The Feverbird's Claw Read Online Free PDF

studying them right now, wondering where her daughter could be. She saw Mother reaching out, pressing her hand tenderly against the soft cloth. Moralin rubbed her own rough blanket as if she could smooth away her mother’s sadness.
    She had tried to do as well with the weaving as with the fighting moves. The dance of the loom was beautiful, Mother and Grandmother’s arms lifting and falling in rhythm, sweeping the bright colors into place. If she ever got back, she would have the patience to sit for hours helping to lift the heddles and bind in the silky warps that floated over the wefts.
    Without warning, Figt grabbed one of Moralin’s feet and began to rub something oily into it. Grimacing with pain, Moralin tried to pull away, but the other girl gave a menacing hiss. All over the camp, people were working silently and quickly, nudging sleepy children out of the way.
    Figt finished the second foot and leaned over for a pair of sandals, saying something that clearly meant “put them on.” Moralin obeyed. Then she scrambled up and limped quickly toward Salla’s house. Figt followed.
    Salla was kneeling, scooping grain into a bag.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI don’t know. What they showed me.” Salla’s voice was unsteady. “What will happen to us?”
    â€œI think we’re getting ready to leave this camp.” Moralin made her voice emotionless, hoping Salla wouldn’t crumble. “I guess they’re getting ready to move everything they’ve gathered. Food … and us.”
    â€œI don’t want to go.” Salla covered her face with her hand and whimpered. “Deep into the red forest? I can’t.”
    Figt pinched Moralin’s shoulder and tugged her away. “Be strong,” Moralin called.
    At least the oily goop on her feet was helping with the pain. She set her face in the fierce expression Old Tamlin had taught her to use just before a fight. Even if no one rescued them, she could find a way to get them home.
    In front of her, a woman pulled down a hump house, folded the skin, and piled it onto a two-handled tray. She whistled. One of the skinny animals loped over and stood so the woman could loop a leather harness around its body.
    â€œI suppose this one pulls our things?” Moralin pointed at the animal that now was trotting after them wherever they went.
    Figt moved her lips slowly as if trying to understand how lips might make such strange sounds.
    â€œActually,” Moralin said, “this one does not look smart enough to pull anything.”
    The animal grinned at her—and drooled.
    Only bare, curved sticks were left. Now Moralin understood the stories about Arkera who disappeared as if gulped by a flapping sky fish. Figt gave her a push. Her gestures said, “Pick up the blanket. Tie this pouch and waterskin around your waist.”
    A sky fish was only one of the strange things that could happen out here in the wilderness. Every Delagua was told from childhood the danger of ever leaving the city walls. “Our ancestors built this huge city,” the elders chanted, “to allow us to become strong. We remain safe only within these walls, close to the temple where the Great Ones live. Praise to the Great Ones who gave us the secrets of the cloth.”
    A man lifted a giant shell to his mouth and blew a low, mournful note.
    As Moralin knotted the blanket, waterskin, and pouch around her waist with leather thongs, she remembered the slope in the sunshine just before the Arkera warriors flowed over the top of the hill. She could almost smell the fruit, feel the handle of the basket against her palm. How rock-stupid she had been to underestimate the enemy. She scolded herself in Old Tamlin’s stern voice. How could she have been so desperate for friends that she had broken her training? One day of bait had obviously shown the Arkera just where to fish the next day.
    A warrior woman walked by and