practicing with the other warriors.
People crowded the edges of the field, their eyes alight, hissing when the calls went against them, cheering when their clan won. They watched Wink pass, but no one dared to speak with her.
As she strode past the huge cooking pots that smelled of opossum and fresh spring herbs, her empty stomach knotted. She had not been eating well, or sleeping well, for that matter—and there was no relief in sight … .
Cheers went up, and from the corner of her eye she saw the chunkey stone, round and about the width of her hand, rolling like the wind for the far end of the field. Warriors raced after it. When they hit the casting line, they launched their spears.
Clearwing made a deep-throated sound of excitement, and Wink stopped long enough to allow him to see who scored. Water Hickory Clan played against Shadow Rock Clan today. Whoever hit the stone earned two points. Whoever’s spear landed closest to the stone earned one point. If this were a real chunkey game, the opposing teams would be playing for a deadly serious reason, perhaps to break a tie vote in the Council of Elders, which would determine whether or not they went to war or established a new alliance with an enemy nation.
Clearwing hissed and waved a hand when Water Hickory Clan scored the point.
Wink said, “They always have superior players.”
“That’s because they practice constantly, Matron. We are too busy planting and harvesting our fields to keep our skills honed.” He was a medium-sized man with a square face and dark serious eyes. He wore a red knee-length warshirt.
“Yes,” she replied absently, and continued toward Feather Dancer’s mound. “Regrettable.” Her thoughts were on other things—things no one but she and Feather Dancer knew.
To the north, in front of her, stood the War Chief’s Mound. Over the past three winters they’d undertaken several mound-building projects, both here and elsewhere in Black Falcon country, that would have been impossible before Sora’s marriage to Rockfish. The wealth generated by that Trade relationship had given them stunning new abilities. As they raised mounds so that Grandmother Earth could touch fingertips with her daughter, Mother Sun, their lives improved dramatically. It was as though the gods saw and approved. The bright fabrics, elaborate copper and silver jewelry, and glittering shell beads were testaments to a time of riches beyond anyone’s belief.
It also made them targets. Every greedy nation on earth wanted some of their wealth—that was the essence of the dispute with the Loon Nation over the gathering grounds.
As she marched up the steps of the War Chief’s Mound, her green dress blew around her legs, revealing the flashing copper anklets she wore.
She stepped off onto the mound top, and Feather Dancer ducked beneath his door curtain and bowed to her. Small in comparison to the other elite buildings in Blackbird Town, the War Chief’s House was fifteen paces square and constructed of massive upright cypress logs. The roof soared four times the height of a man.
“War Chief,” she greeted, “is everything ready?”
“Yes, Matron.” But his wary eyes scanned the mound and the plaza below.
Wink turned to Clearwing. “Warrior, while I am here, the war chief will guard me. I have another duty for you.”
Clearwing blinked as though confused; he generally stood right outside Feather Dancer’s door, but he said, “Yes, Matron?”
“Find Tern. Tell her I wish to speak with her tonight, then return as soon as you can.”
“Tern? Elder Bittern’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Matron.” He trotted away.
Feather Dancer held the door curtain aside for her, and she ducked into the dim firelit house. The elderly man on the far side rose to his feet and dipped his head to acknowledge her. At least fifty winters old, he had a full head of dark gray hair and a deeply wrinkled face.
She nodded in response, but waited for Feather
People crowded the edges of the field, their eyes alight, hissing when the calls went against them, cheering when their clan won. They watched Wink pass, but no one dared to speak with her.
As she strode past the huge cooking pots that smelled of opossum and fresh spring herbs, her empty stomach knotted. She had not been eating well, or sleeping well, for that matter—and there was no relief in sight … .
Cheers went up, and from the corner of her eye she saw the chunkey stone, round and about the width of her hand, rolling like the wind for the far end of the field. Warriors raced after it. When they hit the casting line, they launched their spears.
Clearwing made a deep-throated sound of excitement, and Wink stopped long enough to allow him to see who scored. Water Hickory Clan played against Shadow Rock Clan today. Whoever hit the stone earned two points. Whoever’s spear landed closest to the stone earned one point. If this were a real chunkey game, the opposing teams would be playing for a deadly serious reason, perhaps to break a tie vote in the Council of Elders, which would determine whether or not they went to war or established a new alliance with an enemy nation.
Clearwing hissed and waved a hand when Water Hickory Clan scored the point.
Wink said, “They always have superior players.”
“That’s because they practice constantly, Matron. We are too busy planting and harvesting our fields to keep our skills honed.” He was a medium-sized man with a square face and dark serious eyes. He wore a red knee-length warshirt.
“Yes,” she replied absently, and continued toward Feather Dancer’s mound. “Regrettable.” Her thoughts were on other things—things no one but she and Feather Dancer knew.
To the north, in front of her, stood the War Chief’s Mound. Over the past three winters they’d undertaken several mound-building projects, both here and elsewhere in Black Falcon country, that would have been impossible before Sora’s marriage to Rockfish. The wealth generated by that Trade relationship had given them stunning new abilities. As they raised mounds so that Grandmother Earth could touch fingertips with her daughter, Mother Sun, their lives improved dramatically. It was as though the gods saw and approved. The bright fabrics, elaborate copper and silver jewelry, and glittering shell beads were testaments to a time of riches beyond anyone’s belief.
It also made them targets. Every greedy nation on earth wanted some of their wealth—that was the essence of the dispute with the Loon Nation over the gathering grounds.
As she marched up the steps of the War Chief’s Mound, her green dress blew around her legs, revealing the flashing copper anklets she wore.
She stepped off onto the mound top, and Feather Dancer ducked beneath his door curtain and bowed to her. Small in comparison to the other elite buildings in Blackbird Town, the War Chief’s House was fifteen paces square and constructed of massive upright cypress logs. The roof soared four times the height of a man.
“War Chief,” she greeted, “is everything ready?”
“Yes, Matron.” But his wary eyes scanned the mound and the plaza below.
Wink turned to Clearwing. “Warrior, while I am here, the war chief will guard me. I have another duty for you.”
Clearwing blinked as though confused; he generally stood right outside Feather Dancer’s door, but he said, “Yes, Matron?”
“Find Tern. Tell her I wish to speak with her tonight, then return as soon as you can.”
“Tern? Elder Bittern’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Matron.” He trotted away.
Feather Dancer held the door curtain aside for her, and she ducked into the dim firelit house. The elderly man on the far side rose to his feet and dipped his head to acknowledge her. At least fifty winters old, he had a full head of dark gray hair and a deeply wrinkled face.
She nodded in response, but waited for Feather
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