In any case, neither returnee bore the air of a young man who had wooed and won. Dag was surprised. Generally, exchange patrollers, with the glamour of the exotic about them, found it fairly easy to worm their way into the bedrolls of willing young patrol women-easier, anyway, than it was for the local fellows the girls had been seeing all their lives. The advantage was considered one of the many enticements to go on exchange. All four youngsters in question were healthy and, as far as Dag knew, unattached. The interest had certainly been there. The numbers came out even. But Barr and Remo were plainly not relaxed, or sated, or goofy with delight, or enjoying any other of the happy emotions a woman could induce in a man-Dag smiled across at Fawn.
Quite the reverse. If grounds could be made visible, theirs would be knotted into personal thunderclouds hovering over their heads.
Dag said neutrally, “So, how was your first southern patrol?” They could not have found a malice, sessile or otherwise, or the general mood would have been something quite different.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Remo said. “Is Arkady’s bath barrel out there hot? ”
“It was this morning,” said Fawn. “The coals are still banked. You could likely put some more kindling on and get it to catch.”
“Good,” growled Remo. “Been thinking about that for hours.” He trudged out the back way.
“Why, yes, Remo, of course you can go first,” Barr remarked airily to the closing door. Dag heard Remo’s steps thump down the outside stairs. Barr flopped down on the braided rug in front of the hearth and stared bitterly up at the ceiling.
“What’s bit him? ” Fawn asked in wonder. Her gaze strayed to Barr.
“And you? ”
Barr made an unconversational noise in the back of his throat, not quite a death rattle.
“Did your, ah, courtships not prosper?” Dag inquired genially, taking his seat again. He really didn’t see how they could have failed. “Which one were you sweet on, again? I couldn’t hardly tell.”
Fawn picked up her needles and plunked down in the padded chair opposite, but didn’t start knitting again. Arkady had set down his quill and rested his chin in his hand, spread fingers hiding his smirk, listening shamelessly.
“Tavia,” sighed Barr. He waved his arms in the air. “Tavia, Tavia, Tavia. Hair so soft. The rest of her”-optimistically large hand motions above his chest-“so soft, too. A man wouldn’t get sliced up by her hip bones like that blond icicle Remo’s drooling after, not that it does him any good, either.” The arms fell listlessly to the rug.
“And the trouble with all this is…? ” prodded Fawn.
“Tavia’s gone sweet on Remo. Why? Why? I like her way better than he ever would. I bet I could make her happier, too. I’m an ever-so-muchcheerier fellow. Irony, ah, irony.”
“I gather from this that Remo is, er, sweet on Neeta?” Dag inquired.
“I shouldn’t think she would find him repulsive.” He wasn’t sure whether to hope to learn Neeta was sweet on Barr, or not. A truly creative patroller with a big enough blanket might do something with that array. He elected not to mention the thought. One mustn’t shock the youngsters.
“Oh, he was doing pretty good with her, at first, and I was getting all ready to catch Tavia on the first bounce with his goodwill, till he made the big mistake of telling Neeta who you really were.”
“Dag Bluefield No-Camp? It’s no secret.”
“No, who you were up in Luthlia. Dag Wolverine of Leech Lake Camp.”
Dag’s stomach clenched. “Oh. But that’s near a generation ago.”
“Neeta’s just back from two years’ exchange to Luthlia, and full of it. Did you know they still sing ballads up there about Captain Dag Wolverine of the Wolf War? ”
“One ballad,” growled Dag. And he didn’t much care for it. His wife Kauneo had been a heroine of Wolf Ridge, and her brothers, and fortyodd others. Dag had merely been a survivor.
Fawn, eyeing him uneasily, offered, “You can’t blame folks for wanting a song to help them remember their war.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to remember it.” Although the old memories no longer seared, merely twinged; he had time and Fawn to thank for that. “Besides, that ballad got it wrong. It carved up the truth to fit in its stanzas. Taught the wrong lessons.”
Barr groaned from the floor, “One ballad? There’s a couple dozen! A whole cycle about the Wolf War. And Neeta learned every blighted one of them while she was up there. She can sing them all. She did. And as soon as Remo let your old name drop, she didn’t want to hear anything from either of us except Dag stories.”
Dag had endured infatuated youngsters, and some not so young, a time or two before; at Hickory Camp word had eventually got ’round not to bother him, or perhaps he’d simply grown too old and dull. It was always embarrassing, but everyone always lived. He sighed grimly, trying to recall his methods of dealing with it. It had usually involved having Fairbolt send him out with a different patrol till things blew over. Not a method he could apply here, alas.
“Lovely Tavia,” Barr went on-bemoaned, actually-“lovely soft Tavia. Tavia, the fool girl, has sheep’s eyes only for Remo. Remo lusts after Neeta. Neeta’s besotted with Captain Dag Wolverine, who I’m not sure even still exists. Now, if only Fawn would yearn after me, the circle would be complete, but that’s not going to happen, we established that.” He vented a huge sigh. “So here I ride all alone at the tail of the pack train of love, eating dust.”
Dag, about to say something else, paused in stiff suspicion. “Just when and where did this establishin’ take place? ”
“Back on the Fetch,” mumbled Barr. “Very early on. Very.”
Dag glowered down at the supine figure on the rug, but his prey was too limp even for sport. Besides, if Fawn had suffered serious insult, the corner of her mouth wouldn’t dimple at the reminder.
“Remo’s taking forever,” said Barr at last. “I think I’ll go wash up in the lake.”
“But the water’ll be cold!” said Fawn.
“Good,” said Barr savagely, convulsed to his feet, and lurched out.
Arkady muffled a snicker, then let his hand fall to the table. “I suppose if we’re going to laugh at them we should do it now, and not in their faces.”
Dag cast him a glance of apology. “Sorry, Arkady. I reckoned those two would have had their love lives all arranged by now.” The only thing more dismal than one lovesick young patroller underfoot in his host’s tent was surely two lovesick young patrollers. Dag wondered how soon the pair might be sent back out on patrol.
Fawn said, in a constricted tone, “Is Neeta going to be a problem, Dag? ”
“No. I’ll just avoid her. It shouldn’t be hard; she’ll be patrolling, I’ll be in the medicine tent.”
Fawn raised her brows, but did not voice her opinion of his plan.
Arkady’s gaze sobered as he regarded Dag. “What Wolf War? ” he inquired.
“You’ve not heard of it? There’s a relief,” said Dag. “It was just one of our many northern malice scuffles, ’bout twenty years back. That’s where this went, among other things.” He gave a vague wave of his hook. The fading Wolf War wasn’t relevant to his current ambitions; he didn’t need to discuss it here. He tried not to think Hooray.
“Excuse me, but-company captain? In Luthlia? ” Arkady persisted.
“It was a short career.”
“I thought you were a plain patroller from Oleana.”
“I am. I was. It suited me better, after…” He waved his left arm again. “Luthlia is a hard hinterland, a young man’s country. When I wasn’t young anymore, I went home.”
“How long were you actually up there? ”
“ ’Bout ten years.” He grew uncomfortable under Arkady’s continuing stare. “What about it? ”