People of the Fire(125)

She eased herself down, sighing as her weary back relaxed and the ache went out of her hips. "We'll have to go back for the rest of the roots and the front half of the deer. I put brush over the head so maybe the ravens and magpies won't get the eyes. That's your father's favorite part.”

Little Dancer shot her a radiant smile. "A good kill?"

"One shot." She beamed. "First thing, I Sang for her spirit."

"Well, let's get Ramshorn comfortable and make him at home. Then if you'll show the way, I'll carry the second load."

"Meadowlark might even look after this one." She indicated the infant. "Your other daughter didn't get eaten by a bear when I was gone?"

"She's off at Black Crow's making Cradle Girl miserable." He frowned. "I wonder if that isn't her mother coming out in her."

She plucked up her digging stick and poked him until he cried in surrender and scrambled away on all fours.

Ramshorn laughed heartily. "It's good to see people having fun again." He took a deep breath and pulled one muscular leg up to his chest. "The Red Hand worry so much, I think we've forgotten how to laugh."

Elk Charm cocked her head. "We don't hear much here on the west side of the mountain. Is it really that bad?"

Ramshorn dropped his eyes. "One of the women killed in that raid I told you about. . . well, her name was Wet Rain."

Elk Charm's stomach lurched as if she were falling.

"So, what are you going to tell him?" Elk Charm demanded.

Little Dancer pursed his lips and took a quick look at the sky, gauging the time left until dark. "What I always tell them. It's their war. Until Heavy Beaver comes here, I don't have to face him. And if I get a warning, I'll take us away first."

"You're worried about the Dream, aren't you?"

He nodded slowly, like he always did, eyes straying to the huge charcoal-colored wolf that padded quietly beside them, tongue lolling, yellow eyes always alert. The Dream had lingered, almost like a dizzy haze. Consciousness had returned to him that bitter winter day in the wolf's den, and with it the memory of the choice he'd made while his soul rested in Wolf Dreamer's hand. He'd chosen life—and pain—over the soft wonder of death.

True to the First Man's words, the wolf guardian had saved him from freezing and dragged him to its lair. There the animal had curled around him, the warmth of life leaching into him like spring rain through uncured moccasins.

Nor had the animal abandoned him on the miserable trip to Two Smokes' shelter. He'd hobbled along on his bruised and swollen leg, living off rose hips as they melted out of the drifts, sharing part of wolf's catch, finally plucking the tops of biscuit root and shooting star as they peeked through the snow. As he'd come closer to camp, he'd fashioned a crude digging stick from branches snapped off a dead juniper and dug biscuit root, consuming the rich sweet pulp raw.

The Dreams hadn't plagued him again until it got on toward winter. Then, when the Dreams invaded his sleep, wolf became restless, giving notice that time had come to make the trek to White Calf's for the deep cold. And each year, he'd gone, spending the frigid nights in deep discussions with the old woman, hearing the stories, talking about the ways of the world, how Monster Bone Springs had almost washed away.

The world was changing—and he lived day by day, hoping each wouldn't reach out and snatch him away.

“I made my choice that day on the mountain," he said to Elk Charm. "Wolf Dreamer said he'd give me as much time as he could. That same spring blizzard froze half of Heavy Beaver's war-hungry young men. That loss bought us the time we've had so far."

He turned, searching her eyes, reveling in the love he saw reflected there. "Listen, I made the promise. In the end, it's up to me. I know it, Wolf Dreamer knows it, and you know it. We live one day at a time, remember?"

She forced herself to smile, jerking her chin in a nod. She stepped close to hug him tightly, the power in her arms practically driving the breath from his lungs. "I love you, Dancer. Don't leave me."

The greatest pain in his life came from the fact he could never tell her, “I won’t. "

Tanager ran, lungs heaving as she fled through the trees. The enemy had come out of nowhere. One minute she lay on her stomach, chin propped on her elbows as she watched Cricket nursing her new baby. The next, Short Buffalo warriors had charged out of the timber, screaming, casting darts here and there as the camp erupted into bedlam. She'd jumped up, grabbing her atlatl, trying to nock a dart as Cricket screamed.

A tall man had grabbed her friend by the hair from behind, bending Cricket's neck back. Tanager's reaction had been instinctive. She'd clubbed the man with her atlatl, smashing his face. As he staggered back, she'd driven a dart into his belly. She'd taken Cricket's hand and run in panic, the warrior's shrieks in her ears.