Owlknight

begin a conversation, and grateful that they had all learned the Snow Fox dialect via dyheli before they left k’Valdemar.

“Not far,” the young man told her; he couldn’t be much older than Hywel, and was possibly younger. “We are within the range of our sentries now,” he added. And that was a curious addition, or so it seemed to Keisha. Why should that matter to her?

Unless he is reassuring me that no one can move upon his village without warning, she thought soberly. Like a war party from this Wolverine tribe, perhaps?

Their journey had brought them right up to the foot of the mountains, and soon it was evident that they were about to enter a kind of side valley, a cleft with steep cliffs on either side and a small, clear stream meandering along the base of the cliff on the left. If the village had not originally been situated with defense in mind, the setting certainly provided as much shelter as if protection had been a major consideration from the beginning.

Defensive cliffs, a water supply - the only thing they would lack if they came under siege would be food, and if they’ve stored enough, they might be all right.

“This is our valley,” the young hunter said proudly. “It has been the home of our tribe from the time of my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather. The Snow Fox himself led us here, as the Snow Fox told our Shaman to send our sick to Ghost Cat, and then led our sick ones on the journey.”

Ah? They didn’t say anything about that back at the Sanctuary. But then again - they might assume we already knew something of the sort must have happened in order for them to find us at all. It seemed that the tribal spirits of these northerners took a very paternal (or was it maternal?) interest in their titular tribes.

:And the other deities of you humans do not?: came the impudent query from her dyheli.

:Other deities have a great many more people to Oversee, and rarely go so far as to personally lead their followers to help or safety,: she pointed out wryly. :Perhaps it is easier when your worshipers number less than a hundred to intervene directly in their lives.:

“I am called Bendan,” the hunter continued diffidently, looking up at her, but not meeting her eyes directly. “May I know your name, Wisewoman?”

Hywel had found a way to get the tribesmen to grant both Keisha and Shandi better status than “merely female.” Keisha was always introduced as the Wisewoman, and Shandi as something that translated as “woman whose soul is a man.” Apparently there were a few female warriors in the history of the tribes, and they’d had to come up with a category to fit them into. “Man-souled women” who passed the boys’ initiation trials could become hunters and warriors, but they sacrificed the traditional role of “wife and mother” in order to attain that status. They were considered neither male nor female - rather like the Shin’a’in Sword-Sworn, in a way.

At any rate, that was Shandi’s role, and she went along with it, since taking on that persona at least allowed her to sit at the Men’s Fire with the rest of the party, and not suffer a lonely exile to the company of the clan’s women.

It said something for the status of Wisewoman that Bendan gave Keisha his name. A “mere woman” would have had to learn it obliquely, by overhearing it or learning it from one of her friends, for he would never have addressed her directly if she had not had that rank.

“I am called Keisha,” she said. “Has Snow Fox a Wisewoman of their own, or does the Shaman conduct all healing?”

“We have only the Shaman, and he has no healing magic - that is why the Snow Fox sent to us to take our sick into the south,” Bendan said eagerly. “Have you been sent by the Fox to teach our Shaman in the ways of southern healing?”

:Boy’s a quick one, isn’t he?: chuckled the dyheli.

“I have; your people reached us safely, as you know, and I came in answer to your need,” she replied solemnly, taking the question as the gift it was. “That we bear trade goods is as a protection, so that others will not interfere with our passage.”

“It is wise - though I do not think it would avail you with Wolverine,” he replied, then shrugged and changed the subject, trotting along at her stirrup with no sign of effort. “We have some sick still with us; too ill to travel. I hope you will be able to help them.”

“I hope so, too,” she said sincerely.

When they reached the village, it was apparent that this was a permanent enclave, unlike some of the other hunting camps they had visited. Here were the familiar log houses, decorated and carved, roofed with slabs of bark; the characteristic poles stood prominently before each house with totemic animals and spirit representations carved into them. Even more than at Ghost Cat, there were piecework blankets on display, made of felted and dyed fur, and the costumes of the inhabitants were covered with embroideries made with tufts of dyed fur.

It was clear that this was a prosperous tribe; it was also clear that the invisible sentries had already alerted