But what harm in one last cave? It wouldn’t take more than an hour to climb up, and the delay would only come at the cost of her empty stomach.
She paused, holding her breath, listening hard.
There it was again.
The merest whisper of a song.
Chapter Nine
“Cadr,” Gilla’s voice pulled him from sleep.
Battle tense, Cadr gripped the hilt of his sword even before his eyes opened.
“No threat,” Gilla said, although there was still tension in her voice. “Lightning Strike and the others are ready to offer Wild Winds’s body to the flames.”
The warmth that surrounded Cadr stirred and moved then, and two of the warcats rose to stand over him, stretching. Cadr tossed back the blankets to do the same, only to stifle a groan.
“I have kavage,” Gilla offered.
Cadr nodded. He was stiff and sore, but other than that—he touched his throat, feeling the scar, but no discomfort. He swallowed, hard. No pain.
Thanks to the elements. And bloodmoss.
He rose to his knees, then to his feet, and stood for a moment to get his balance. Gilla’s warcats head-butted him, rubbing against his bare legs, tails jauntily in the air.
“Not helping,” Cadr muttered, as Gilla stifled a nervous laugh.
She offered the mug of kavage. He took it, then arched an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged at his silent question. “The others are upset. Their anger has grown as they have prepared Wild Wind’s body for burial. Doesn’t help that a storm has brewed up.”
Cadr nodded, drinking deeply, then reached for his armor, only to hesitate. The pieces lay where he’d left them, caked with blood and dirt.
“Here.” Gilla handed him a tunic and trous. “Use these.”
He nodded, and dressed quickly.
Cadr could feel the crackle in the air when they emerged from the tent. It could have been the clouds that seethed above them, but Cadr had seen enough seasons of war to recognize warriors preparing for battle.
All eyes turned to regard him. The hair on Cadr’s arms rose as he took in the angry stares.
Gilla stepped up beside him, and the warcats clustered around, stretching and raking at the grass with long claws. The small momma cat plopped down on Cadr’s foot, and yawned.
Lightning Strike stepped forward. “Cadr,” he stood stiffly, his voice formal. “I would not offer insult, but you were of the warriors of Simus of the Hawk, and have served Keir of the Cat. I know that there is no love of warrior-priests among—”
“Whatever was, was,” Cadr interrupted Lightning Strike, looking him in the eye. He fought to keep his own temper in check. “I gave my sword oath to Simus of the Hawk, that is my truth. But then the night lit up with that pillar of light, and warrior-priests died. Simus of the Hawk listened to Wild Winds, and now walks with Snowfall at his side.
“As to what that means for the Plains, I do not know.” Cadr continued. “But between you and I and those gathered here, let there be no mistrust. That is also my truth. I would exchange truth for truth, mourn the dead, and—” Cadr frowned, and clenched his fists. “I would have vengeance, for my charge was taken from me.”
“On that, we agree.” Lightning Strike relaxed, and there were nods from those around him. “I would offer thanks again,” he said. “For bringing Wild Wind’s body to us. To that end, let us offer you these,” he gestured. Another warrior-priest stepped forward with a belt, a sheathed sword and dagger.
“My thanks.” A sense of relief swept over him as he belted them on. “You should know that I was in no fit shape to make any decisions after the attack,” Cadr said. “I was guided here, by one of the dead. A warrior, and tentmate.”
Lightning Strike’s eyes widened. “To have the aid of the dead for this. It means much.”
Two of the warcats started to tussle in the grass.
“Join us, both of you,” Lightning Strike gestured to where a platform had been raised. “We are about to give Wild Winds to the flames.”
