Sparrow couldn’t see them very clearly, but several people waved their arms. A few paced back and forth. Four old white-haired women sat together on the north side of the fire. “It looks like a village council meeting.”
Dust wet her chapped lips. “What do you think has happened? Did they discover Jumping Badger’s treachery? Are they organizing a war party to hunt for us?”
Sparrow lifted a shoulder. All day long as they’d battled the snow, Dust had talked about Rumbler, about how she knew he was alive, because she could feel him in her heart.
Gently, he said, “It’s more likely, Dust, that Rumbler is dead, and they’re preparing the Death Feast.”
She shook her head violently. “He’s alive, Sparrow! I … I can feel him.”
He reached out to touch her cheek, but stopped. His hand hovered over her shoulder a long moment before he closed his fist on air, and tucked it back into the pocket of his elkhide jacket. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” He gestured to the trail. “Shall we?”
Dust walked ahead, wading into the snow. Her legs shook so badly she had trouble keeping her balance as she broke trail. After ten paces she stopped. She turned halfway around to look at him, and he could see the struggle in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sparrow. I—”
“No, I’m sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and eased around her. “I should be leading the way.”
“You’ve been leading all day,” she said in an agonized voice. “I know you’re tired, too.”
“I can manage for another hand of time. Besides, we’re almost there.” He pointed. “Do you see the tallest hill north of Walksalong Village? The one with the trees on top?”
Her head wobbled in a nod. “Yes.”
“That’s Lost Hill. We’re supposed to meet Cornhusk at the base of the hill on the shore of Pipe Stem Lake.” He shielded his eyes and studied the position of Grandfather Day Maker. The sun stood just above the trees behind them. “I’d say we have about another two hands of time before nightfall, and another hand of time after that before it’s dark enough that we can chance approaching Lost Hill.” He lowered his hand. “It’s not just that I’m exhausted. I really think we should stop for a while.”
When she opened her mouth to object, he added, “We don’t want anyone to see us, Dust. If we sit down long enough to drink something, and rest our legs, the sun will sink a little lower, and the shadows cast by the trees will help to hide us. Then we’ll make our way to the canoe landing. Cornhusk said he’d leave a boat on this shore for us. We can’t even think of going near it until it’s dark.”
Dust searched his eyes, as if to make certain he’d told her the truth, that they really could afford to stop, then she nodded. “All right, Sparrow. But only for a finger of time.”
“Agreed.”
Sparrow inspected the trees that lined the trail to his right, the humps of snow-covered brush, boulders, and weaves of deadfall. “There’s a fallen log over there, Dust. Why don’t you stay here until I’ve beaten down a path.”
“Gladly.”
He stepped off the trail and bulled his way up the slope. When he finally reached the fallen log, he brushed the snow off, then waved to Dust. “There’s a wonderful view of the lake from up here.”
She started up the trail, and Sparrow unslung his pack, removed his quiver and bow from his shoulder, and sank down on the log. His aching legs throbbed. “Hallowed Spirits,” he groaned, “I needed this.”
“I can’t wait to join you.”
Wan sunlight fell through the branches, and sprinkled Dust’s body with bits of gold. Her face had flushed, and her eyes had a dull look, as though she had just enough strength to take one more step.
When she got close enough, she grabbed onto a low-hanging limb, and eased down onto the fallen log beside Sparrow.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She stretched her back muscles, and winced. “Just weary.”
“Me, too.”
Sparrow untied his water bag from his belt and handed it to her. “Drink deep.”
Dust pulled open the knot, tipped the bag up, and tried to hold it steady while she drank, but water spilled over her chin and down the front of her cape. She managed five gulps before she had to lower the bag. As she handed it back, she said, “I think we should eat a corn cake, too. It will give us back some of our strength.”
“You’re going to grant me a corn cake?”
“Just one.”
He smiled.
While Dust searched her pack for the right birch-bark bag, Sparrow drank, relishing the feel of the cold water going down his throat.