“Cornsilk!” Leafhopper cried as she threw her arms around her. “You were leaving without saying good-bye?”
“I’ll only be gone for a short time, Leafhopper.”
“I know, but I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Try to stay out of trouble.”
“I will … if you’ll promise not to let any raiders catch you.”
Cornsilk forced a smile, remembering what her mother had said about her being a prize or a target. “I won’t. I promise.”
Brave Boy grabbed Cornsilk around the leg and squeezed. “Goodbye, Cornsilk.”
She brushed tangled hair away from his round face and smiled at him. “Try to be good, all right?”
He looked up with wide eyes. “I will. And I won’t play hoop-and-stick with anyone else while you are gone!”
“I will miss you, Brave Boy.”
He grinned, said, “Good-bye, Cornsilk,” and raced away toward the village.
Leafhopper reached out to touch Cornsilk’s arm. “Come home soon.”
“I will, Leafhopper.” Cornsilk indicated the watching people with a jerk of her head. “No matter what they think about me being a witch, that’s not why I’m leaving.”
“I know,” Leafhopper said in a disbelieving voice. Then she backed away, turned, and ran for the plaza. Cornsilk watched until her friend disappeared through the gate.
“Ready?” her mother asked.
Cornsilk nodded and turned away.
Thistle held Cornsilk’s hand tightly for the rest of the walk. Fledgling and Beargrass were standing where the trail led off toward Deer Bird and Standing Gourd’s villages. From the looks of it, they’d been having a father–son talk. Fledgling clenched his fists nervously as they neared. Wind tousled the hem of his tan-and-brown cape. His brows, usually arched with mirth or curiosity, were drawn down above his pug nose.
Her father smiled. “Are you ready, Cornsilk?”
“Yes, F-father. Don’t worry about us.” When the word “father” stuck in her throat, Beargrass frowned.
He leaned down, cupped her chin with his hand, and looked at her with love in his eyes. “I’ll worry every instant you’re away. Protect yourself for me.”
Cornsilk hugged him hard. “I will, Father. You and Mother take care of each other for us, too.”
“We will.”
Her father patted Cornsilk’s back, rose, and cocked his head at Fledgling. Her brother looked miserable. He fumbled with the quiver over his shoulder, then ran his hand down the smooth wood of the bow tied to his belt. Tears filled his eyes.
Cornsilk winked at him. They had planned well. They would run straight past the fork in the road and head for the rock shelters that hollowed out the cliffs a half day’s walk to the south. They had camped there with their parents last summer, and knew it to be a beautiful place. A cool spring bubbled up from the sandstone, and fragrant juniper trees blocked Wind Baby’s evil antics.
“Come on,” she called to Fledgling. “I’ll race you to the split in the road!”
Cornsilk took off like a fleet-footed antelope, dust puffing beneath her sandals. She ran with all her heart, ran until the ache in her breast was overwhelmed by the panting of her air-starved lungs.
Fledgling pounded behind her, but she could hear him crying.
They turned around only once, on the crest of the hill, to wave to their parents. Then they sped down the other side toward the juniper grove that marked the split in the road.
* * *
Beargrass put his arm around Thistle. As though his attempt at comfort brought pain, she wept, but her eyes never left the horizon.
Tiny clouds of dust sprouted from the opposite side of the hill. Thistle’s gaze clung to each one. In the crystal blue sky above, two golden eagles soared, their wings glinting in the sunlight. Beyond rose the cliffs of Little Runt Canyon. At this time of day, shades of mauve, violet, and deep red glimmered. Ghosts Danced there, whirling and shaking human fingerbone rattles.
Beargrass rubbed his chin over Thistle’s dark hair. “It’s all right. While you fed them, I spoke with Stone Forehead. He’ll check on both of them tomorrow on his way to Talon Town. If anything is wrong, if they got lost or hurt, he’s promised to let us know.”
Thistle slipped arms around his waist and embraced him. “I thank the blessed thlatsinas for you. Did you know that? Every day of my life.”
Twelve
The scent of death permeated the air, coiling through Crow Beard’s room as if alive.
Bone weary, Ironwood leaned his shoulder against the clay-washed wall of the Chief’s chamber and closed his eyes. Just the illusion of sleep helped. His taut muscles relaxed, and he could finally pull a deep breath into his lungs. His buffalo cape warmed his torso, but his long black shirt and leggings couldn’t block the cold.