“What was Kakala’s plan at Walking Seal Village?”
“He thought if he could take Bramble, hand you a crushing defeat, it would be an incentive for your people to leave without more killing. If the Sunpath just went away, left, the Nightland would have only the Lame Bull to convince. With no enemies, the Council would have no reason to send out war parties. No one who believed in Wolf Dreamer could follow us when the Guide took us into the paradise of the Long Dark.”
“A quick way to end the killing?”
“Kakala sometimes has grand notions.” She returned to her drawing.
Windwolf frowned, thinking back. Bramble had broached the subject of leaving. He had even been considering it before Walking Seal Village. Now, all these years later, what was he doing, but sending parties of refugees west to the Tills?
Kakala tried to kill Karigi? Would have, had Silt and I not arrived when we did?
“Have you ever thought about changing sides?”
She lifted a brow and laughed softly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doomed.”
“We could use you.”
“I’m intrigued by your faith in the future.” She laughed again and shook her head, as though she doubted his sincerity, while she drew several more curving lines. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I’m serious.”
Something about the softness of her expression touched him. He wanted her to stay, to talk, to just let him look at her.
He pointed at the map. “How are you doing?”
“I’m finished.” She handed it to him.
When he reached for the map, he accidentally grasped her hand where it held the hide. Time seemed to stop. Conflicting emotions danced across her beautiful face: a magnetic attraction to him, fear, confusion. They might have been frozen, the physical contact lasting for five heartbeats, then ten. Her cool skin under his sent blood rushing in his ears.
Finally, Keresa gently pulled her hand back and said, “That’s the best I can do.”
Windwolf looked at it, pulse pounding, short of breath. “Is this the eastern entrance to the caves?”
“Yes.” She tapped the map. “And this is the western entrance.”
She’d drawn many more passageways than he’d thought she would, and based upon his own explorations, they looked accurate. It told him something very valuable about her sense of honor.
Her dark eyes fixed on his. He could see the question there that she dared not ask.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“About Kakala, back at the cavern. You shouldn’t have stared like that.”
He sighed. “All these moons I have wanted him dead. And now …”
“Go on.”
He shook his head. “Keresa, I—”
“May I go now?” She refused to meet his eyes, but he could see the pulse racing in her neck.
“Of course.” He went to the entry to hold the curtain aside for her.
She ducked outside and was gone.
Forty-three
Silvertip fought his way through a thick haze of gray, images of the Dream living within him.
Each of Wolf Dreamer’s words remained fresh and clear, as though they had become a living part of Silvertip’s soul.
He blinked his eyes open and winced at the grating feel, as if sand had been poured behind his lids. He reached up with a feathered wing, oddly surprised to find a very human hand at his control. It took a moment to remember how to work his fingers as he rubbed his dry eyes. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and a terrible pain filled his head.
Unlike his Spirit body, this one hurt; his bones ached. His bones, the same ones he’d seen slowly bleach, and fall away. Making a fist, he savored the miracle of muscle, tendon, and bone. He felt stiff, but he was whole.
When he turned onto his side, it wasn’t with a simple twist of his tail, but the more ponderous movements of a dull and clumsy body.
It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Then he knew were he was: the Spirit Chamber.
Glancing at the door he determined it was night. The fire in the center had burned down to coals. Grandfather Lookingbill lay wrapped in his buffalohide blanket. Loon Spot sat just to his side. Her head drooped at an odd angle, mouth open to expose a few peglike teeth, a rasping snore rising from her wattled throat.
I’m back. He looked down at his small body, so poorly human. But in his soul, the magic of flight still ran through him like a beam of morning light.
Tears brimmed in his eyes, silvering his vision. He blinked at them, and sniffed, a profound grief welling within. The sense of loss grew, encompassing a sorrow he didn’t know his breast could contain.
“Give me back my wings. Please, Wolf Dreamer!”
In the middle of the night, Keresa heard a familiar voice. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. All around her warriors lay stretched out across the floor with their capes tucked closely about their bodies for warmth. Kakala whispered and whimpered, lost in some dream.