“I keep telling you, I’m not a matron.” Heron Wing sat up, Green Snake shifting beside her.
The Seeker crouched in the darkness. “It’s one of the curses of old age. I sometimes awaken early.”
“I hope we didn’t disturb you last night.”
She heard his hoarse laughter. “Nothing that memories . . . and a loathing envy for a lost youth can’t cope with.”
She pulled the blanket back, standing in the cold air. She found her dress and pulled it over her head, belting it at the waist.
“Is it morning?” Green Snake asked muzzily.
“You sleep. You had a busy night.”
She could see his teeth in the darkness, smile beaming.
“Thank you, Seeker,” she said as she stepped to the door hanging and looked out into the predawn gloom. Seeing no one, she slipped along the wall, rounded the corner of the house, and followed her way quickly through the maze of Skunk Clan houses. She forced herself to keep from breaking into a run as she hurried along the northern margins of the plaza, aware that others were already about. If she met someone, what did she say? Clan business? Not coming from the direction of Old Camp Moiety grounds. That wouldn’t do.
She passed the empty squares and cut across to her house where it stood just east of the Great Mound. Passing the mortar and her tattered ramada, she ducked into her doorway and sighed with relief.
Gods, what would have happened if I had slept the morning away? “Bless you, Seeker.”
She sighed, walked to the fire, and used a stick to fish for coals. After pushing them into a pile atop the ash, she went to the box of kindling by the door for tinder. Within moments a thin filament of smoke was replaced by a tiny dancing flame. One by one, she fed sticks until she had a fair blaze. Only then did she retreat to her sleeping bench and pull her dress over her head.
Her gaze was drawn to the back room: She could almost feel the presence of the White Arrow medicine box. The thing was going to weigh on her until Green Snake managed to send it to Great Cougar; but how on earth was he going to manage that? She shivered at the thought of the thing’s Power.
“Gods, and you slept here?” she asked, turning to Morning Dew’s bed. She blinked, rubbing her eyes. The blankets lay flat.
Heron Wing stood, stepping around to see that the woman’s bed was empty. “Morning Dew?”
Silence.
She stepped back, seating herself on her bed, staring across the room. Morning Dew had gone, too? Had the Power of the box driven her out?
Or, did she, too, have a man that she had gone sneaking off to? “No, she would have told me.”
At that moment, a dark shape filled her door. An angry Smoke Shield burst into the room. He stopped short, seeing her sitting naked on her bed. His hands kept curling into fists, the muscles in his arms bulging and swelling.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, a sudden fear rising in her breast.
“So, it is not you.”
She grabbed up her blanket, wrapping it around her body. “What are you talking about?”
“One of my wives is betraying me. The Prophet told me.” Then he marched to the back room. As he did, her heart tripped in her breast.
“What are you . . . ?” The words died in her throat. She felt faint. He would see the medicine box, know immediately what it was.
She should have run after him, sought to distract him. Instead she sat, frozen in horror. He was tossing things about. A ceramic jar shattered in a hollow pop, and then he came storming out, a thunderous darkness on his face. He stopped, bouncing on his toes. “Where is the box?”
“What . . . box?”
“The White Arrow war medicine. Where is it?”
“I don’t—” His hard slap snapped her head back.
“The Prophet said it was brought here!”
Heart hammering, she glared up at him. “Do you really think I would have foreign war medicine in my house? It’s men’s Power, you fool!”
His next blow shot yellow light behind her eyes and knocked her sideways. She blinked, vision spinning. Her fingers clutched desperately at the blankets.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tear the house apart if you wish. I have nothing of yours.”
He stood, trembling with rage, his nostrils flaring. The twilight cast a black shadow down the deep scar on his head. “Violet Bead,” he muttered. “It must be Violet Bead.” In his violent haste to leave, his shoulder hit the door frame hard enough to shake her entire house.
Heron Wing lay panting, heart pounding. She wet her lips, tightening her fingers in the coarse weave of the blanket.
The Prophet told him.
Her gaze fastened on the doorway leading to the rear. She’d seen Green Snake walk through that door, heard him as he found a place for the medicine box.