Coaxing her nigh to the circle he was preparing for Fire’s dwelling, he made talk with her, rubbing a chalk-dusted thumb upon her wide forehead, promising no ties or hobbles in case she had to defend herself. She shared his breath and lipped his hair, understanding. Content.
But as he turned away she pinned her ears and rolled air through her nostrils. He heard it, too: a low sough echoing from a distant ridge. A bark followed after, farther away. Našobok muttered an inventive curse. He’d hoped to be on the move during thisdark’s passage, not tethered in one spot asking to be eaten.
At least there was enough dead, dry brush to make a fair blaze. Fire crackling new and hungry beside them, Našobok gathered more fuel, scanning the cliffs and angles of the wash. He didn’t wander far and, upon returning, thrust his longspear close to hand in the sand, double-checked his knives, and made sure of his pack of necessities: water, food, and the pipe and bag of leaf he was never without. Digging into the latter, he took out a pinch and tossed the leaf into the tiny breath Wind blew across his cheeks: an offering, a plea, any help would be welcomed. Then he let out a snort at the vagaries of his kind. Mere tiny motes striding Grandmother’s broad belly, ever-insistent upon the coercion of hope. As if any Spirit, Elemental or otherwise, would consider varying a long-charted course to heed the plea of one outcast Riverwalker.
Yet…
He peered at Tokela, stretched out and hopefully senseless.
Something had varied its course towards this oških, heeded his fate. Had done, in truth, from their beginnings, claiming some and passing others by, an infrequent Dance forbidden and all but forgotten. And to what purpose?
Ai, but Našobok was full of questions, ones not his to ask nor tell. It wouldn’t help them now. Nothing could help, not some vagary called fate by outLanders, not all the forbidden puissance seething within Tokela’s overwhelmed Spirit, not an absent oathbrother…
It wasn’t the first time Našobok had wondered: should they be heading to dawnLands, to Palatan? Could he help?
But Palatan had left Tokela there, in dawnLands where to hold a co-tenant was to court banishment. And Aylaniś, despite her promise to stay until Palatan had returned, had packed up and gone, with only the flattened-dry circle of grass where their tipo had been.
It made no sense. What had happened? When Našobok had petitioned his former Clan for answers, they’d told him nothing other than Tokela had been sent away with Galenu. But he could guess at some of it.
Either way, Chepiś were after them. After Tokela. And Našobok hadn’t the right to lead any outLanders into duskLands and the sacred—secret—heart of Grandmother.
No choice, thisnow, but to head back duskwards. Perhaps Tokela, without River’s grace, lay more vulnerable to this uncanny Star hold.
Našobok knelt and breathed across Tokela’s forehead.
“Ai, Star Eyes.” The intimacy barely stirred Tokela’s thick, dark hair. “You spoke true. This is not good.”
IT WAS good to retreat inwards when Frost Moons began to display a bite; even better to sit about the hearth, blow Smoke and hear the old storyKeepers lead the old Songs. But it was just as good to ride and greet dawn across the baking warmth of open plateaus. Beyond good to feel Wind’s full force, and the lurch and slide of muscles between his thighs. Bliss, to revel in the shared strength and communion between four- and two-legged—horsetalker—to hunt and howl and lean against warm hide and roll naked in the grass. To ride beneath Sky’s great basket, beneath the light of Moons and Stars spilled from that basket into endless ebon and indigo.
To wander.
For wandering season was upon them. Even now the gathered People of the Horse were moving from the caverns and out over the wide grazing plains. Palatan loved the deep, volcanic caverns, revered them for their legacy and their protection of all firstPeople, but he craved open territory with every fibre of his heart. Wandering first alone, then with a playmate who had, over turnings, become lovemate then oathbrother, then with his chieftain who had become his spouse…
And now, with a daughter.
None of the children you sire upon your spouse will quicken to an Elemental’s call.
Yet now Anahli rode beside him, her face into Wind and her heart flying with Ša’s breath.
This trip was yet another transformation. They’d barely moved onto the plains down from their caverns before Palatan had headed dawnwards. Into midLands, where Aylaniś said they’d sent Tokela.
Anahli, barely from her Breaking into owlClan, had insisted they go.
The turnabout was still difficult. No matter the assurances of She Who Guarded the Deep Places, to bring one touched with Other into Her heart…
Anahli drew rein. Her mount crabstepped, uneasy beneath her rider’s sudden tension, and blew a challenge into Wind’s breath.
Palatan, brow quirking, did likewise. “What is it?” Getting used to a new co-tenant often held more challenge than refuge. Wind, more than most, bided rootless and edgy. It took some strength of will to resist Ša’s instincts.
“I don’t know.” Anahli shook her head—to clear her vision, no doubt, and thumped at her chest. Here. I am here.
“A predator, perhaps. Scented upon Wind’s breath.” Palatan’s suggestion was soft, asking.
At their heels, three fleethounds peered upwards, gazes quizzical. Their leader, Arrow, lay down, willing to the wait. Between Palatan’s hide-wrapped knees, his chestnut mare pricked her ears, searching for what had claimed her pasture-mate’s attention.
“Predators,” Anahli answered, slow. Her eyes gleamed, not merely co-tenanted, not merely darksight, but also the faintest and eeriest whiff of Starlight. Tokela
