He didn't give her a chance to clarify. "So's my wife. Killed by a man like Blood Bear."
Stunned, she studied his sober face. He smiled shyly, but the pain in his eyes touched her own, blending. Startled by her reaction, she forced her gaze away from his, wondering at the rapid beat of her heart.
Little Dancer stared up at the stars. The biting chill of the night ate into his bones. The crystal air burned in his lungs as his thoughts continued to whirl—dust in the wind. His world had come undone as if someone had pulled every peg from the lodge cover of his life. He felt open, exposed to the sight of things he couldn't even conceive. He tried to think, lost in the sensations of that afternoon.
The Wolf Bundle had burned his soul—the same as a boiling stone would his hands if he tried to pick it up without hearth sticks. He'd felt the longing, the Power, the need of the Wolf Bundle. He clamped his eyes shut at the memory. Power had played around him like the flickering light of an evening fire.
Images and memories shot through his mind in a jumble: 4 "Not my son . . . " his mother's words continued to repeat. White Calf's powerful stare burned into him with an acid intensity. Heavy Beaver's cruel smile seeped through the pores of his thoughts, as if it were hot bear oil. Two Smokes cried out in misery. Elk Charm's body swayed, tempting. The deep pools of her eyes promised. He could feel the gentle touch of her hands, his body responding. . . .
Everything whirled away, tossed in the tempest of his disjointed mind. He fell into a Spiral, turning, never finding the center. Blood Bear's smug face mocked him, the dani: the deadly dart tip hovering over his life. The man -eyes pinned his soul, sending a shiver through his quivering guts.
Through it all, the Wolf Bundle called to him, the presence of it haunting, lingering in the air like the faint perfume of spring phlox. Fragile fingers of memory caressed his soul. The familiar touch of the Wolf Bundle reminded him of his childhood. That warmth, that wondrous proximity of Power, wrapped around him. He could almost believe himself in his bedding, his mother and father sleeping at the back of the lodge. If he reached up, he could touch the decorated par-fleche, reach inside and feel the reassuring wolf hide that protected the bundle from harm.
Without thinking, he lifted his hand, fingers encountering nothing but the night sky. He raised his eyes, seeing the inky shadows of his grasping fingers. Above, only the Starweb stretched into the infinity of the night.
"The Wolf Bundle," he whispered hoarsely.
As if in answer, the weird howl of a wolf echoed from somewhere in the night. The cry rose, ascending the scale of his soul, sending shivers along his trembling muscles. A hole emptied in his being, part of him draining away to float like the eerie notes on the clear air.
Moonlight broke over the mountains, sending white bars of light shooting across the canyon to touch the sage with silver and strike gleaming sparks in the whispering dry grass. The ghostly silhouettes of black trees danced in the eerie light.
Little Dancer froze, looking to the west where the clouds piled high. A man looked at him, his image formed of the mounded clouds, moonlight shining from his eyes. The hair on the back of Little Dancer's neck rose, chill tickling his skin like a thousand insect feet.
"What . . . are . . . you?"
"Wolf Dream." The words might have formed of the air around him. "The time will come. You're not ready yet. The Circles haven't turned. "
He swallowed, gaping into the darkness. "I'm not the one," he insisted, heart battering fear against his ribs.
Out of the faint sighing in the trees, his mother's words spun like strands of spiderweb torn loose on the morning breeze, "I forbid it. "
Little Dancer winced, the power of the words engraved as deeply as the old petroglyphs above White Calf's camp.
"And your wish, boy?" The words uttered from a deeper throat, intense, undeniable.
He blinked, jumping as if physically touched. A shadow shifted. The wolf stood silver black in the moonlight, huge, almost the size of a four-point mule deer. It watched him, yellow eyes piercing his wounded soul.
"I . . ." The words caught in his throat.
"You know the Watcher," the voice continued. "He's followed you. You are tied.''
The huge animal stepped closer, head lowering as the mouth dropped open. Bright moonlight shimmered off the long white teeth like sunlight through ice.
Fear coursed through Little Dancer in electric patterns. Frozen, he could do no more than stare.
Wolf stopped a hand's length away.
"The Spiral has almost come around. The Circles are changing—the balance shifting. The ability to Dream it back is yours. The Power lies in you. Fire Dancer. You needn't choose yet. You have time to learn about life . . . about what it means to be. One day, you’ll be called. In the meantime, live . . . and learn. When the Dreams burn in your mind until you can think of nothing else, seek out White Calf. She understands now. She’ll listen . . . and teach. ''