Shadow Valley Read Free Page A

precious. A dream dancer’s sexuality was for her to gift and for no man to steal with hands or eyes or root.
    T’Cori’s eyes were the most remarkable thing about her: they were the color of yam skin, brown with greenish tints and speckles of yellow as bright as sunflowers. They were soft but piercing. He often wondered if they could see past his skin to the blood and marrow beneath.
    Stillshadow cupped water from the stream with her hands, raising them and offering her apprentice a sip. Every time T’Cori bent, the old woman let it run out between her fingers. They laughed heartily, and then the game was repeated. He drew close enough to hear Stillshadow’s whispers.
    “Listen,” Stillshadow said. “Whether flowing from the ground, touching your lips or cooling in your gourd all are water, yes?”
    T’Cori nodded.
    “How did you see water on Great Sky? Steam? Rain? Streams?”
    “And there was more,” T’Cori said. “Hard, clear water. There are no words to describe how cold it was. Even more, pieces of the cold hard water fell from the sky.”
    Frog cleared his throat, announcing his presence. “Old one,” he said, “did Great Mother give you a vision?”
    “Yes,” Stillshadow said. “Soon. There.” She pointed at the northern horizon, as she had countless times before. Then, as if her strength was spent, the crone’s shoulders sagged, and she seemed to collapse. “I must rest.” She shuffled off to find shade.
    Frog scanned the shallow brown rise of the distant hills, their straggly thorn bushes breaking a monotonous horizon.
    A dust-colored hawk bent the branches of a bush only a spear’s throw away. Its head rotated almost like an owl’s, gazed at him and T’Cori.
    “Blessings, winged sister,” she said.
    The hawk skawed, flapped its wings and climbed steeply into the sky.
    “I wonder,” Frog said, “if she knows something we don’t.”
    “We have horizons to cross,” T’Cori said, “but we
will find
it.”
    Frog wondered. “You are sure?”
    “Very sure.”
    “I was worried about you,” Frog said.
    She trailed her fingers softly along his arm, sending sparks. “It was only three days. I was safe with Leopard. You know that.”
    “There are many kinds of danger.”
    T’Cori frowned. “What are you saying?”
    “He has no wife,” Frog said. “His root swells when he dreams of you.”
    “Ah. You see these things? You dance in the other world now?”
    “No, but a man knows these things.”
    “So does a woman,” she answered. “And no matter what he dreams, I am yours. Unless, of course, he needs me to make medicine with him.” The corners of her mouth turned upward, hinting at mischief
    Frog made a clucking sound. “If you are to be his medicine, he had best be very, very sick. Sick enough to wilt his root.” Could he demand that Leopard meet him in the wrestling circle? Certainly. And one day he might do that, if he wanted to eat dust a few times.
    She rubbed cheeks with him, smooth against rough. “You have nothing to worry about.”
    Frog laughed. “I will be back to eat soon. We have yams and spring hare for dinner.”
    Her eyes sparkled. “A feast.”
    Frog headed off toward a circle of men, who were sharpening spears and knives. They waved as he approached.
    Uncle Snake stood quiet and alone at the circle’s edge. After the death of Frog’s father, Baobab, Snake had hunted for food for his brother’s family and cared for them. After his first wife’s death, Snake had married Frog’s mother and raised Frog. His left eye had been torn away by a lion many years before. A pale web of scars masked the left side of his face. His uncle’s good right eye blinked as Frog approached. “I will go and see if the women need anything,” he said.
    “Uncle!” Frog protested. “Wait. Please. Sit with me.” They squatted together, away from the others. The wind rustled around their ankles, rippling the grass.
    “It is worst with the children,” Snake