“Ooh… Ai…!” Kuli kept protesting—and giggling. “Let… me… up!”
“He did say up?” Našobok asked, and Palatan smirked again, shrugged.
“Several times, by my counting.”
Kuli shrieked as Našobok swung him around once and tossed him into the air, caught him and set him up on one shoulder. More passersby than not were adding their own laughter to Kuli’s—and those who tried to quell their response to an outlier’s antics seemed hard-pressed to decide how they should respond, considering whom that outlier walked beside.
Not that it mattered. Kuli rocked sideways, barely holding on, convulsed with giggles. Palatan laughed his own content.
The drums had changed their message from background rhythm to open invitation. Shouts issued from the valley clearing—the first of many stickball games—and Dancing would start, soon, on the wide adjacent field up past the Drum-heights. The smell of roasting meats, thick šinc’teh stew, and assorted breads wafted across the Bowl, enough to edge any hunger. Including Našobok’s; his stomach let out a loud growl.
This, of course, sent Kuli into further hilarity.
“We’d better feed you, or at this rate you’ll disrupt the drums.” Palatan stretched up to tug at his son’s coppery braidlock, then let his hand fall to Našobok’s shoulder. “Aylaniś is with Inhya. She told me—and I bring talk straight from her tongue—whilst they have their hen gather I’m to make sure you’re decently fed before we begin our cock gather. Says you’ll need your strength to ogle the dancers.”
“Cock gather.” Našobok slid dancing, storm-hued eyes towards Palatan. “Our lovemate knows me too well.”
“I want to be in on the cock gather!” Kuli announced.
Palatan’s chuckle turned to a snort.
“Your son,” Našobok pointed out with a wide grin.
“What’s so funny?” Kuli demanded, settling down upon Našobok’s broad shoulders. “Can I have Madoc come along? I was looking for him. You’re so tall, Uncle, and I can see so well from up here, I’m sure I’ll find him… Madoc!” he suddenly bellowed. “Over here!”
Našobok winced, put a finger in the ear closest to Kuli and wiggled it. “Upon the Sunrise this one’s voice breaks, I’ll blood myself in gratitude.”
Palatan wanted nothing more than to hug Našobok senseless—just on the strength of how much Našobok could make him laugh.
It hadn’t exactly been a summering to encourage good humour. He had wrested Alekšu’s horns from Chogah, but new fetters always fused such triumphs with as much rue as honey. The far-flung wandering of grazing time gave some recompense; there, he could be merely his spouse’s mate, tyah and raid leader. And thisnow, this heartbeat, shared in tandem with one who knew so intimately the sound of that heart, where and why and how…
“I’ve missed you, oathbrother,” he said, sharp-soft as an arrow tickled to string, and Našobok flushed—flushed!—and slid another look Palatan’s way, half mast and explicit as his own.
“Madoc!” Kuli shrilled again. This time they both winced.
Madoc was heading their way, but as Kuli summoned him, he seemed to hesitate. Palatan didn’t give him the chance, striding over and laying one arm about his shoulders. Disarmed, Madoc grinned and let himself be pulled closer.
“He’ll be taller than I am before long, Ai, Našobok?”
“He will. You’ll be a great, proud a’Naišwyrh like your sire, Madoc. I can’t believe the size of you—has it been so long?” Našobok reached out, gave a rough tousle to Madoc’s curls. The ahlóssa stiffened, but flashed a smile as Palatan snugged him closer.
“Are you hungry, nephew? Come, share your meal with us.”
“I’m so very hungry,” Kuli announced, shifting as if there were crawlers in his clout. “Maybe we’ll find Anahli at the cooking dens. Or Tokela. He eats more than even Madoc does.”
Našobok winced again—the result, no doubt, of those narrow butt bones digging into his shoulder.
“Not more than you, greedy gut,” Madoc riposted. “I don’t know where you put it.”
“I have a hollow leg,” Kuli replied with a wave of one hand. “Aunt Inhya says.”
With a guffaw, Našobok treated Madoc to a wink and smirk. Madoc nearly returned it; instead the ahlóssa flushed and looked away. Našobok seemed to shrug it off, but Palatan slid Madoc a taut, thoughtful gaze.
“Speaking of Tokela, could you believe the cheek of Galenu? As if your sister would even consider…” Našobok trailed off as Palatan gave a barely perceptible jerk of chin towards the youngsters.
There is much to consider, and not only Galenu, Palatan signed, with quick fingers, out of sight. Though the old khatak is clever and quick enough to find advantage in any uproar.
Clever is not going to stop a rotted thing, Našobok answered.
Speaking of clever—Madoc was eyeing them a little too close for circumspect talk. Palatan started to speak, but Našobok beat him to it.
“I would like to see Anahli.” Sudden uncertainty quivered Našobok’s deep voice; Palatan heard it, thin as well-spun thread. Since she had become oških, Anahli had spurned the uncle she had once adored. None of them could get to the meaning of it. Palatan had his own suspicions, ending and beginning with Chogah.
“No doubts she’s with her own,” Našobok continued, “having a grand First Running. No use for male company, eh? But Tokela—” He grimaced as Kuli shifted again, shrugged, then swung Kuli to hang upside down. Kuli gave a shriek of pretend dismay; Našobok continued with hardly a hitch, “I figured he would surely be with you, Madoc.”
Within the circle of Palatan’s arm, Madoc peered, stolid, at Našobok. When Našobok merely peered back, Madoc flushed again. It seemed almost… angry.
It seemed like his sire.
“He’s always walking along River,” Kuli put in, still giggling despite the strain of his heels being higher than his head. “Sometimes he lets us walk with him. He tells the best stories, Yeka! I’ll bet if we should go out the compound we’d find him… Uncle! Let me back up and I’ll look for him.”
“Then keep your bony haunches still,” Palatan advised. “Squirmy ahlóssa will end up thrown—and who can blame the horse?”
Našobok chuckled and swung Kuli back up—on the opposite shoulder,
