Black paced nervously at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.
"Hungry," Heron muttered.
Black's tail wagged and he sneezed, stretching his front legs playfully.
"Go! See what you can run down." She waved a hand, White and Black both nuzzling under the flap and into the coming night.
Heron wrung out her damp hair, spreading it over the dry heat of the fire. "You look like you'll live," she commented.
The boy bobbed his head slowly. "I will, but I'm worried about my people. When I left, the three shelters were all crowded. I don't know how many will be alive."
"Tomorrow, when it's light, we'll go get them." She sighed. "There goes my privacy."
He said nothing, eating slowly of her pemmican: The mixture of berries and fat would provide nourishment for his skinny frame.
She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his. "You grew up to be much more handsome than I'd imagined."
He looked up, frowning. "What?"
"Never mind. I'll explain later. First, tell me why you're here." She nudged the end of another stick into the crackling blaze. "I thought old Crow Caller's father had warned everyone away from this place."
"He did." He looked away, eyes pained, guilt in his expression. "I brought people here anyway."
"Wise choice." She fluffed her graying hair. She was unaccustomed to using her voice to speak to a human being. Her tones, once a smooth and sweet contralto, had gone gravelly over the long years.
He dropped his head in his hands. At the broken look, her heart went out to him. Some terrible burden weighed him down, betrayed by his anxious eyes.
"You want to tell me about it?"
He shrugged uncomfortably. "I . . .1 Dreamed. We were hungry. Hunger does strange things to a person's mind."
"Of course it does strange things, but that doesn't have anything to do with Dreaming."
"How do you know?" he asked, a twinge of fear and hope in his voice.
' 7 know. "
His face flushed as he ran a hand through his long hair. "Wolf . . . called me ... I mean ..."
Heron's heart quickened. She reached across and lifted his chin. "Look me in the eyes, boy. Tell me what Wolf told you."
He swallowed, jaw working under smooth skin in the grip of her hard fingers. "We were starving in the shelters. I heard Wolf scratching at my mother's corpse. I ... I thought only of meat." Once started, the story flowed, hesitantly to be sure, but it all came out. She stopped him when he told of trying to call the animals, to find them that they might eat.
"And when you tried to call the animals? What then?"
He shook his head, hands extended to the fire. "I couldn't feel them, couldn't ... I'm not a Dreamer. Look what I've done. Led my people to the ends of the world—"
"Your mind was clogged. You thought other things? You were desperate?"
He nodded, cowed.
Heron scowled. "Yet you say you stood up to Crow Caller, that the strength of Wolf was in you."
He shot a hard look, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "Yes. I felt that! It was there . . . then."
"Yes," she said contemplatively. "I can tell it was. But why isn't it now? Did no one teach you—"
"I don't know why!" he shouted in frustration.
"Who Dreams among the People now?"
"Crow Caller."
She lifted a brow. What had happened all those long years she'd been away? "I always felt a wrongness about him. He never Dreamed right ... like only half Dreams. He changed visions. Never let himself be free. Takes freedom to Dream . . . solitude."
"Broken Branch said—"
"Broken Branch?" Heron gasped. "Is that traitorous witch still alive?"
The boy winced. "Last time I saw her."
Heron chuckled, slapping her thigh, then unpleasant memories came to the surface of her mind, hardening her heart. "I think maybe I'll curse her joints."
"You know her?"
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I know her."
"I didn't think there was anyone in the world as old as her. She's been around since—"
"Well, don't get your hopes up. She may not be around much longer after I catch up to her."
He frowned. "I think she's my only friend right now. She believes in Dreaming, talks a lot about it."
"Does she? Used to be she called me crazy when I had Dreams. Said I had bad spirits in my gut."
Runs In Light held his breath, disbelieving. "You Dream?"
"I Dream."
"Is that why you hate Broken Branch so much? The things she said about your Dreaming?"
She paused, memories stirring again. "No . . . no, that's not it. Once, long ago, there was a man. A great hunter. He was known for hunting Grandfather Brown Bear. Taunted bears, made them chase him. He'd run past an ambush, circle back, drive a dart behind their shoulders just so. Killed a lot of bear that way. I loved that man. Would have stayed with him. Until Broken Branch—beauty that she was—wrapped her legs around him and turned his head. Besides, the Dreams—"