To Spoil the Sun by Joyce Rockwood

Author:Joyce Rockwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Published: 2011-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

SIX

Mink was afraid of losing his power—or if not his power, his influence. It was a defeat for him when the council went against him, when they listened to Bender—Bender, the dim-sighted seer of shallow truth. Mink knew the reason for it; he knew what they were saying about the two of us; and that was why he turned his back on me. Before the eyes of the people he shook himself free. He took his walks alone as he had before our marriage. He came for his meals, but he no longer brought the beloved men to sit at our fire. Often he would not come home at night but would sleep in the townhouse to show the men how much he was free of my influence. I would lie awake without him in the darkness, struggling to understand. I tried to tell myself that in his heart he did not mean it, that it was a show for the others. But I was not strong enough. I felt hurt and mistreated, and miserably alone.

It was then that I first began to notice Trotting Wolf, Mink’s nephew. I was lonely, and when I would look up to see him coming into our yard, it would please me and I would say, “Your uncle is not here at the moment, but please come sit with the two of us.” Hawk Sister would spread a mat for him in the place of honor, and we three would sit together and talk. Trotting Wolf’s manner was so very solemn. I began trying to break through it, to make him smile. And I saw he had his uncle’s smile, that elusive mirth that came from around the eyes. Perhaps at first it was the smile that drew me to him.

But there was also his gentleness. It mixed so oddly with his warrior qualities. Though the oldest of Mink’s nephews, Trotting Wolf had not taken to priestly matters. He was instead a dedicated warrior, climbing relentlessly from one rank to another, never marrying, intent always on winning a higher name of honor. But he had never led a war party. “Not until my power is great enough,” he told us. “The best war leaders never lose a warrior to the enemy. They are the ones whose stories live, whose songs are sung long after they are dead. It is no victory to parade home with a pole hanging full of scalps if even one of your party is missing. It is no victory if there are tears. The war leader who sacrifices the blood of a brother for a dance of glory does not deserve the praise of his people. He should come home hanging his head in shame.” Trotting Wolf was that way, taking everything so very seriously.

I had known him all my life, a friend of my brothers, someone who was always there. Yet I had never noticed him, never listened to him, never looked at him long enough to see what he was like.

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