives will go away and never want to see us again. No…” he sighed. “Not yet. We must wait a little longer.” v
Lambkill rose from his seat by Harrier’s fire. The youth had made camp along the western trail that led to the sea. Lambkill’s haphazard grass lodge was a good distance from the fire, well away from the smoke, in the soft meadow grass. At least he would sleep well there. To his left, on top of the hill, he could make out the dark forms of people moving through Otter Clan Village and the faint gleam of Above Old-Man silvering the sky. Hushed strains of conversation carried.
Lambkill stretched his stiff muscles. “That was a long walk. I don’t think my body will ever be the same again.”
Harrier smiled grimly. He sat across the fire playing with a woven yucca cord, looping it, tying it, then nervously untying it. “It has been a hard half a moon. I’m anxious to get home.”
“So am I,” Tannin said. He sat on a dead log with his head down, a cup of tea clutched between both hands. He’d grown too sullen to bear. Just looking at Tannin’s grimace made Lambkill want to strike him.
Idiot brother. Don’t you think I want this over, too? Do you think I enjoy being shunned and slighted by every village we come to?
Lambkill lifted his pack from the log and slung it over his shoulder, smiling genially. “I’ll be back shortly. I just need some time to pray to Above-Old-Man.”
“I understand,” Harrier said softly, but he eyed the pack as though he suspected Lambkill’s true reason for going into the forest.
Tannin glanced at the pack, and his mouth pursed disdainfully. “Hurry back, Lambkill. I want to talk to you… about Kestrel.”
Rage fired Lambkill’s body, but he merely nodded. “As you wish. I’ll return soon.”
He tramped out into the forest, ducking low beneath several thick oak branches. Deadfall and brush clogged these foothills. It made walking difficult. A mass of deer trails crisscrossed here, going off in all directions. Lambkill picked one that led due north. He followed the winding path until it led him into a dense thicket of berry vines. Tiny white flowers covered the brier. Sweetness filled the cool night air.
Lambkill examined the surroundings, the trunks of trees, the fallen logs. When he found a small patch of wildflowers, he stopped and sat down. Above-Old-Man had risen, and moonlight fell through the canopy of branches here, lighting the ground.
“We must talk, my son,” he whispered.
He sat down and gently laid his pack in the midst of the fragrant wildflowers before him. As he unlaced it, he Sang a soft Song of praise to Above-Old-Man and Mother Ocean. He lifted the flap on the pack and peeled it back. Little Coyote lay still within, resting on a bed of sage leaves.
“Come, son. Stand in the moonlight. Feel the wind on your face. It feels good.”
He reverently removed his son and propped him up against the pack. Little Coyote stared at him through his stony green eyes. “You’re so tiny, son. So beautiful…. Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Father.”
Lambkill heaved a sigh of relief. “I was afraid for a moment.. but of course you’re still here. I need you, my son. These Otter Clan people are plotting against me. I can feel it. They want to protect your mother.”
Little Coyote’s withered brown mouth moved faintly.
“They won’t he able to, Father. You’re more clever than they are.”
Lambkill tenderly stroked his son’s shriveled bald head. “Yes, but it will be hard for me to take her away from them, son. I must catch your mother before she reaches them. Where is she now? Can you see her?”
Little Coyote’s stone eyes glittered. “Yes, Father. She’s coming up this very trail. She’ II be here in less than a hand of time.”