“Horse dung?”

“Yes. The chief among the Sacred Caterpillars always said that it was an evil element in horse dung that caused the Death of the Frozen Jaws. Not everyone believed him, but my father and I did. Carpenters often have splinter wounds.”

“Curious. They say the Undying Milo taught the same. Did your priest ever speak of—Djoh, what is wrong?” “The Sacred Caterpillar never spoke of anyone called Milo. But—a man my mother knew when she was young spoke of him.”

“Who was the man?”

Djoh blinked at the tone in her voice. Karee, you are as shaken as Djoh and hiding it no better!

“He called himself Bard Willee. My mother did not think that was his real name, but it did not matter. He went away the year before she married my father.” Bard Willee! Was that not one of the names Chief Djimmi used, when he was in this land thirty years ago? And how well did Djoh’s mother know him, when she was young?

Karee looked at Djoh so intently that he flushed and nearly dropped the bandages she handed him. He does not look much like Chief Djimmi, but he might favor his mother.

Djoh’s fingers had seemed to linger on Karee’s wrists as he took the bandages from her. His hands remained steady as he bound up the wound, making sure that the bandages did not touch the floor of the tent, the pallet, or anything else unclean. At last the blood stopped flowing. Djoh laid his ear first on the boy’s mouth, then on his chest.

“He can be moved now. Does he have anyone who can tend him for a few days?”

Karee said nothing. She didn’t trust her voice. It was all she could do to keep her hands steady as they tugged at the lacings of her vest.

Djoh stared at her. “Karee, the boy might wake— he stammered. She replied by laying her vest over the boy’s face—gently, so that he couid breathe—and beginning on her shirt.

“Oh, Peeoryah,” Djoh said. It was half a word, half a gasp, and most of both were muffled by Karee’s breasts as he began kissing them. She ran one hand up his thigh as she started undoing her trousers.

“Djoh, I think you need some healing too, the kind only a woman can give.”

His arms went around her, and after that she remembered very little for quite a while. He began like any man who hadn’t had a woman for some time, but quickly found a pace that matched hers. When they were done, she woke from a mist of fulfilled desire to find him asleep on her breast, tears trickling down his cheeks and making little pools on her belly.

She wanted to stretch but was afraid of waking him. And when was the last time 1 was afraid of waking a lover? Karee Marshul, Sacred Sun has given you a gift it may not be in you to understand.

Well, then I will take it for as long as it is given.

Karee was cinching the saddle on Yellow Tooth when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking Djoh had come to see her off with the scouts, she turned with a smile on her face.

Instead of finding Djoh’s arms reaching for her, she found herself facing Lewee Half-Thumb’s gap-toothed smile.

“How ’bout a kiss, honey-lips?”

Karee reached for her sword, but Lewee’s hand pinned her wrist before she could draw.

“What do you want, midden-breath?”

Lewee’s face reddened. “No Dirtwoman speaks to me that way!”

“Dirtwoman!”

“Isn’t it true you’re sleepin’ with that dirt-scratcher from Blue Springs?”

“Yes, it’s true. It’s also true that even with his game leg he’s twice the man you’ve ever been.”

“You tell ’im, Karee,” someone cried out. Half the scouts now encircled them. Some of the warriors were already laying bets on the outcome of any fight, the odds heavily in Karee’s favor.

Lewee Half-Thumb was turning redder by the moment, not only from rage but from the strain of keeping Karee’s sword hand pinned.

“Lewee, I swear by Sacred Sun, take your hands off me, or you’ll be missing half of something besides your thumb.”

“Go ahead, Karee,” someone shouted. “Ain’t like he gets much use out of it anymore!” A chorus of laughs followed.

“All right, bitch,” Lewee said, pulling his hands away and stepping back. “I demand a fight to the death with knives, under Clan Law.”

“Fine by me, horse fart,” Karee replied, drawing her dagger. She held it low, with the stance of a practiced knife fighter, waiting for Lewee to make the first move. The onlookers were calling out wagers as fast as heartbeats and the odds on Lewee were tumbling faster than his harsh breathing.

Karee let the man take the initiative, then jumped back and to the side in a single movement. Her dagger flickered and a long shallow wound opened in Lewee’s forearm.

“I'M kill you for that! Bitch! Dirt lover!”

Karee smiled, crouched, and prepared to move in for the kill.

She’d just launched herself forward when two massive arms wrapped themselves around her. Two other warriors pinned Lewee’s arms.

“What s going on here?” Chief Djimmi’s voice bellowed. “This is a war party, not a drunken brawl. Who started this?”

One of the Clan Elders, Chuhk, spoke up. “Lewee Half-Thumb tried to force himself on Karee while she was saddling her horse.”

“Is this true?”

A chorus of yeahs supported Chuhk.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Lewee?”

His hands still pinned behind him, Lewee looked like a man beginning to realize just what kind of trouble he’d made for himself. His voice shook as he replied.

“Ain’t my fault. I’ve always had the hots for Karee and now she’s taken up with that Dirtman prisoner. I figured she’s givin’ it out to everything that walks.”

Karee hissed. “Let me go, Djimmi. I’m going to geld that bastard a finger at a time. Death’s too good for him!”

Chief Djimmi’s whisper was harsh in her ear. “Quiet. One idiot’s bad enough!

“Lewee,” he addressed the clansman. “By Clan Law clanswomen have the right to choose their own lovers and mates. We’re not Ehleenohee who force ourselves on young boys and unwilling slaves. I want this settled right here, right now. We have a raid to carry out and some Zhampayunsburkers to put in fear!”

“By Clan Law, I demand the right to fight Karee Marshul to the death.”

Djimmi let go of Karee and took a deep breath. “By Clan Law, Lewee Half-Wit, I have the right to your head for fighting with another clansman during a time of war. Now do you want to tell me any more about your rights?”

Looking at the ground, Lewee shook his head. “Good. But if I hear of your bothering this woman again, I’ll claim the right to fight you to the death myself. Is that understood?”

Lewee swallowed several times; his words still came out as from a dry throat.

“Y-yes, Chief Djimmi.”

“Good. Now everyone mount up. It’s past time for being on the road.”

The sound of Kindred warriors mounting up swelled. Above the sound, Lewee Half-Thumb’s voice rose furiously.

“I’ll get you yet, dirt lover!”

The sense of danger was one Djoh couldn’t have put into words. So he held his peace. Not that any of the youths and girls splashing with the horses in the shallow stream would have listened, if he had spoken.

Not all of them believed “Once a Dirtman, always a Dirtman.” Even those who kept their weapons handy when Djoh was around obeyed Chief Djimmi. When the chief said that Djoh was to be allowed to go with parties watering the horses, they let him go. Those who grumbled did not do so where Chief Djimmi might overhear.

Even those who did not grumble, however, refused to believe that Djoh had true mindspeak. Sometimes Djoh wondered why the chief, who knew better, did not offer proof. One did not, however, ask Djimmi questions about matters on which he had chosen to hold his tongue.

So Djoh had gone from his own people, who believed that mindspeak made him a witch, to the Horseclans, who didn’t believe that he had it at all. It could hardly be said that his life was standing still, but he often had the sense that it was going around in circles.