the
ground. She hurried around the edges of her camp, looking behind rocks and
kicking up the sand, hoping to see white discarded pages or to hear the crackle
of paper beneath her feet, but she found nothing, there was nothing left.
She felt physically assaulted. Anything else she had, her blankets, her
clothes, certainly the maps, could be useful to a thief, but the journal was
worthless to anyone but her.
“Damn you!” she cried in a fury, at no one. The mare snorted and shied away,
splashing into the pool. Shaking, Snake calmed herself, then turned and held out
her hand and walked slowly toward Swift, speaking softly, until the horse let
her take the reins. Snake stroked her.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It’ll be all right, never mind.” She was
speaking as much to herself as to the horse. They were both up to their knees in
the clear, cool water. Snake patted the mare’s shoulder, combing the black mane
with her fingers. Her vision suddenly blurred and she leaned against Swift’s
neck, shaking.
Listening to the strong steady heartbeat and the mare’s quiet breathing,
Snake managed to calm herself. She straightened and waded out of the water. On
the bank, she unstrapped the serpent case, then unsaddled the horse and began to
rub her down with a piece of the torn blanket. She worked with the grimness of
exhaustion. The fancy saddle and bridle, now stained with dust and sweat, could
wait, but Snake would not leave Swift dirty and sweaty while she herself rested.
“Snake-child, healer-child, dear girl—” Snake turned. Grum hobbled toward her,
helping herself along with a gnarled walking stick. One of her grandchildren, a
tall ebony young woman, accompanied her, but all Grum’s grandchildren knew
better than to try to support the tiny, arthritis-bent old woman.
Grum’s white headcloth lay askew on her sparse hair. “Dear child, how could I
let you pass me? I’ll hear her come in, I thought. Or her pony will smell her
and neigh.” Grum’s dark-tanned age-wrinkled face showed extra lines of concern.
“Snake-child, we never wanted you to see this alone.”
“What happened, Grum?”
“Pauli,” Grum said to her granddaughter, “take care of the healer’s horse.”
“Yes, Grum.” When Pauli took the reins, she touched Snake’s arm in a gesture
of comfort. She picked up the saddle and led Swift back toward Grum’s camp.
Holding Snake’s elbow—not for support, but to support her—Grum guided her to a
chunk of rock. They sat down and Snake glanced again around her camp, disbelief
overcoming exhaustion. She looked at Grum.
Grum sighed. “It was yesterday, just before dawn. We heard noises and a
voice, not yours, and when we came to look we could see a single figure, in
desert robes. We thought he was dancing. But when we went closer, he ran away.
He broke his lantern in the sand and we couldn’t find him. We found your camp … ”
Grum shrugged. “We picked up all we could find, but nothing whole was left.”
Snake looked around in silence, no closer to understanding why anyone would
ransack her camp.
“By morning the wind had blown away the tracks,” Grum said. “The creature
must have gone out in the desert, but it was no desert person. We don’t steal.
We don’t destroy.”
“I know, Grum.”
“You come with me. Breakfast. Sleep. Forget the crazy. We all have to watch
for crazies.” She took Snake’s scarred hand in her small, work-hardened one.
“But you shouldn’t have come to this alone. No. I should have seen you,
Snake-child.”
“It’s all right, Grum.”
“Let me help you move to my tents. You don’t want to stay over here anymore.”
“There’s nothing left to move.” Beside Grum, Snake stood staring at the mess.
The old woman patted her hand gently.
“He wrecked everything, Grum. If he’d taken it all I could understand.”
“Dear one, nobody understands crazies. They have no reasons.”
That was exactly
ground. She hurried around the edges of her camp, looking behind rocks and
kicking up the sand, hoping to see white discarded pages or to hear the crackle
of paper beneath her feet, but she found nothing, there was nothing left.
She felt physically assaulted. Anything else she had, her blankets, her
clothes, certainly the maps, could be useful to a thief, but the journal was
worthless to anyone but her.
“Damn you!” she cried in a fury, at no one. The mare snorted and shied away,
splashing into the pool. Shaking, Snake calmed herself, then turned and held out
her hand and walked slowly toward Swift, speaking softly, until the horse let
her take the reins. Snake stroked her.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It’ll be all right, never mind.” She was
speaking as much to herself as to the horse. They were both up to their knees in
the clear, cool water. Snake patted the mare’s shoulder, combing the black mane
with her fingers. Her vision suddenly blurred and she leaned against Swift’s
neck, shaking.
Listening to the strong steady heartbeat and the mare’s quiet breathing,
Snake managed to calm herself. She straightened and waded out of the water. On
the bank, she unstrapped the serpent case, then unsaddled the horse and began to
rub her down with a piece of the torn blanket. She worked with the grimness of
exhaustion. The fancy saddle and bridle, now stained with dust and sweat, could
wait, but Snake would not leave Swift dirty and sweaty while she herself rested.
“Snake-child, healer-child, dear girl—” Snake turned. Grum hobbled toward her,
helping herself along with a gnarled walking stick. One of her grandchildren, a
tall ebony young woman, accompanied her, but all Grum’s grandchildren knew
better than to try to support the tiny, arthritis-bent old woman.
Grum’s white headcloth lay askew on her sparse hair. “Dear child, how could I
let you pass me? I’ll hear her come in, I thought. Or her pony will smell her
and neigh.” Grum’s dark-tanned age-wrinkled face showed extra lines of concern.
“Snake-child, we never wanted you to see this alone.”
“What happened, Grum?”
“Pauli,” Grum said to her granddaughter, “take care of the healer’s horse.”
“Yes, Grum.” When Pauli took the reins, she touched Snake’s arm in a gesture
of comfort. She picked up the saddle and led Swift back toward Grum’s camp.
Holding Snake’s elbow—not for support, but to support her—Grum guided her to a
chunk of rock. They sat down and Snake glanced again around her camp, disbelief
overcoming exhaustion. She looked at Grum.
Grum sighed. “It was yesterday, just before dawn. We heard noises and a
voice, not yours, and when we came to look we could see a single figure, in
desert robes. We thought he was dancing. But when we went closer, he ran away.
He broke his lantern in the sand and we couldn’t find him. We found your camp … ”
Grum shrugged. “We picked up all we could find, but nothing whole was left.”
Snake looked around in silence, no closer to understanding why anyone would
ransack her camp.
“By morning the wind had blown away the tracks,” Grum said. “The creature
must have gone out in the desert, but it was no desert person. We don’t steal.
We don’t destroy.”
“I know, Grum.”
“You come with me. Breakfast. Sleep. Forget the crazy. We all have to watch
for crazies.” She took Snake’s scarred hand in her small, work-hardened one.
“But you shouldn’t have come to this alone. No. I should have seen you,
Snake-child.”
“It’s all right, Grum.”
“Let me help you move to my tents. You don’t want to stay over here anymore.”
“There’s nothing left to move.” Beside Grum, Snake stood staring at the mess.
The old woman patted her hand gently.
“He wrecked everything, Grum. If he’d taken it all I could understand.”
“Dear one, nobody understands crazies. They have no reasons.”
That was exactly
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