At the sound of his voice, Gitchi slid from Baji’s arms and trotted to where his best friend lay, propped on one elbow in the warm folds of blankets. Dekanawida scratched Gitchi’s ears. “I saw you chase away the invader wolf. Well done, Gitchi.”
Baji swore that Gitchi’s yellow eyes gleamed brighter when he gazed at Dekanawida. Their love for each other was palpable. She could feel it warming the cold morning air—or perhaps it was just in her heart.
Dekanawida rose, straightened his cape, and knotted his belt around his waist. It disturbed her to see his belt strung with Power pouches instead of weapons. He adjusted the four different-colored pouches to their proper position, then spent a moment petting the red pouch that dangled like a cocoon on the far right. He touched the red one often, and she always wondered why? What did it contain? He knelt to roll up their blankets.
She just watched him. The familiarity of his movements eased the peculiar loneliness that tormented her. Sometimes, when he was out of her sight, even for a few instants, panic set in, as though she’d suddenly found herself abandoned, left alone in an alien forest utterly empty of other human beings. The experience bore a striking similarity to sitting a death vigil, which she’d done many times on the war trail. As a person watched his friend’s eyelids flutter, and listened to lungs rattle, friendship seemed to momentarily strengthen … then thin like the last beautiful note of a flute, dying into silence so complete its loss stunned the soul. She wondered if all loneliness was a death vigil.
“Breakfast smells wonderful,” Dekanawida said as he tied the blankets to the top of his pack.
She stood. “You need to eat well this morning. By afternoon, we’ll reach Shookas Village, and then your troubles really begin.”
“I’m ready. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things we discussed.”
“You are ready. I’m sure of it.”
Baji untied his water bag from her belt, and walked forward with it dangling from her fingers. Dekanawida rose, said, “Thank you for filling it,” and tied it to his belt.
They stood side-by-side in companionable silence, listening to the crackle and snap of the fire, and the rustle of wind through the winter trees. Deep in the forest, deer hooves rattled on stone.
Baji’s gaze drifted over the predawn mosaic. Black pools of shadow dappled the grayness, but quaking aspens glowed in the dark tangle of tree trunks, their ivory bark shining. Her ears tracked the sounds, the low shish of windblown dead ferns, branches sawing, mice feet whispering beneath the piles of old autumn leaves. Nothing unusual.
She leaned over to view the contents of the bubbling cook pot. The dried raspberries had combined with the red corn to turn the mush a deep purple color. “It will be ready soon.”
“I love the fragrance of raspberries on a winter morning.”
She smiled at him. “I know you do.”
He put his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. “How’s your headache today?”
“Gone, for the moment. Once we start running the trail we’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Is the swelling down?”
“Yes. Some.”
He removed his arm and slipped his hands beneath her long hair to gently probe her head wound. His expression tensed.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s better, but before we leave camp this morning, I want to wash it thoroughly again. You’re sure you are feeling better?”
“I am. Truly.”
He gave her a suspicious look, as though he sensed there was something she wasn’t telling him. “I want the truth.”
She sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. Actually, I feel very good. I’m just afraid you might assume that means I’m about to fly away.”
“Any numbness or odd pains in your body?”
“For the sake of the Spirits, I’d tell you if there were!”
“All right.” He put his arm around her again and hugged her close. “It’s just that I know you. If your leg had just been amputated, you’d tell me you felt fine.”
What she didn’t want to tell him was that something had happened to her last night. That’s why she’d risen. Her senses had become remarkably intense. Even in deep sleep, the faintest sound had disturbed her, and she’d known instantly whether it announced danger or calm. When she’d opened her eyes, the forest had appeared translucent, shining as though every shred of bark and blade of grass were sculpted from quartz crystals. And the night scents! They’d struck her like blows. She didn’t understand it, but she’d had the feeling that ancient instincts, long buried, had begun to stretch and move, awakening. She knew, knew, that somewhere inside her, her soul trotted through a primeval forest, running down food as her distant ancestors had done, hunting with fang and claw, rather than bow and knife, and it left her feeling more alive than she’d ever thought possible.