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Seduced by the cadence of her breathing, Jakal dozed, his cheek nestled in the cascade of Sala’s hair. The young woman’s deep, dreamless sleep, a result of the magic contained in the old healer’s concoctions, provided a respite to them both, relieving her of the pain accompanying her waking moments, and bringing him brief periods of stolen slumber.
Despite his exhaustion after two days of little rest, the Light-Eye resisted all offers to spell him of the near-constant care his mate required. Only the Fox Clan’s spiritual leader held sway sufficient to tear him away from her side and even then only for a short while.
Still, he knew he must depart soon and track down the man who attempted to kill her. The Spiritwalker may have perished as a result of his injuries, but Jakal had to see it with his own eyes. No matter what, he would ensure the shaman never touched her again.
A melee of shouting jarred him awake. Certain the disruption was significant, the Light-Eye broke his own rule and left her alone, rushing outside.
He discovered his people pressed together in a tight mass, crying out in confusion, their voices growing louder and louder. His heart pounding as a streak of energy rushed through his body, Jakal pushed through the noisy crowd, fighting to uncover that which he already knew lay ahead.
Flanked by Belak and Dosat, the Spiritwalker stood with arms pulled behind his back, his eyes wide and darting with alarm at the upheaval surrounding him. His body was filthy, covered with dirt, scratches and streaks of dried sweat. His lopsided face, wrapped with blood-stained strips of leather, swelled hideously.
The Light-Eye scarcely noticed his condition. Overcome by rage, he acted on instinct, and before anyone knew what was happening, his hand wrapped around the shaman’s throat.
People shouted, pulling at his arm, his body, begging him, demanding him to stop, but he neither heard nor saw them. The Spiritwalker rasped, pleading for his life as Jakal denied him of breath.
Thrown backwards with great force, the young man landed with a grunt against the inner perimeter of the crowd. Stunned, he looked down to see an enormous hand pressed against his chest, holding him stationary.
‘Stop, Jakal.’
Lifting his eyes toward the man towering above them all, Tejed, the great Leader of Fox Clan, peered down at him with an expression both kind and serious.
‘That is not our way, young Light-Eye.’
A sharp whistle cut through the cacophony.
Keta stood in the center of the throng, arms raised, calling for quiet. ‘My people, you must remain calm. You can see for yourselves the Spiritwalker is injured. Before doing anything we must tend to his wounds. Please, go back to your dwellings, I promise we will gather as a Clan soon.’
Reluctantly the people of Wolf Clan dispersed. Clustering in front of dwellings, they gossiped and speculated and debated the greatest controversy to face their people in many generations.
Acts of violence were known to occur from time to time, but by and large they were a peaceful people, preferring to solve differences through debate or humor or over cups of fermented beverages. The brutality inflicted upon Sala was extreme and exceedingly rare, so rare even the eldest of the elders had no memory of incidents like it. But never before had a Spiritwalker been suspected, let alone accused, of perpetrating such an offense.
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