People of the Wolf(145)

"He'd like to see you."

Dancing Fox nodded, a knot tying at the base of her throat. "I'd hoped to be back and gone again before he found out."

One Who Cries chuckled softly. "Not anymore. You've

become too important for your own good." He cocked his head, bland features bending into a puzzled expression. "You and Green Water related?''

She smiled at him and shook her head, turning down the path, winding through the shelters. Children ran around her legs, laughter reserved as they chased each other, dogs barking at their heels. One Who Cries followed her. To still the violent spasms in her heart she asked, "I take it that he's feeling better?"

"He's healthy as a musk ox in rut. I ..." At her tightening expression he added, "Bad choice of words."

She waved it off, dread building.

"Anyway," One Who Cries added too briskly, "he came out of it fine. Just woke up and looked around and said he was hungry. Ate like a mammoth bull in spring. Then he got • up and walked out into the light. He climbed up to -a high spot and sat there for a day. Dreaming, I guess. But he said he was being One."

"Dreaming," she growled to cover her conflicting emotions.

At the flap, she stopped short, unsure. All the confidence' fled as she stared at the stained and worn door hanging. A tremble made her heart light. He was there. Just beyond that cracked bit of leather. So close, yet an eternity away.

She closed her eyes, frozen with indecision. I don't really have to see him. I could just say no and walk away.

"Go on," One Who Cries urged gently.

It took all her nerve to lift the flap and step in. A bright fire crackled in the oxidized fire pit. He looked up, eyes meeting hers, melting her where she stood. The flames cast a reddish gleam over his handsome face, touching his tan leather shirt and turning it into a flickering ocher mantle. His waist-length hair hung loose over his broad chest, brushing the dirt floor.

"I hear you've practically been running the camp," he greeted, expression warm and concerned.

She shrugged, steering her thoughts away from him, back to the People, and finding refuge in the problems. "The worst part has been keeping Raven Hunter's warriors in line. The younger ones keep trying to sneak off to raid the Others."

"And the Others?"

"From what we can gather, they're involved in the fall hunt. Making meat for the winter."

"Will you sit?" he asked.

She settled herself hesitantly on a caribou hide, muscles tense, hands clasped to still the need to fidget, and looked across at him. His tall body had gained some perfection in the past months; a serenity and grace pervaded his every movement. And his eyes . . . even when he looked at her, he seemed to be staring into some distance in his mind.

"I approved all the suggestions you made. I know Four Teeth is your mouthpiece, but Singing Wolf and One Who Cries back you up. I didn't . . ." He smiled wistfully. "I didn't know what the Dreaming could do to a person. How it affected the mind and body and soul. Or I would have been here to help you."

"I know you would have," she whispered, heart thudding sickeningly. If only I could reach out and touch you ...

"Thank you for taking care of the People for me."

"What's next?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, diverting him from personal subjects.

He frowned slightly, a fleeting change of expression. "We go south as soon as we can. Beyond that, I can't see, except that something cataclysmic looms on the horizon."

"Cataclysmic?"

"Yes . . ."He clamped his lip with his front teeth. "Opposites crossed. Balances equaling each other. Conjunction."

"What are you talking about?"

He spread his hands, leaning back. "Words aren't meant for Dreams."

She nodded, having no idea what he meant. "Are you finished with the mushrooms?"

He looked up at her, eyes haunted. "One more time. On the other side. At the conjunction. Then I'm through."

"And then what?"

He stared blankly. "What?"

"Can you ever ..." She stopped, squeezing her eyes closed. "Will you ever be a normal man again?"

He cocked his head quizzically. "Normal?"

In the long pause, she could see him searching his mind.

"Will you ever be able to love again?" she asked bluntly, nerves strung as taut as a bowstring.

His smile grew slowly, making his face glow. "I love everyone, Dancing Fox. It's part of the Oneness, you see. I—"

"Ah . . ." A hollow ache built in her stomach.

He smiled, a kind expression on his young face. "You're asking more, aren't you? If I'll ever feel a special love—like I once felt." He shook his head slowly. "Those feelings are illusory. That's what killed Heron. She never really allowed herself to go all the way. That center of her soul wouldn't surrender. Wouldn't become nothing."