had been scrupulous about leaving Crooked Tail the clues he needed to identify the one who had “borrowed” his grain.
Sharp Nose said now.
Laughs Brightly replied tranquilly, his mind-voice rich with amusement.
Laughs Brightly laughed again, then leapt lightly down to his brother's lower branch and stretched out beside him.
Sharp Nose asked a bit suspiciously. His brother was one of Bright Water Clan's most skilled scouts—another reason the rest of the clan put up with his supposed sense of humor, no doubt—and his idea of a leisurely jaunt through the net-wood could quickly exhaust anyone unwary enough to accept one of his invitations.
Laughs Brightly chided. His mind-voice turned a bit more serious.
Sharp Nose twitched his whiskers at the idea that Thunder Mist was “not far” from the clan's central nesting place, but Laughs Brightly's mission was clearly an important one. They were well into leaf-turning. It would not be so very much longer before the first snows began to blow down from the mountains, and green-needle and gray-bark pods were an important—and tasty—part of the People's diet during the months of ice. And he had to admit that he was flattered by Laughs Brightly's invitation. Although Sharp Nose was respected as a hunter and a tracker, he was not one of those normally chosen for the sorts of tasks the clan's scouts usually undertook. He knew part of that was his youth, for he was barely half Laughs Brightly's age, and the opportunity to spend the day in his brother's company was an attractive thought. In many ways, for all its importance, Laughs Brightly's task was routine, but Sharp Nose could still learn a great deal under the tutelage of such a skilled scout. Besides, despite the difference in their ages, he and Laughs Brightly had always been close.
he said after a moment, and heaved a great sigh as he rolled over and came to his feet.
* * *
From comments her mother had made upon occasion, Honor supposed that someone who hadn't been born and raised on Sphinx might have found the morning chilly. For her, though, it was merely a bit brisk, and she walked with her jacket unsealed, enjoying the crisp, clean air. Dried leaves crackled underfoot as she made her way through the near-pine and red spruce, the sound sharper and louder than it really should have been thanks to the dry weather. It wasn't as bad as it had been upon occasion, though. Every four or five planetary years—twenty or twenty-five T-years—they had a really dry summer and fall, the sort that turned Sphinx's forests into tinder boxes. She couldn't remember a year like that, but her father could, and he'd been increasingly firm in his warnings about careless use of fire as the long, slow summer drew on. The predictions were that this winter would produce even more snow and snow pack than usual, though, and that should help next year. She didn't know about that; it would be only her third winter, and the first one didn't count, since she'd been born halfway through the first one and didn't remember it at all.
And it would also probably be her last winter at home. Her pace slackened for a moment, and she looked around and filled her lungs to the aching point with the cool Sphinxian air, the treasured scents and smells of the woods of