People of the Wolf(27)

Jumping Hare pursed his lips tightly. "We've caught what? Three rabbits since we left Mammoth Camp?"

"And that's been only a week," One Who Cries grumbled miserably, staring at Wolf Dreamer's back. ' 'We should have gone back."

"One way's as good as another," Green Water whispered. "We could have starved just as easily in Mammoth Camp."

One Who Cries lowered his eyes and lifted one hide-wrapped foot in front of the other, keeping the slow pace, knowing from experience that the night would be upon them before they made the crest of the ridge. Shame burned in his breast. Had he lost faith in the Wolf Dream so quickly?

Step-by-step, they climbed, testing the footing with the deliberateness of hunger-weak muscles. No extra move wasted what precious energy remained in their tired limbs.

"Spirits," Jumping Hare muttered under his breath. "Runs In Light had to hear Wolf. Had to run out and get mixed up in Spirit Power."

"You still believe that?" Singing Wolf asked, condescendingly.

"You don't?"

"Wolf wouldn't torture us to death if we were following his Dream."

"Hush. We had to do something," Laughing Sunshine chided. "You don't notice the women complaining, carrying on. We save our breath and effort for walking. If men had sense, so would they."

A heavy silence fell. They glanced back and forth uncertainly. In the distance, Father Sun's face wavered silver through the blanket of clouds, crawling downward.

"Maybe it's a test of our faith." Green Water sighed.

One Who Cries looked up to the gray sky. "Starving isn't a bad way to die. There's worse. There's bad teeth that rot and swell a man's jaw with pus. There's the joint-pain where a man hobbles in agony, his joints grinding and burning. A fellow can always break his leg out away from help-be eaten by Grandfather Brown Bear. And remember old Walrus Tusk? His legs swelled up fit to bust his long boots.-Then his water got bloody. And then there was—"

"Hush!" Green Water said in exasperation.

Ice Fire woke in the night. Around him, he could hear the soft breathing of his clan. Over his head, the vicious wind rippled the hide roof of the shelter. In the darkness, he could see condensed breath rising from the robes around him. He shifted his position beneath the soft piles of hides, frowning into the sea-scented darkness.

A curious dream; he'd been walking, seeking something in the south. Behind him came the White Tusk Clan, hungry, trusting, and through it all he'd wondered if he'd been betrayed by some Power in the night. Yet, as he led his band up the rocky hills, they could feel eyes upon them, someone watching from above. There, on the side of that windswept hill, he'd turned, casting a searching look to the cloudy skies.

And he'd seen her eyes, staring down: The Watcher!

As he resettled himself, he tried to shake the feeling of premonition. The haunting call echoed around the edges of his mind. He blinked, yawned, and rolled over, trying to sleep again. Hours later, he pushed back the robes, putting

on his outside parka and heading for the cold trap and the doorway.

"Can't sleep again, Elder?"

"No, Red Flint, my old friend." He paused, feeling the chill of the deep blackness seeping up from where he held the door flap slightly ajar. "At times I wonder if I'm slowly losing my mind."

Red Flint stirred in his furs and reached out, prodding the ashes in the fire pit, exposing a red eye of coal. "So, you were going out to walk around the night like some homeless ghost again?"

Ice Fire lifted a shoulder as Red Flint pulled on his parka and bent over to blow on the coal, feeding a bit of dried moss to the tiny eye, coaxing a blaze with bits of willow stems and dried leaves.

"The light might wake someone up," Ice Fire said, gesturing to the sleeping bundles around them.

Red Flint grinned in the glow; humor pulled the lines of his flat face into comic patterns. "I doubt it. You kept them up too late retelling the story of the Sky Spider spinning the web that holds up the sun and the sky. No, they'll sleep."

Ice Fire settled himself on the foot of his friend's robes, crossing his legs carefully. He grunted acceptance and stared into the flickering yellow flames.

"You're not gonna die, are you? Sometimes men can't sleep before they die."

Ice Fire bowed his head and chuckled softly. "Not yet."

"Then what's bothering you?"

He reached a long-boned hand for a willow stem and slowly poked the blaze with a length as he thought. Where to begin? "I dreamed of an old woman—a witch. I . . ." He frowned. "I know her. At least, I've felt her before."

"You old dog, you! Been feeling women? You're not ready to die . : . except for maybe your taste? Now, I "got this daughter, Moon Water. She's budded out. Make you a good—"