Read Online People of the Mist by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online

the neck of land. But, to be
truthful, she had been dallying, wanting time away. Her confrontation with Red
Knot after the dance the night before still bothered her. So much was
happening, she needed time to think about it.
                 A
squirrel dashed from branch to branch above her, and perched, staring down with
beady black eyes.
                 “Better
be glad you’re up there, free, my friend,” she told the bushy-tailed rodent.
“You don’t want to be a human girl.”
                 As
if in agreement, the squirrel flicked its tail and bounded into the higher
branches.
                 Quick
Fawn climbed farther up the slope to where the old oak had fallen. The hole was
huge, and until last year it had been the biggest tree in the forest above Flat Pearl Village . Then, in a storm last summer, lightning
had riven it. To everyone’s amazement, the heart of the great trunk had been
hollow and rotten. The tree had cracked down the middle, and half had fallen,
splintering the branches of its neighbors as it crashed down onto the forest floor.
The other half still stood, weathered and dead, waiting for the inevitable
storm that would topple it as well.
                 The
tree’s corpse provided a wealth of wood for the young collectors from Flat Pearl Village .
                 Quick
Fawn looked at the litter covering the ground, and then up at the bare sky.
When the mighty oak fell, it had opened a huge patch of forest to the light.
                 She
laid her wood to one side and climbed agilely up the fallen section of trunk.
Placing her back in the crook of one of the broken branches, she leaned her
head back and stared up at the clouds.
                 “I
don’t think I want to be a woman,” she told the silent sky.
                 Red
Knot was her best friend. Together they had played, worked, and dreamed. They
had laughed, flashed smiles at the boys, teased them unmercifully.
                 Quick
Fawn thought back to that summer night, not five moons past. Canny leader that
old Hunting Hawk was, she’d sent runners to the surrounding villages,
announcing a celebration to mark the final weeding of the fields. Of course, the
visitors had arrived early to find the people of Flat Pearl still out weeding
the corn, beans, and squash. Naturally, they had pitched in, and what would
have taken Flat Pearl five days took less than one.
                 Hunting
Hawk disposed of large quantities of last winter’s stores that were on the
verge of molding, emptying storage baskets and pots. What better way than to
fill the bellies of her friends and allies from the surrounding area?
                 From
the corner of her eye, Quick Fawn had watched Red Knot and High Fox, side by
side, weeding the rows. Corn, beans, and squash alternated in the field. Here
and there, an old stump, the wood charred, thrust up like crows’ beaks. Bent
over, High Fox and Red Knot had talked, laughed, and shared special smiles.
                 At
first, Quick Fawn had been included in their games, but later, after the feast,
while Flat Willow had been strutting and leaping in his hunting dance, they had
slipped away from the circle of dancers around the ceremonial fire in front of
the House of the Dead.
                 So
I followed. Quick Fawn rubbed her face and sighed as she stared up at the
scudding clouds. In the dark trees beyond the canoe landing, she’d lost them.
Only later did she finally discover them, bathed in moonlight on the sandy bank
of the inlet.
                 High
Fox had passed his Blackening and rebirth into manhood but two moons past. And
Red Knot, at fourteen, hadn’t had her first menses; nevertheless, their bodies
were locked together. Quick Fawn watched the moonlight shining silver on their
greased skin. It cast twin crescents on High Fox’s buttocks and back, and