Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (12 page)

"You have not hunted in years, Lyucia. My wolf and Caspian's work well together, and he agreed to take me not two days ago."

"I agreed to take whoever was willing—" the male offered, a look of exasperation on his face as he watched them with folded arms, but the pair ignored him.

"We must all learn to hunt properly, for the good of the pack!" Lyucia snapped. "How are the rest of us to hone our skills if you step in every time?"

"Fern went out yesterday, why did you not go with her if you wish to hunt so much?"

"She is barely a hunter! What can I learn from her that I was not already taught as a girl?"

"Both of you!" Caspian said sharply, his expression hardening. "If you cannot keep your tempers to yourselves then I have no need of either of you on my hunt. There is room enough for whoever wishes to accompany me. And I would remind you that Fern is the huntress who has been bringing home the larger share of our meals recently."

"Not that there is much to hunt in these lands anyway," Terim said stubbornly, seeming to relent as Lyucia stepped forward to place herself at Caspian's side.

He ignored the sulking female, pointing to the western end of the valley. "Fern says there is open grassland half a day's travel in that direction. It is a hard journey to make without rest, but the hunting is better out there. Come with me or stay, but put this squabbling to rest."

Terim gave her rival a surly look, then hesitated as she saw Lyucia gazing up at the ledge above them. The two females shrank back as they noticed Adel standing there, watching them with a dark expression on her face. Caspian paused too, waiting to see whether a far harsher admonishment than his was about to befall the argumentative pair.

Adel allowed her presence to cow them for a moment longer, then inclined her head slightly at Caspian.

"Perhaps learn to still your tongues a little earlier next time," he murmured to the others, then turned and made his way down into the valley with Lyucia in tow.

The man at least had the good sense to see through most of their girlish games, Adel reflected. Caspian was wise, and the den mother trusted him more than most, but he had greater patience for foolishness than her. Perhaps too much. She noticed him brushing off the veiled flirtations of most of the females with practised ease, but even he could not catch wind of everything.

Briar, in particular, was a cunning one. It bemused Adel that the woman had not become a seer. She clearly had the wits for it, if her games with Caspian were anything to go by. Rather than attempting to entice him as overtly as any of the others, the wily craftswoman offered him a sympathetic ear whenever he grew tired of the other females.

Their companionship was genuine enough, and for a long time Adel thought nothing of it. But was it not strangely convenient that Briar was always there when Netya was out foraging, and Caspian had no one to confide in save for the other females? The woman had always had a rough, boyish disposition about her, but she played it up whenever Caspian was around.

Adel considered warning him, or perhaps Netya, of what she had noticed, but it was not her place to intervene with gossip that would likely only lead to more bickering. Caspian was an unmated male. Whoever's furs he shared was his own business. She just hoped he had the decency not to break Netya's heart.

It seemed the only young woman in her pack who knew how to keep her feelings for the only eligible male in check was Fern. She cast the same longing glances his way as the rest of them, but she never allowed it to seep through into her behaviour. Instead, she distracted herself by dedicating much of her time to the hunt, and when she had urges to satisfy she saw to them in the company of other females.

One evening, as Adel worked with her feathers out on the ledge, she even overheard Netya and Fern whispering together after the others had gone to sleep. They often stayed up late in each other's company, swapping stories and talking of life, love, and the future, as young women their age were apt to do. This time Fern, ever the promiscuous one, was telling a tale of the things she had done with one of the boys from the village of the North People, ending with a forlorn note in her voice as she reflected that she was likely never to see him again.

"Fern," Netya said tentatively. "You know I would share anything with you. It is still some time before the pack gathering, but... If you ever had the need," she lowered her voice sheepishly, "I am sure some evening Caspian and I could find room in our furs for one more."

Fern laughed. "Would your man agree to that?"

Adel could imagine her apprentice's cheeks colouring in discomfort, and a thin smile found its way to the den mother's lips.

"Well, you told me any man would, did you not?" Netya replied.

Fern chuckled again, her voice becoming slightly muffled, as if she had just drawn her companion into a tight embrace. "You should save your love for one another. No one else has the right to ask you to share it. I will be fine on my own. Besides, I have found that Briar's fingers are talented at more things than just crafting."

Adel allowed a small touch of warmth to cushion her thoughts as she listened to Fern's words. Even when offered an open invitation, the girl still dismissed her own desires out of the love and respect she held for her friend. Netya was fortunate to have a companion such as her.

The warmth grew cold, becoming painful as the den mother tried to recall the last time she had shared such a moment with a friend. She swallowed, looking up at the stars, and in that moment, alone and with no one else to see her, the guise of the den mother slipped. Her youth and beauty shone through in her glistening eyes and the openness of her features, pale skin shining in the faint moonlight. The weight of the world had aged her before her time, but the woman who had come before the seeress still lingered somewhere deep in her soul. She searched the stars, feeling very small, and very alone beneath their gaze.

The moon spirit Syr looked down on her, face half-hidden in a crescent. Dutiful and majestic, but so many leagues distant from the children she watched over.

Before her hardened shell closed up to stem the tears falling from her eyes, Adel tried to seek out a face she had tried her best to forget among the stars. For a brief time, long ago, she had felt the warmth Fern and Netya shared when she was with him.

"Are you still out there?" she whispered, knowing that an answer would never come.

As spring continued and the first touches of summer approached, the internal tensions within the pack continued. Much to Adel's relief, she was never forced to step in and lay down her will, but she could tell it was only a matter of time before someone ended up pushing things too far. She could tell that Caspian was growing increasingly exasperated with his female attention, and not just that, but something else as well.

