People of the Wolf(37)

He stared at her as she smiled warmly, then nodded and walked slowly to where they handed blocks of snow out of the excavations.

When they'd cut three cavities from the lee of the drift, he carefully faded back, feeling the trail. Last time, wolf tracks had led him to musk ox. Perhaps this time, Wolf would come. Or perhaps he'd stumble over another winter kill—for Green. Water and the rest.

On unsure legs, he turned into the growing darkness, feel-ing his way on the uneven surface of the trail.

Black's yipping brought Heron wide-awake.

She sat up and rubbed stiff fists into her eyes. "Something different in that bark of yours," she called out.

Red coals glowed around the rock-heaped fire pit. Retrieving her darts, Heron rose and pulled on her parka. Again the yip came, barely audible over the howling of the wind. She shoved her feet into her boots, snugging the laces tight and binding her hair with a thong before pulling the hood closed about her face. Last, she took her snowshoes.

Before leaving, she settled a couple of faggots of wood on the fire and ducked through the flap. Snow whirled from the darkness—a twisting cascade as she turned her head, half-hesitant to undo the hood and freze her ears. No, not good to get her head wet in this. The head lost too much heat unprotected.

Black barked again. She got a fix on the direction and hesitated. Even with her knowledge of the area, only a fool walked out in the wind-whipped storm. Still, something in Black's call, some wrongness, goaded her onward.

"Never heard you yap like that," she murmured in concern, feet crunching on new snow as she angled away from her home.

She whistled, hearing the faint responding howl. Bending, she tied her feet into the webbing of the snowshoes. Steadfast, dart nocked in her atlatl, she crunched up the slope, into the brunt of the wind. Her lips chilled, making whistling difficult. Snow packed on the front of her caribou parka, forcing her to walk head down to keep the storm from blinding her.

Black yelped excitedly in the distance.

Rested though she was, her aged legs complained, aching in the deep drifts. Time and again, she whistled, following the lead of Black's cry. For what seemed an eternity of night and Wind Woman's incessant harassment, Black's call grew louder.

He bounded out of the dark, whining, the bitch White on his heels, as always, unsure. Black leapt away. Stolidly, she followed.

She almost missed him. He lay half-buried, face cradled in his arms, protected from the force of the gale. The snow around him had been packed by Black's feet. The dog looked up, whining, tail swishing.

"There," she cooed. "Good boy. Just like I trained you, huh?"

She bent down, squinting at his clothing in the blackness. "One of the People. Here?" She blinked, an eerie sense of familiarity taunting her heart.

Frowning for what seemed an eternity, Heron finally pulled his snow-encrusted arm away, looking at his slack features. "Too late." She sighed. "Looks like he's froze."





Chapter 14



Heron kicked him in the ribs, hard, and got a groan.

"Come on," she growled. "Get up."

Lifting, she got him to his feet, slipping on the irregularity of the snow beneath. Mammoth trail. Must have been the old bull headed for the hot springs. The boy had followed the tracks.

"Black," she called, supporting the staggering man's weight. "Home, Black."

Obedient, the dog loped away, a charcoal splotch in the windswept night.

Forever they walked. Her breath tore at her lungs. He faltered, trying to keep erect. Even through the many layers of his clothing, she could feel his bones. Starved. One foot at a time, they progressed, Black racing back and forth, leading the way, nose to the piling snow.

An hour later, on the verge of collapse, they crested the ridge, the stranger falling to his knees, almost dragging her down. Hurling condensed clouds of breath, Heron grabbed his hood and slid him down the trail.

He shivered, the spasms violent.

"You gonna die after I've done all this work?" she grumbled. Pulling off her mittens, she undid his parka with stiffened fingers, the dogs nosing about, anxious, reading her disquiet.

The stiff leather came off with difficulty. Heron turned her face away at the odor of him. Sickness and stale sweat hung heavily about him. Teeth chattering, she yanked the last of his clothing off and stripped herself, dragging him over the rocks, heedless of his tender skin until she had him in the warm water of her hot springs.

In the darkness, steam swirled wildly in the wind, enveloping them in a blanket of moist warmth. She held him, feeling the strangeness of human flesh against hers. Keeping his head above water, she listened to his heart, to his breathing. He stirred.

"You're safe," she assured. "Now tell me what you're doing here?"