People of the Mist by W. Michael Gear Page A

that.
                 “Very
well, let’s go!” Nine Killer called out, and thrust his bow toward the palisade
gate. “You know what to look for. She’s probably just wandered off to be alone,
but don’t take chances. Ignore nothing suspicious.”
                 His
warriors trotted out sharply, heads held high, backs straight. As they went
they clacked war clubs against their bows, the clatter in time to each prancing
step.
                 Hunting
Hawk shot a sly glance at Copper Thunder and his warriors, fully aware that the
show was for their benefit. The visitors remained expressionless, some looking
studiously bored, but she could see the gleam in those dark eyes. The scrappy
reputation of Greenstone Clan’s warriors had been fairly won. Even the
Mamanatowick, Water Snake, despite all the resources of his subchiefs, avoided
clashes with Greenstone Clan.
                 Black
Spike, Weroance of Three Myrtle Village, stood on the other side of the dance
ground, his arms crossed as he watched the warriors depart. His strained
expression, the tension in his posture, caught Hunting Hawk’s attention.
                 Black
Spike had always been a handsome man, tall, muscular, and quick of wit and
action. Three Myrtle Village lay half a day’s journey east in the next
large inlet. Over the years, the two villages—mostly populated by Greenstone
Clan—had allied themselves for practical and political purposes. Her own
daughter, Shell Comb, had lived there during the time she’d been married to
Monster Bone.
                 Black
Spike kept knotting his jaw muscles, and his hands clenched, relaxed, and
clenched again. Why should he care so much about a missing girl? No doubt she’d
be found sulking out in the trees, and within a week the entire thing would be
forgotten.
                 Hunting
Hawk arched a grizzled eyebrow as Black Spike gave Shell Comb a direct
inspection from across the dance ground. For a long moment, their eyes held,
challenging, answering, and desperate. What was that look they traded? Some
private communication? But just as quickly, Shell Comb turned forcefully away.
                 The
muscles bulged in Black Spike’s taut cheeks.
                 Hunting
Hawk’s attention shifted as Copper Thunder strode purposefully toward her.
                 “Honorable
Weroansqua,” he said, “are you sure that I cannot offer my warriors to assist
you?”
                 “It
isn’t necessary, Great Tayac.” She gestured toward the forested ridge. “My
people know the country. All the little nooks and crannies.”
                 His
dark eyes seemed to burn. “She wouldn’t have… run off, now would she?”
                 Hunting
Hawk stiffened. “Never!”
                 “But
it is not unheard—”
                 “She
knows that I’d have Nine Killer scour the ends of the earth until he found her
and dragged her back. Red Knot would never disgrace her clan in such a manner.”
                 “I
see.” Copper Thunder’s expression betrayed nothing. “Most likely she just went
for a walk, to sort out her spirit. Consider: In the last eight days, she’s
gone from a girl to a woman, and tomorrow she leaves with you to become a wife.
From the moment of her first cramps, she’s been pestered by everyone. I’d guess
she just needed a moment to herself, to think and reflect.”
                 Copper
Thunder fingered the war club hanging from his breech clout It had been
intricately carved, a pointed stone set above a sharp copper spike. “I’ve
noticed the women in your family think and reflect a great deal. I wonder if
I’m doing myself any favors by marrying into your line.”
                 “I
don’t know. Are you?” Hunting Hawk gave him a bland look to cover her sudden
unease. Bloody bats, he didn’t