Chett camp, then-mares cropping grass behind them. Above them stars sprinkled a perfectly clear sky, and beneath them dozens of small fires outlined the corral. They could hear faintly the lowing of the clan’s herd, and occasionally the rumbling call of the bulls.
“Long ago, little master, when my clan was nothing more than a small tribe of two or three families, legend says we were protected from the predations of other tribes by a lone white grass wolf. He could only be seen at night, from far away. He became our totem, and eventually one of our gods.
“And here you are. You came to the Chetts near death, and then were resurrected with skin as white as a mare’s milk, and on your first hunt, single-handed, you slew a grass wolf that threatened our clan’s queen.”
“I was trying to save you,” Lynan said bluntly.
“Truth, little master. But you can see why Korigan would call you the white wolf.”
Lynan hugged his knees. “I don’t want the clan to expect too much of me, Gudon. I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“That will not happen.”
For a while neither of them said anything, until a shooting star flashed above them. Gudon pointed at it. “A good sign. We are protected, you see.”
“I have a feeling you are not nearly so superstitious as you make out,” Lynan said. Gudon looked at him questioningly. “You are a pragmatic Chett. Like your queen.”
“That would not be unexpected. We are cousins.”
“And destinies can be made.”
“Now what can the little master mean by that?”
“When we first met on the river, you told me that destiny serves no one.”
“Truth.”
“Not truth, Gudon. You saved me from Jes Prado, for which I will always thank you, but you knew who I was.”
Gudon nodded.
“And you knew I would be valuable to your queen.”
Gudon sighed deeply, then said: “You wanted to go to the Oceans of Grass.”
“And you wanted me to go to the Oceans of Grass, but not fall into the hands of another clan, especially one whose chief was in opposition to Korigan. Truth?”
“Yes, little master,” the Chett said, his voice low. “I will help your queen, but the price will be high.”
“Korigan understands this,” Gudon said without hesitation.
“How long before we reach the High Sooq?”
“Many days, especially with the herd. It will be winter when we get there.”
As autumn deepened, the cold started to take hold of the plains. The first sign of oncoming winter was a frost in the morning, at first so gentle it disappeared soon after the sun rose, but after a few days thick enough to survive until mid-morning. When the herd was started, the brittle grass could be heard crunching under their hooves. At this time Korigan ordered the slaughter of the steers, and the clan spent two days at one camp so the meat could be salted and the hides cured. The meat was kept in special tents, painted a bright white to reflect the sun’s light and keep cool the meat still waiting to be cured. While the steers were being culled, as much grass as possible was gathered, some of it bundled as feed for the cattle in deepest winter, and the rest winnowed for the seeds necessary to make bread. Whenever the clan came across trees and bushes, their fruit was collected and stored.
Compared to their progress before catching up with the herd, Lynan thought they were crawling along at a snail’s pace, but he enjoyed not being in a rush to get somewhere or in a rush to get away from someone. He spent most of the day with Gudon riding on the edge of the clan, learning about the Oceans of Grass, its creatures and plants and clans, and about the seasons, about the Chett gods and beliefs and customs. Lynan drank in anything Gudon could teach him, and when Gudon’s memory was faulty or incomplete, Makon would join them to fill in the gaps. Lynan never stopped asking questions.
For most of the time, Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa rode with the main group, sticking together for company and to
“Long ago, little master, when my clan was nothing more than a small tribe of two or three families, legend says we were protected from the predations of other tribes by a lone white grass wolf. He could only be seen at night, from far away. He became our totem, and eventually one of our gods.
“And here you are. You came to the Chetts near death, and then were resurrected with skin as white as a mare’s milk, and on your first hunt, single-handed, you slew a grass wolf that threatened our clan’s queen.”
“I was trying to save you,” Lynan said bluntly.
“Truth, little master. But you can see why Korigan would call you the white wolf.”
Lynan hugged his knees. “I don’t want the clan to expect too much of me, Gudon. I don’t want to disappoint them.”
“That will not happen.”
For a while neither of them said anything, until a shooting star flashed above them. Gudon pointed at it. “A good sign. We are protected, you see.”
“I have a feeling you are not nearly so superstitious as you make out,” Lynan said. Gudon looked at him questioningly. “You are a pragmatic Chett. Like your queen.”
“That would not be unexpected. We are cousins.”
“And destinies can be made.”
“Now what can the little master mean by that?”
“When we first met on the river, you told me that destiny serves no one.”
“Truth.”
“Not truth, Gudon. You saved me from Jes Prado, for which I will always thank you, but you knew who I was.”
Gudon nodded.
“And you knew I would be valuable to your queen.”
Gudon sighed deeply, then said: “You wanted to go to the Oceans of Grass.”
“And you wanted me to go to the Oceans of Grass, but not fall into the hands of another clan, especially one whose chief was in opposition to Korigan. Truth?”
“Yes, little master,” the Chett said, his voice low. “I will help your queen, but the price will be high.”
“Korigan understands this,” Gudon said without hesitation.
“How long before we reach the High Sooq?”
“Many days, especially with the herd. It will be winter when we get there.”
As autumn deepened, the cold started to take hold of the plains. The first sign of oncoming winter was a frost in the morning, at first so gentle it disappeared soon after the sun rose, but after a few days thick enough to survive until mid-morning. When the herd was started, the brittle grass could be heard crunching under their hooves. At this time Korigan ordered the slaughter of the steers, and the clan spent two days at one camp so the meat could be salted and the hides cured. The meat was kept in special tents, painted a bright white to reflect the sun’s light and keep cool the meat still waiting to be cured. While the steers were being culled, as much grass as possible was gathered, some of it bundled as feed for the cattle in deepest winter, and the rest winnowed for the seeds necessary to make bread. Whenever the clan came across trees and bushes, their fruit was collected and stored.
Compared to their progress before catching up with the herd, Lynan thought they were crawling along at a snail’s pace, but he enjoyed not being in a rush to get somewhere or in a rush to get away from someone. He spent most of the day with Gudon riding on the edge of the clan, learning about the Oceans of Grass, its creatures and plants and clans, and about the seasons, about the Chett gods and beliefs and customs. Lynan drank in anything Gudon could teach him, and when Gudon’s memory was faulty or incomplete, Makon would join them to fill in the gaps. Lynan never stopped asking questions.
For most of the time, Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa rode with the main group, sticking together for company and to
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