The darkness was intense, for huge clouds had rolled over the sky, blotting out the waxing moon. To the north, downriver, a storm lashed lightning, thunder crashed. Gaka had told her that it was the sound made by a giant bird in the sky, flapping its wings. So far their village had escaped the rain Anne scented in the closeness of the air. The dark was pierced only by the shifting flames of her fireplace. She had stolen a tiny ember from the hearth, carried it there in one of the bowls, nursed it with kindling then sticks. Her vigil was lonely enough without its little light. No one else had come to watch for the returning hunters. ‘They will be here when they are here,’ Gaka had said. But no one had her need. Tagay! She had to tell him of Black Snake, of the danger she was now in. Gaka had warned her to be cautious. Black Snake was a war chief and highly respected, accusations against him would have to have the weight of much evidence behind them – and the word of a group of enamoured boys, who had not really understood what they saw, would not be enough.
