Blessed Above-Old-Man, how I wish I could go and ask. But I can’t. Even if the Otter Clan adopted Cloud Girl and me, Lambkill would find a way of killing us. He would hide in the depths of the forest and wait for cycles, if necessary, to find them, together or alone.
Memories flitted past, of Iceplant, Owlwoman and Juniper Village.
Kestrel’s stomach heaved. She vomited silently, her body writhing again and again until she had nothing left to bring
up. At last she lay unable to move, tortured by dry heaves. But with the cleansing came a new emotion, one that chased away her terror: hatred. Pure. Fiery. It filled her the way a drowning man’s lungs filled with water: hatred for Lambkill, for what he had done to her, and to Iceplant. For what he would do to Cloud Girl if he had the chance.
A frightening clarity stole through Kestrel’s veins. It felt like a Spirit Plant’s presence. Whispers breathed from the bottom of her soul, directing, guiding. With utter calm, she raised her arms and slipped the baby’s sack off her back, then hung it on a snag of deadfall.
Her daughter didn’t stir. She slept with her head tilted sideways, resting on her soft rabbit-fur hood. Her lips had parted, making her seem more innocent and vulnerable than ever.
Kestrel’s eyes blurred with tears. No matter what happened to her, someone from the Otter Clan would find Cloud Girl and adopt her. Yes. Yes, of course they will. Children are so precious. Who could resist that beautiful face?
She ran gentle fingers down the front of Cloud Girl’s sack, stopping over her daughter’s heart. She smiled and wept. I love you, baby.
Kestrel pulled herself forward on her elbows, maneuvering around rocks and clumps of brush until she had a clear line of sight. She peered around a pine trunk. That was Tannin, sitting cross-legged beside Lambkill. He looked as though he’d eaten something rotten. His mouth had puckered in distaste. Kestrel recalled Calling Crane’s tenderness and love; Tannin’s wife had never treated her with anything but kindness. She missed Calling Crane.
Please, Mother Ocean. I don’t want to have to kill Tannin. Calling Crane would hate me for it.
Kestrel wished she could hear the words of the hushed conversation. Who was the youth in the red shirt? A warrior from the Otter Clan? Why would he be sitting with Lambkill and Tannin? Waiting with them for me to arrive?
Kestrel’s jaw Blenched. She nocked a dart in the shell
hook of her atlatl and squirmed forward on her belly like Snake.
She could see Lambkill’s face now, old, so old. His jowls looked more pronounced than before, and the thick wrinkles beneath his chin hung in loose, overlapping folds. But his smile hadn’t changed. Gloating. Confident.
I’m going to kill you, my husband. Tonight!
Kestrel scrutinized his narrow back, imagining the placement of her dart. Sitting there like that in the light of the fire, he wouldn’t even know what had hit him. The dart would slice through the muscles of his back and penetrate his lungs. He would drown in his own blood. And Tannin would catch her and kill her.
But it didn’t matter. Cloud Girl would be safe.
Kestrel started to creep forward toward the cluster of mountain mahogany that created a blind no more than thirty hands from Lambkill’s camp… but a sound behind her made her freeze. Something was running full tilt through the brush.
She stared wide-eyed at the darkness. Then she saw the dog emerge from the shadows, its pink tongue dangling. Helper! As he came closer, she saw the wet stickiness that clotted his black coat and then smelled the coppery odor of blood. Kestrel shoved up on her elbows.
She stroked his dark fur, and the dog leaned into her hand as though desperately needing the comfort she offered. Then, after licking Kestrel’s hand quickly, he bounded away, back down the trail. Kestrel’s soul went cold.
Helper trotted back and stuck his pointed nose in her face, whirled lightly and ran down the trail again. When she didn’t rise, he let out a sharp, agonized bark.
Cloud Girl woke and shrieked in response. Terror flooded Kestrel’s veins. Lambkill shouted, “What was that?” and turned to look in her direction. Kestrel scrambled to her feet and started to run back to her daughter… and then saw the old woman from the village running down the trail with all of her elderly strength. Kestrel’s steps faltered.
You’ll be better off here, Cloud Girl. If Lambkill has no idea that you’re my daughter, you’ll be safe.
Voices muttered in the village on the hilltop. Several more women and two men-ran after the old woman. Moccasins scotched on the gravel as people slipped in the darkness. Lambkill and the men at his camp rose and stared at the forest shadows where Cloud Girl’s sack hung on the dead snag.