Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page B

stories. And I always learn new things when he tells the story again.”
    “Yes, me too.”
    Part of Greyhawk’s warrior training involved memorizing the stories of the greatest warriors who had lived among their people—like Grandfather Halfmoon. Depending upon which clan you belonged to, the stories might be different. Twig had finished her training last summer.
    From now on, the Blue Bear Clan would expect different things of her. She would be expected to begin the path to womanhood, to marry, and have children to increase the clan’s numbers. Twig most wanted to become a healer. Mother had been teaching her about Spirit plants, and she was good at making poultices and brewing healing teas.
    Greyhawk said, “Did you know that after your grandfather stole Cobia, he was chased by a hundred warriors and had to fight them off by himself? It was a miracle he lived.”
    Twig looked over at Greyhawk. Black hair flapped around his face as they ran. He carried his spear—as long as he was tall—in his left hand and had his atlatl tied to his belt. An atlatl was a throwing stick about as long as the thrower’s forearm. When a warrior inserted the hollow
end of his spear into the hook on the atlatl and cast, his spear flew much farther.
    Twig said, “I’ve never heard that part of the story.”
    “Of course not,” he said with his chin up. “They only teach it to boys from the Smoky Shrew Clan. It’s part of our secret training. Your grandfather came in to tell us how he did it. He almost died before he slithered into an ice tunnel on his belly and lost them. He had to stay there for four days, and Cobia shrieked the entire time.”
    Twig frowned. “If it’s a secret, why did you tell me?”
    “You’re my best friend. If I can’t tell you, who can I tell? You won’t tell anyone else, will you?”
    “Of course not,” she said indignantly.
    They swerved in front of the big rocky ridge—really a massive boulder pile filled with sand and dirt—that encircled the eastern half of the village. When they got to the far end of the ridge, Twig saw Grandfather sitting in front of his lodge, talking with the village war chief, Puffer. Puffer was tall and muscular for a woman. She’d seen twenty-eight summers and had short black hair, cut in mourning for a friend she’d lost one moon ago in a battle with the evil Thornback People. She was of Greyhawk’s Smoky Shrew clan, and her bravery was legendary. In her hand, Puffer carried her atlatl. Red, black, and white designs encircled the shaft.
    “Let’s stand here and wait until they’re finished talking,” Twig said.
    Greyhawk nodded. “They could be making life-or-death plans for our village.”
    When they stopped, Yipper turned to look at them, wondering what they were doing; then he trotted back and sat on his haunches beside Greyhawk. His black fur shone today, as though coated with flakes of gold.
    Sitting beside Puffer, Grandfather Halfmoon looked very old and frail. He had seen fifty-eight summers. Deep scars cut grooves across his forehead and cheeks, and his eyes had started to turn white, as though the winter snow collected in them and never melted. His graying black hair hung over his shoulder in a long braid.
    Grandfather was placing rocks on the ground, saying, “This is where Starhorse Village was, and Sunhawk Village is over here. Farther up the trail, you’ll come to Oakbeam Village. The trail you want”—he drew a line in the dirt with his finger—“runs past Oakbeam Village and down into a narrow ice canyon that the local villagers call Hoarfrost Canyon.”
    Puffer nodded. “The entry to her cave is at the end of the canyon, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, but I doubt you will see her. She’ll see you before you arrive, and be long gone. She knows that honeycomb of ice tunnels better than the lines on her own palm.”
    Puffer exhaled hard. “Probably, Elder, but we need Cobia’s help to defeat the Thornback raiders. If we can just get her to dream