Sindak took a moment to pull his water bag from his belt. As he drank, he studied the line of people. Koracoo and Cord led the way, followed by the children, then Wakdanek, then Gonda. He handed his water bag to Towa.
Towa took a long drink and handed it back. He squinted at the blowing ash. “You’re right. The ash is going to make tracking very difficult. And our chances are dropping by the instant.”
Sindak irritably jerked the bag’s laces closed again and retied it to his belt. “It doesn’t help that we’ve just clasped two snakes to our bosoms and are almost certain to be killed by them in our sleep.” He tipped his chin to Cord and Wakdanek.
“Yes, I’m surprised we haven’t been shot in the backs yet.”
“Give it time.”
Towa nodded. “I just hope they don’t cut us apart and leave the chunks scattered through the forest. If they do, our families will never find our bodies, and our souls will be doomed to wander the earth forever as homeless ghosts.”
“You mean because no one will requicken our souls in new bodies?”
“Not if your grandmother has her way. She—”
Sindak broke in. “You are not cheering me up.”
“Sorry. I’m in a bad mood. I’ve spent all morning planning my funeral.”
“Ah. You’ve been thinking of Chief Atotarho and his secret orders.”
“Of course.”
If they failed in their duty, Atotarho would make certain they were disgraced, perhaps even killed.
“Am I invited?” Sindak asked.
“What?”
“To your funeral?”
“I don’t think you’ll be around to attend. If I know your clan matron, she’ll demand the right to sacrifice you first; then she’ll give your heart to Puksu as a gift.”
Sindak grimaced. “Impossible. Puksu ate that while we were married.”
“Then maybe your brain, as an apology.”
Sindak’s mouth quirked. He stared at his friend. “You are in a bad mood.”
“Well, you know I’m right. Matron Tila has never liked you.”
“True. Even as a boy, the old witch used to hunt me down and force me to wash her bedding hides.”
“Her bedding hides? That’s odd. Why would she do that?”
“I used to urinate on them when she wasn’t looking. I didn’t like her either.”
Towa squinted at the flame-colored ball that seemed half buried in the murky sky. “We should catch up.”
Towa trotted away, and Sindak fell into line behind him. They passed through the white cedars and emerged into a grove of enormous chestnuts and white pines. As Elder Brother Sun rose higher, wan sunlight fell through the branches and warmed the frosty ground. Where it touched, steam rose. Throughout the forest thin misty streamers coiled into the cold morning air.
When Gonda heard their steps, he turned around to give them a threatening glare. “I thought perhaps you’d been captured by Dawnland refugees.”
“Were you coming to look for us?” Sindak asked.
“No,” Gonda answered. “I figured it was your own fault for falling behind.”
Sindak smiled. “I’ll remember that if you’re ever captured.”
“If I’m ever captured, it will be in a fight where I was outnumbered ten to one, not because I was a dimwit.”
War Chief Cord propped his hands on his hips and studied them through narrowed eyes before he said, “Our fire was on the far eastern side of the camp last night, on the river. Where did you find the children?”
Koracoo aimed her war club. “There. On that deer trail that runs back through the trees to the west.” She must have gotten hot on the run. She’d rolled her cape and tied it around her waist. Her knee-length war shirt clung to her body like a second skin. Sindak’s gaze traced the line of her full breasts, down around the curve of her hip, and followed one long muscular leg.
Gonda asked, “Do you value those eyes, Sindak?”
He started to respond, but Koracoo ordered, “Let’s move out.”
They marched ahead in silence, being vigilant. Last night the laughter and singing of warriors had filled the air. This morning the sound of grieving people rode the wind.
Koracoo called, “Wakdanek? You might want to trot ahead to prepare your people for our arrival.”
The big Healer trotted past her and vanished into the trees.
Koracoo gave him a short head start, then followed, leading them out to the edge of the clearing that marked the boundaries of the camp. “Let’s wait here.”
The party halted.
The ash-covered frosty ground was littered with crushed pots, torn baskets, and the refuse cast off by warriors glutted with victory. Several Dawnland survivors moved through the chaos, collecting old blankets, threadbare capes, seedbead bracelets, cracked wooden cups, and other things of small value. Things that had undoubtedly been replaced during the looting of Bog Willow Village. Wakdanek stood talking with an old man in the center of the camp. The elder propped himself up with a walking stick and threw hateful glances at their party.