An Excerpt from Chapter Ten

Cowee stirred from winter not with a yawn, but with a roar. The First New Moon of Spring breathed bright colors and noise back into the valley, as visitors poured in from every corner of the Middle Towns; drawn not only by ceremony but by the chance to trade, to dance, to compete. English traders had come too, their stalls crowded with metal goods, woven cloth, and the sharp smell of rum. Smoke from a dozen cookfires curled above the square, carrying the scent of roasting meat and sweet corn cakes through the press of voices and trade. The language of the crowd shifted from trade talk to teasing to praise, as neighbors from distant villages reunited across bundles of goods and shared meals. Cowee pulsed with vivid sounds and energy—like the land itself had shaken off its frost and stepped into the sun.

Spring brought with it four times as many English traders as the fall, though the Cherokee had little left to trade. It was a familiar irony: as traders flooded in with full packs and high hopes, the Tsalagi stood with little left to barter, their harvests long since traded away. Yet the traders came in droves—more than twenty of them, with three times as many horses and mules clustered along the riverbank beneath canvas stalls and saddle-laden lean-tos. Some English faces had become familiar, near-permanent fixtures in the valley, known now by name and habit. The Scots among them stood out most: bold, loud, and entirely at home in the celebration. They drank heartily of the very liquor they brought to trade and joined the dances with flushed faces and booming laughter.