“Well done, little sister. You are the proper lady of this clan house—”
“I accept of your welcome, Lady Rosann.” Fors showed more courtliness than had been in his manner when he had greeted the chieftainess.
“Now,” Arskane was frowning again, “I must go to my father, Fors. He is making the rounds of the outposts. If you will await us here—”
Rosann had kept hold of his hand and now she gave him the same wide smile with which she had favored her brother. “There are berries, brother of my brother, and the new cheese and corn cake fresh baked—”
“A feast—!” He met her smile.
“A true feast! Because Arskane has come back. Becie said that he would not and she cried—”
“Did she?” There was an unusual amount of interest in that comment from her tall brother. Then he was gone, striding away between the tent lines. Rosann nodded.
“Yes, Becie cried. But I did not. Because I knew that he would be back—”
“And why were you so sure?”
The hand rugged him closer to the shield stands. “Arskane is a great warrior. That—” a pink-brown finger touched the rim of the last shield in the row, “that is made from the skin of a thunder lizard and Arskane killed it all alone, just himself. Even my father allowed the legend singer to put together words for that at the next singing time-though he has many times said that the son of a chief must not be honored above other warriors. Arskane -he is very strong—”