"Things have changed." He hesitated, head tilted back, accenting the prominent spike of his Adam's apple. He scanned the afternoon sky as he thought. "You know, it was always Little Dancer at the center of it—kind of like the trouble in a dog pack can be narrowed down to one puppy. Next time, maybe I'll pick my friends better."
She laughed sarcastically. "Oh?"
He shot her a curious glance. "You like what's happened to us? All this running, living in holes in the rock like pack-rats? And there are only buffalo to kill every once in a while up here."
"Fool," she told him softly, a warm light in her eyes.
"Look around you. This place is beautiful. Unlike the plains where spring is green and the rest of the year is brown, there are colors here, and the land changes with each moment as the sun moves.
“I’ve never been as warm in a hide shelter as I am in the rocks. Maybe brother packrat is smarter than you think, huh? And when was the last time we were hungry?"
"But we eat seeds and roots and things like that!"
"Uh-huh, and elk and mountain sheep and deer and jack-rabbit and bear and . . .yes, even a buffalo on occasion. You remember, Black Crow. You think real hard and you remember just how much buffalo we ate those last years with the People." She waggled her mano at him.
He lifted a sheepish shoulder. "Well, maybe we were a little hungry."
"And besides, what if we had stayed, and Heavy Beaver hadn't Cursed us all dead? What then? You'd be the one going up into the mountains to fight the deadly Anit'ah. Think of that. Now, here we are on the other side of the mountains. And we're safe for a while." She paused, a pensive look in her eyes as she stared off to the west where the sun sank slowly. The canyon hid the view, but she knew what lay there.
"And besides, husband, if things change again, we'll cross the basin out there. Maybe find a place to live in that next bunch of mountains."
"And if there's a war there?"
"We'll keep moving until we find a place where there isn't war. What do we need? Someplace out of the rain and snow? Animals and plants to eat and make clothing out of? Can you think of anything else?"
"People to talk to."
She winked at him. "You're tired of Hungry Bull and Three Toes and Meadowlark and—"
"No, I mean people to talk to." He scowled at his braiding where it lay in his hands. "I miss the old stories, seeing different faces, hearing the jokes from someone new. I miss the coming of the Traders, and hearing what they've seen. We're cut off here. That's all."
She nodded, callused hands going still as she thought back to those other days. "Yes, I miss that, too." For a moment they sat in silence, until Makes Fun shook her head violently. "But no matter, I wouldn't trade anything for Sage Root's fate."
She reached over and placed a white-powdered hand on his knee. "You know, husband, sometimes the world just changes. Maybe we could have done something about it if we'd known how far Heavy Beaver would take things. But we didn't, and even when I finally started to wonder, and Choke-cherry tried to tell me, I still didn't believe it. But that's past, the buffalo's out of the trap."
"Out of the trap and running!" He laid a hand tenderly over hers. "And we have strong healthy children who don't scream for war. So the world changed? We got the best of it, didn't we?"
"And that only leaves the Anit'ah."
He nodded, gazing toward where Ramshorn sat in the sun with Rattling Hooves, talking. "We can't go fight the People. No matter what Heavy Beaver's made them do. They're our relatives."
"And one of the these days when Blood Bear comes to make us?"
"We'll leave, wife. We'll leave and go see those mountains over there across the basin."
Ramshorn had timed his visit perfectly; for the first time that year the warm air off the basin rose with the night, sending pleasant dry breezes up the canyons. The gentle scent of sage, juniper, and limber pine mixed with the perfume of blooming phlox, buttercup, and yellow bell.
For the feast, a large crackling fire had been laid before Hungry Bull's ample shelter. The dance of the flames reflected in yellow-bronze tones off the high arch of the overhanging sandstone and cast darting shadows over the juniper that crowded the rimrock, seeming to weave eerie forms against the background. Shadow patterns jumped in accordance to the rising and falling of speech, animated by laughter.
Over it all, the night sky stretched endlessly. The Starweb sparkled in brilliant radiance as each point of light glimmered and danced in the velvet night.
The people of Hungry Bull's band sat around, talking and joking, knowing the night would bring good and bad. Rams-horn came with news—and Rattling Hooves had already cut her hair short in mourning. Elk Charm had not only cut her hair, but wore her worst clothing. She wouldn't change until at least a moon had passed. Among the Red Hand, the death of a mother—even by marriage—did not occur without sorrow.