People of the Thunder(41)

“A tenth isn’t enough,” Black Tail protested.

Flying Hawk leveled a finger. “Hawk Clan let this thing grow out of control. Perhaps next time your—”

“High Minko!” a warrior cried, bursting through the entrance. The man was out of breath, sweat running down his face. “It’s the Chahta! We’re under attack!”



You are not holding your racquet correctly,” Morning Dew told little Stone. The boy insisted on clutching his racquets the way he would an ax. “Move it forward in your hand like so.” She repositioned the little boy’s hand on the polished handle. Since the day she’d made the winning goal in the great solstice game, he’d taken to staring at her in outright adoration.

At first she hadn’t been sure what to make of that, but how could even the most hardened woman ignore such a look of worship in a boy’s eyes?

“It’s harder to hold,” he insisted after trying a couple of swings.

“That’s because your muscles aren’t used to it.” She smiled down at him. “You must trust me on this. A racquet is a living thing. It must be gripped firmly, but not so tightly that you squeeze the life out of it. Here, let me show you.” She took the racquet from him, showed him how her fingers laced around it, and how it seated in her palm. “There, see? Now, watch. Do you see how by twisting my wrist I can make the hoop turn?” She flicked the racquet this way and that. “The racquet must become part of you, an extension of your arm. It must be flexible, capable of easy control.”

He took the racquet back, trying to mimic her motions.

“That’s the way.”

“Holding it this way is hard.”

“That, my young warrior, is why you must practice. My mother made me hold my racquet for hands of time.” She smiled at him. “I hated her for it. My arms hurt, but you know what?”

“What?”

“There are times in life that you must work steadily, bored the entire time, and with your muscles aching.” She knelt to eye level with him. “What you must always keep in mind is that for that one moment of glory, you must pay with boredom and practice. The harder you work, the more you dedicate yourself, the greater you will be when that final test comes.”

He avoided her eyes, staring stubbornly at his little racquet.

“Stone, you can’t help it. It’s just the way life is. You have been told the stories, how everything worthwhile requires your dedication. To be young is to have souls like butterflies. They want to flit this way and that. It’s hard, at your age, to keep that concentration when so many other things distract you. It’s even hard when you are grown. But to win at stickball, to triumph at the end, you must cling to this one thing. You must believe in yourself and know that you will grow proficient very slowly.”

“I will?”

“You can become the greatest stickball player in the history of your people. But only if you carry your racquet with you at all times. Learn to live with it in your hand. Not today, but within a moon, you will be amazed at how you can outplay your friends. Only after all that time will the rewards become apparent.”

“All right.”

She rose, patted him on the back, and turned to see Heron Wing standing in the doorway. The woman’s eyes were thoughtful, a curious smile on her lips.

Morning Dew looked down at the basket of laundry she had been carrying up from the river. Still wet, it had been heavy. And, yes, perhaps she had looked forward to taking a moment to rest as she talked to the boy.

“Sorry,” she said. “Stone distracted me.”

Heron Wing nodded. “Feel free to distract yourself like that any time you wish.” She glanced after her son, who was trotting out past the pestle and mortar, his racquet clutched diligently as Morning Dew had shown him. “I hope he listens to you. When I tell him things, the words flow out of his ears like water through a hole in a pot.”

“You are his mother.”

Heron Wing shrugged. “And you are his hero.”

“For the moment.”

Heron Wing looked after her son. “I am hoping he will be a good chief for Panther Clan when he becomes a man. He’s a bright child. I think he inherited his father’s cunning, but I hope that I can influence him to use it for our people in better ways.”

“Let us hope he finds your wisdom.” Morning Dew bent, picking up the wash. It had been her first task since leaving the Panther Clan’s Women’s House. For four glorious days she had sat close to the fire and allowed herself the luxury of thinking about the last three moons. Her biggest surprise had been relief that had crept unheralded into her life. In that space of time she had been plummeted from the height of authority and prestige to the depths of despair. She had found a courage she didn’t know she had, and then been rescued, brought here, to this foreign woman’s house. To her surprise, she had realized that she admired Heron Wing.