“But—”
“Don’t struggle against me, girl! I’ll break your neck!”
Wren twisted free, and saw tears running down Rumbler’s face. Without thinking, she took a step toward him.
Frost-in-the-Willows jerked Wren’s arm painfully. “You are a weasel, girl! If you keep sticking your nose in the wrong places, someday it will get nipped off!”
Frost-in-the-Willows hauled Wren through the crowd. Wren had to duck repeatedly to keep from being struck by arguers’ hands and elbows. The masked Dancers watched them pass, their copper, shell, and stone eyes glittering.
“Grandmother!” Wren cried as they neared the longhouse. “Let me go! I don’t wish to go home!”
When Uncle Blue Raven lifted the door curtain, cold wind fanned the dying fire. Flames crackled, and sparks spun upward. Wren threw the hides off her head to look.
He stood holding Rumbler’s hand. Two warriors flanked them, their eyes ablaze in the sudden firelight.
Blue Raven spoke to the warriors, his voice weary. “We all have our duties. Yours is to stand guard. Mine is to see that the boy is as comfortable as possible for the next seven nights. It will not be necessary for you to check upon him. I will do that. I wish him to sleep, and eat. Given what awaits him, he will need his strength.”
Acorn said, “Very well, Elder. We will be here if you call out.”
“Thank you.”
Blue Raven let the curtain fall. He squeezed the False Face Child’s hand, and whispered, “Come this way, Rumbler.” He led the child to his own buffalo hides. “This will be your bed.”
As though anxious to lie down, Rumbler trotted forward on his stubby legs and curled on his side, facing the wavering bed of coals. In the ruddy glow, his plump face shone.
Uncle Blue Raven spread two more hides over Rumbler. “You mustn’t be afraid,” he said. “I will be there with you. Do you understand?”
Rumbler closed his eyes.
Wren could see the frustration and sadness that lined Uncle Blue Raven’s face. He bent and stroked Rumbler’s tangled hair. “Lost Hill will not be easy for either of us, but I promise you, I will not leave you.”
Wren sank to the floor. Lost Hill … She had only seen four Starvings, but the pitiful cries of the babies who’d been abandoned there haunted her souls.
Uncle Blue Raven walked three paces away to the pile of extra furs near Frost-in-the-Willows. Grandmother rested on her back, her wrinkled mouth open, sound asleep. Blue Raven spread two elk hides across the floor, and stretched out on top, then pulled another down and rolled up in it. In less than a quarter hand of time, his breathing dropped to the deep rhythms of sleep. He must have been exhausted.
Wren’s gaze drifted around the longhouse. The soot-blackened vegetables tied to the rafters glowed silver in the starlight pouring through the smoke holes. Down at the far end of the house, Jumping Badger’s family whispered. Someone laughed softly.
Lost Hill. Oh, gods.
During the winter, Wind Mother blasted it bare of snow. All the trees leaned southward, their ugly trunks twisted by constant storms. Though the hill had a beautiful view of Pipe Stem Lake, no one went there. Her mother had once told her that the cries of all those lost children lived in every blade of grass that sank roots into that forsaken earth. People may not be able to hear the cries with their ears, Wren, but their souls hear them. The cries make a deep ache in the chest that won’t go away until you walk far beyond Lost Hill.
Wren turned to look at Rumbler. He was sucking his finger. The red gleam of the coals sparkled in his eyes. How alone he must feel.
Wren thought about it, then cautiously slid closer to him.
“Are you warm enough, Rumbler?” she whispered. “I would share one of my hides with you if you needed it.” She pulled on the heavy moose hide and handed him a corner.
He did not move.
“If you become cold in the night, tell me. I’ll help you.”
Sobs puffed his chest. “I told you.”
“ … What?”
“That your people were going to kill me.”
His faint voice tugged at her heart.
“I’m sorry, Rumbler,” she said, and quickly glanced around to make sure that no one else could hear. Blood had started to surge in her ears.
A trembling smile touched his lips. Hoarsely, he said, “I tried to fly to the Up-Above-World. Like you said.”
Wren blinked in surprise. “Did you find your mother?”
“No, I—I couldn’t get there. It was so dark, and cold. My Spirit wings wouldn’t work. But I’ve been having dreams about her. I dreamed that she was here. Alive. She was trying very hard to find me, but she couldn’t, and I had no voice to call out to her.”