The other men had become restless, too, spending more time out by themselves to avoid the rest of the group. Perhaps if the three of them had been more alike they would have been able to foster the atmosphere of male companionship they clearly craved, but Hari was an unassuming, stoic man, while Rokan was proud and outspoken. Caspian's manner of thinking often went over their heads, and it was clear that they all grew weary of one another whenever they tried to share more than a few moments of conversation together.

The pack needed new blood. The summer gathering could not come soon enough. Adel only hoped that she could devise some way of staking her claim to power by then. It was common for men and women to drift between packs during the gathering, whether it was young men and women seeking to strike out for themselves, lovers who had found one another at the communal celebration of the summer fires, or those who sought honour, status, and prosperity in a pack they believed to be greater than their own.

Adel planned to make full use of all these things and more to draw new blood into her fold, but it would be for nothing if she could not prove to the other clan leaders that she was worthy of a place alongside them.

She could not stake her claim through strength of numbers or prowess in battle. Her hope had been to leverage the skills of her followers, offering aid and counsel to the packs who lacked powerful seers of their own. It still seemed like her best hope, but in the absence of the herbs and seeds that had been lost in the flood, she knew the powers of her followers would be greatly diminished.

Perhaps strength of will and conviction would be enough. Though she had not attended a gathering herself in many years, her name was well known among the other packs. She had been a prodigal child. A seer blessed by the spirits, gifted with great talent and wisdom, destined to become one of the youngest and most powerful den mothers her people had ever known. At least, that was what she had been told when she was a girl. Hopefully her name had not been forgotten, and its influence still lingered.

One morning, once the weather had turned and the valley was in full bloom, a seer named Meadow crept timidly into Adel's dwelling and asked her permission to claim one of the caves nearby. At first the den mother was ready to deny the request. Netya was still working hard with the others to craft the wood they had collected into logs and boards that could used to shore up their existing caves ready for the next winter. There was no need to stretch their efforts thin by expanding to even more dwellings.

But Meadow, middle-aged and spindly, had always been a quiet woman, shy but considerate, always offering aid and asking for little of her own in return. She had been involved in what Adel suspected to be an unhappy mating for much of her adult life, and it had taken all of her courage to side with the den mother when they broke apart from Khelt's pack. So Adel listened to the seer's request, waiting patiently as Meadow paused and mumbled over her words.

"It was an idea I had from Caspian. He... Well, perhaps you have seen? He makes wood burnings to remind himself of names and places. Like the marks we put on jars and pouches."

"I know of his pastime," Adel said. "Are you planning to try and persuade me of its usefulness as well? I will tell you what I told him." She tapped her temple. "I keep everything I need to remember close at hand. There is no need to commit it to his markings."

Meadow fidgeted with her clothing, bowing her head. "Not for you, Den Mother, but the rest of us are not all so gifted. This land is still new to us, and much harder to travel than the plains. People argue and become frustrated when they cannot find a place someone else has spoken of. I believed—please forgive me if I sound foolish—but I believed we might use markings on a cave wall to record the places we have been. I would be happy to take care of it by myself," she added hastily. "It would not interfere with my other duties."

Adel considered for a long moment. Just as Meadow's expression was beginning to fall, she rewarded the seer with a nod.

"That, I can see the good sense in. You have a cave in mind?"

Meadow's expression lit up, and she bobbed her head in excitement. "Yes, Den Mother. It is high up, like yours, but far enough away that no one would disturb you coming and going. There is a large, flat wall inside. I would only need a little assistance in clearing the rocks away and foraging the petals I need for some paints."

The timid woman's enthusiasm for her new endeavour warmed Adel. She rose to her feet and guided Meadow outside. "I have little else to occupy me this morning. Show me your cave."

The pair of them climbed up the rocks in silence, finding a relatively easy path up a short slope near the waterfalls. Meadow was clearly surprised at having the den mother offer her aid, but she was not about to reject any assistance. The cave in question was old and dusty, but one of the walls was indeed broad and flat, perfectly suited for the kind of painting Meadow had in mind.

Adel spent the rest of the morning hauling chunks of crumbling rock outside, brushing away handfuls of cobweb from the interior of the cave, and collecting handfuls of spiders to toss outside when her companion shied away from the skittering creatures.

"These ones have no dangerous bite, you know that," she said.

"It is just—" Meadow stammered. "The way they move, Den Mother. I am sorry, it is a childish fear."

Adel sighed, balling the last swathe of web around her fist and wiping it off outside the entrance. "You flinch at the sight of your own shadow."

"We have had many things to be fearful of lately."

Adel's brow creased as she looked at the other woman. Her skittishness had been with her long before they departed from Khelt's pack. Had she grown used to flinching at shadows in the years spent with her mate? The den mother felt a surge of pity for Meadow. She would have offered her aid had she known there were problems. Spirits help her, even that fool Khelt would have, if only Meadow had not kept her worries so private. She was one of the few who had been good at keeping her inner struggles hidden from Adel's eyes.

"You have grown very intimate with Ura lately," the den mother said, attempting to change the subject to something lighter.

Meadow flushed. "I have? Well, yes. She has been my closest friend for many years."

"A close friend indeed," Adel said, making her way to the back of the cave where a heap of crumbling red rocks blocked what looked like the entrance to a second chamber. "You do not yet share her cave, though."

"She has asked me to, but... I do not know, Den Mother. It seems sudden."