Wren removed two wooden bowls from her pack, along with the other spoon, and set them in front of her.
She ladled both bowls full, then went to lean beside Rumbler against the oak trunk. The bark felt cold through her cape. She set her own bowl down, and held Rumbler’s out to him.
“Can you take this, Rumbler?”
He reached for it, hooked his thumbs over the rim and curled his injured fingers beneath the base. The bowl shook, the spoon inside clicking against the wood. He carefully lowered it to his lap.
Wren studied the bowl and his bowed head. “Do you need help, Rumbler?”
He didn’t answer.
Wren got on her knees beside him, lifted the bowl, filled the spoon and blew on it, then held it to his lips. “Be careful. It’s hot.”
Rumbler ate the first mouthful, and Wren dipped a second.
As he chewed it, he said, “This is good.”
He ate two more spoonfuls.
She smiled. “My mother taught me to make it. In the autumn she always added things like sunflower seeds, walnuts, gooseberries, and currants. She taught me lots of things.”
Rumbler watched Wren with shining black eyes. On occasion, like now, she had the feeling that he could see right through her skin and muscles to her souls. It made her backbone tingle.
“My mother taught me things, too,” he said.
“She was a Healer, wasn’t she? I heard that from someone.”
Rumbler nodded, and ate another mouthful. “She’s a great Healer. Did you know that if you boil the thick inner bark of hoary willow roots, it will cure a cough?”
Wren frowned. “No, I didn’t. We use cedarberry tea for coughs.”
“The juice of marsh willow dripped into the nostrils cures headaches,” he added, “and if you put hemlock berries in cold water with maple sap, then leave it for a week, it makes a good beer. You can also use the beer to wash wounds. They heal faster.”
“What about burns?” She fed him another spoonful. “My people have never figured out the right plant for that.”
“We cook poplar buds with bear grease. It works as a salve on burns, cuts, or other injuries.” Rumbler let out a long breath. “I think that’s all I can eat, Wren. Thank you, I … I don’t feel very well.”
She set the half-empty bowl down, and searched his round face. “Maybe you should try to sleep, Rumbler. You’ll feel better once you’ve gotten a good warm night’s rest.”
Obediently, he lay down. Wren tucked the edges of her fox-fur cape around his stubby legs, then sat back and picked up her own bowl. As she ate, Rumbler watched her, his eyelids growing heavier.
The thick soup tasted delicious, and it soothed her, reminding her of happy nights around the fire with her parents, brother, and Trickster. Without even thinking, she looked at the spot beneath her cape where Trickster’s rawhide toy hung from her belt. Though she hadn’t seen him, or heard him barking, she felt certain that Trickster’s ghost stood guard close by. She’d heard steps behind her, crunching the snow, as she’d hauled Rumbler up the hill toward Dancing Man River, and to the—
Rumbler murmured, “I had a dog, too, named Stonecoat.”
Wren lowered her spoon to her bowl. “How did you know I was thinking about Trickster?”
“My dog followed us after the warriors captured me. Stonecoat fought for me. He jumped on the big man. But the warriors killed him and ate him.”
Wren numbly stared into her bowl, barely seeing the chunks of turkey, and onions. Her people often ate dogs; if they were properly fed the meat had a sweet taste. But if someone had killed Trickster and eaten him before her eyes, it would have broken her heart.
She set her bowl on the floor. “I’m sorry, Rumbler. For everything that’s happened to you.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry for your hands, too.”
He blinked tiredly at his fingers. The top joints of his first three fingers had swollen. His little fingers resembled bloated black slugs. Rumbler tried to wiggle them, and winced.
In a small voice, he said, “Wren?”
“Yes, Rumbler.”
His black eyes devoured her souls. “Why did you help me?”
She shrugged and studied the crisscrossing poles that formed the roof. Vines as thick as her arms wove through the tangle. Taller animals, like the deer, must rub on them. The smooth shiny wood reflected the firelight. “You needed me to, Rumbler,” she answered.
“But your people will kill you for it, won’t they?”
“I don’t know. But I couldn’t leave you out there. It was as if I had to save you, or—or I was going to die myself.”
She used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that blurred her eyes. “My cousin Jumping Badger should never have stolen you. It was wrong.”