People of the Wolf(158)

She laughed and nodded, holding his warm eyes. "I'll argue fast, Ice Fire." She wheeled and trotted up the trail.

Eagle Cries and the rest watched from outside the camp, huddling close in the growing cold, fingering darts as they stared through the haze of blowing snow at the Others staring back, fingering their darts in return.

Inside the main lodge, the leaders of both tribes sat together around a large fire, the flames flickering golden across their wary faces. Rich aromas of caribou steak and sweet boiled roots filled the smoky air.

Singing Wolf tilted his head to stare through the partially open door flap at the evil night. "They'll freeze out there."

Dancing Fox took another bite of the roasted caribou, chewing it thoughtfully. "Maybe it'll cool some of their anger."

"Anger cools slowly," Ice Fire admitted unhappily as he wiped greasy fingers on his long boots. He shot a quick glance at Red Flint, who glowered around the lodge.

The old Singer grunted, casting surly eyes on Singing Wolf. "Some of us bear too many, scars."

"We all bear scars," Singing Wolf remarked mildly. He wiped the grease from his mouth. "I, for one, took the heart of a warrior of your people and placed it in the Big River so it would go to the Camp of Souls under the sea."

"You ..." Red Flint swallowed hard. His eyes shifted away and he got to his feet, walking to the flap, crawling out into the snow beyond.

Singing Wolf closed his eyes and sighed. "I fear peace will not come easily." He shook his head. "It's been a long time since I was warm. If you'll excuse me, I'm taking this opportunity to sleep without my teeth chattering like gulls' beaks."

"Sleep without fear, friend," Ice Fire assured.

For long moments-after Singing Wolf rolled in his robes, Dancing Fox sat staring into the fire, a prickling awareness of the Others' Most Respected Elder obsessing her.

"You surprise me."

She looked over at him, experiencing that same tingle when their gazes touched that she had all evening. "Why?"

"I don't expect such poise and intelligence from a woman so young."

"I'm not young anymore." She rubbed her eyes, feeling the incredible mantle of responsibility weighing on her shoulder. "I was young once, three years ago—an eternity."

He paused, fingers tapping lightly on the hides the women had laid over the floor. "I'm surprised a man hasn't made a wife of you. Your beauty takes a man's breath away. When I look into your eyes, I see strength and soul." He paused, unsure for the first time since she'd met him. "You have a lover?"

She smiled wryly, curiously unperturbed by his forward

question. "I loved once. It seems a Dream has stolen his soul more completely than I ever could have."

Ice Fire smiled wistfully. "Wolf Dreamer. Heron must have led him to that."

She studied him speculatively. "What do you know of Heron? Of Wolf Dreamer?''

He leaned back, face going serious. "I ... met him in a Dream. You see he's . . . my son."

She straightened. "You're his father?"

The edges of his lips twitched. "Yes, his and Raven Hunter's. That's why I couldn't let him die—despite what he'd become." His eyes nickered to hers. "Is that a terrible weakness? That I couldn't kill my son?"

She thought about it, a tenderness in her breast that he would confide in her. "No, I don't think so." She shifted, reclining, pulling her hair to the side. "All of us, all people, have to cherish our children. They're the future."

He played with a frayed corner of the white fox cloak. A corner—she noted—that had become smudged from fingering, the hair mostly gone, worn away. More than anything else, the action made him less powerful—a frail human like' herself.

"The future," he repeated. "Yes. That's why I couldn't watch Raven Hunter die—no matter that he'd earned it."

She inspected him, the wariness back. "For the mutilations and retaliation?"

At her cooling tone, he looked up. For a moment, he searched her eyes, then shook his head slightly. "For being what he is." He paused. "Let's see, how do I explain." His hands molded the air before him. "A man, or woman for that matter, is body and soul; agreed?"

She nodded, waiting.

"The body can be flawed. Maybe born without fingers, maybe it's not strong enough to stand the cold, or it coughs and dies, or it's stillborn." He shifted again, straining for the right words. "It's the same with the soul. In Raven Hunter's case, something is missing. He's preoccupied with himself . . . with this obsession for Power. And the problem is that he has glimpses, visions of what could be. Only he doesn't have the ability to extend that part of soul and share the identity. Understand?"