“Hunh!” Našobok rumbled, diverted. “Isn’t that Anahli with those older fems?”
Palatan looked over, scowled. “I told Aylaniś she’d do well to keep an eye on our eldest. Anahli’s too precocious, and you well know things are stricter here.”
A’io, Našobok knew. Yet Anahli openly flirted, encouraging the dancer.
“Give her to me,” Našobok entreated. “Just a half of Brother Moon’s journey. I’ll tie her to Ilhukaia’s prow on rough main; if she’s anything like her sire she’ll be sick in two heartbeats and that’ll bend her stiff neck.”
Palatan gave Našobok a sour look. Našobok hid a rather sadistic grin behind a cough as Palatan rose, bodytalk promising dire circumstances for a wayward daughter.
ANAHLI WASN’T used to being bored at any Drum circuit. But thisnow, seated oh-so-proper beside the oških fem a’Naišwyrh? Her body craved movement, her feet twitching to the drums, the beads of her finest moccasins flashing in the last bits of Sun. She was unused to sitting for this long at a stretch.
First it had been the ahlóssa dances. Then the elders. Then the tiniest Dancers—all right, they had been adorable, all garbed in their best. But after that had come more ahlóssa, and a spouse’s turn, and… when were the oških ever going to Dance?
It wasn’t the way it was done in duskLands. But she wasn’t of duskLands in thisnow, was she? Bound of their hearth for a summering. And while her companions certainly seemed willing to wait forever, sitting so patient and prim, Anahli was ready to chuck her finery, strip down, and go find a good, rough game of stickball. Something!
And finally. A low, growling beat she recognised!
Only when she leapt up, ready to join, Čayku grabbed the fringe of Anahli’s leggings, as wide-eyed and insistent as the rest of their cohort of gaily garbed fems: Spear Dance was for oških, a’io, but males only.
Males only? Truly? All right then, gendered rituals held common across thisLand… but. This particular Dance was Anahli’s favourite! At home, anyway.
Obediently, she sat back down, pretending a smooth at the blush-coloured blanket spread between Čayku and another who’d proven a skilled and limber playmate, Bimih.
Sarinak strode into the Circuit’s midst to relinquish his armload of weaponry.
“Fems do such things in duskLands?” Čayku tilted her head.
“Of course they do,” Anahli said, glum, pulling her knees to her chest.
A rash of giggles rose behind her, from the third row of oških fems. These younger ones tailed Čayku and Bimih—and thusly Anahli—hanging on their every word and gesture like foals to a nursing dam. Anahli scowled into her knees. If the males pouring from the weapons den were strutting and preening like woodcocks, the fems had gathered together close as a bunch of broody hens. Those occupying the coveted front row in front of Anahli guarded it like hawkKin. All old enough to openly consort with opposites, they’d left off commenting on the parade of dancers to throw speculative, critical glances Anahli’s way.
Čayku, however, showed no such censure. Her eyes lit with admiration, she leaned closer to Anahli. “You mean you’ve actually Danced the Spear?”
Another shrug; thisSun looked to be longer still if they weren’t to Dance until the males were done.
“Which spear do you mean, Čayku?” This from the eldest in their row, who smiled as her talk inspired another rash of giggles from the younglings behind. Plump and pretty, dressed to display her wealth, her fancy skirts were laid out just so, her beaded boot-tips peeping out to shimmer in the slatting rays of Sun’s setting. Tilting her chin towards an otter-masked oških, she lifted an eyebrow and said, “I fancy his, truth be known.”
“Covered with beads?”
“Sliding belly-down along River?”
More laughter, though the eldest fem didn’t seem amused.
“I fancy both spears on that one,” Anahli riposted, just to hear the little ripple of dismay from the young “hens”. “Tell me, have none of you Danced a weapon?”
“Of course!” Another spoke up, defensive. “But not spears. We use staves.”
Well, that was something, at least.
Anahli spared a longing wish for the past Summerings, where she had been raiding with her sire during First Running, and neither of them required to attend. Only now he was Alekšu. Now they had to attend, and she’d been handed over to her aunt for… “taming”.
“DuskLands’ ways sound intriguing.” Čayku had a sincere grin quirking her lips, which eased Anahli’s heart.
But her words came clipped; she couldn’t help it. “All oških who can wield a spear without accidentally stabbing someone can join duskLand’s Spear Dance.”
“Ai’ye,” Bimih murmured, appreciative. “I think I’d rather be in duskLands.”
“Not me!” another vowed.
“Nor me!”
It was echoed by most of the fems. Unfortunately.
Otter stuck his spear in the ground and leapt up to twirl around it thrice. Anahli whistled encouragement. It drew his attention—and the irritation of the eldest fem.
“Huhn! You’re not old enough to be looking his way despite your bold talk! Just because you’re eldest of Aylaniś horse-chieftain, and new spice to the stew—”
Čayku hissed disapproval. The eldest turned away to flip her unbound, blunt-cut hair over one beaded shoulder, trying to regain Otter’s attention. Anahli slid her eyes sidelong at Čayku and smirked.
But Otter seemed more interested in new spice than familiar wealth. He tossed his spear into the air, twirled twice and caught it, smiling at Anahli all the while. That smile niggled, as did the smoky eyes behind the otterKin half-mask. A common enough hue towards dawnLands, but combined with the smile, Anahli recognised the youth who met her eyes so boldly as she’d first arrived. She returned his smile, raised it by several whistles of appreciation as he turned to answer another male’s challenge.
The fancy fem was fuming. Her playmate glared, made a gesture plain as plain: Crawl back to your cradleboard, little horsetalker, we’ve real business here!
“Anahli,” Bihmi protested,
