One Who Cries' heart pounded in guilt. "If we go back, we'll brand Runs In Light a fake . . . forever. He'll never live it down. People won't forget."
"He dreamed it. Not us," Jumping Hare snapped, slapping a hand on the rock. "A man can't be responsible for another's Dream. It's his trouble. He can deal with it in his own way."
"He blames himself because we didn't walk in a shaft of Father Sun's light all the way beyond the Big Ice," One Who Cries grumbled. "I hate to see him suffer."
"All right," Jumping Hare said, slapping a hand against his thigh. "You don't want to see him suffer. Fine. Neither do I, but I want to go dance the Renewal, see the girls, find out if my mother lived. Face it, there's nothing out here. No magic path to the south and unlimited game. This is the end of the world! Everything we have is back with the People. And we've got responsibilities, the Dance of Thanks, the Renewal rituals—"
"How do you know there's no magic path? We never looked for Runs In Light's hole. Along the river, that's what the vision showed," Singing Wolf pointed out, looking from one to the other.
"You go hunt. I'm not missing the Dance of Thanks. It's unthinkable," Jumping Hare said sharply.
"Unthinkable." One Who Cries reluctantly sighed agreement.
"Remember last year? We missed the Renewal, then the Long Light faded," Jumping Hare reminded them. "Maybe it was the fault of the People, huh?"
"Well, if we're going back," Singing Wolf added, "we'd better leave soon. If we wait, we'll have to cross the muskeg. You know what that's like when it gets all mucky above the frost line. Tussock grass twists and flips enough to break your ankle. We've got the spring storms to keep the ground frozen. A man can walk on frozen ground."
"And Runs In Light?"
Jumping Hare shrugged. "His decision is his. We can always come back here and see if he's—"
"Heron doesn't like company," One Who Cries pointed out. "You want her mad at us for coming here again?"
Singing Wolf picked up a rock, scratching a design in the dirt. He lifted a shoulder noncommittally.
"Not me," Jumping Hare declared, "I wouldn't want to make a woman with her Power mad."
Singing Wolf's jaw vibrated with grinding teeth. One Who Cries watched him closely, seeing in the background the scattered puffs of clouds winding southward.
"Something's happening. Can you feel it?" Singing Wolf looked from frown to frown.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean ... I mean I feel drawn to the Big Ice, like maybe there really is a hole there."
"Do you?"
Singing Wolf stroked his thin face, nodding once.
Jumping Hare chewed his lip. The silence lengthened before he said, "Let's go to the Renewal. We could come back and camp in the foothills where Wind Woman blows the snow clean. We know there's game here. Then we could look."
"What about the Others?"
"They won't come here!" Jumping Hare cried incredulously. "Why would they? They—"
"Following the game, just like us," One Who Cries assured. "And even if they don't come this Long Dark, they will the next or the one after that."
A tremor of apprehension went from man to man. Jumping Hare's flat nose flared. "I can't believe—"
"Believe it. One Who Cries is right. If we found this place, the Others will, too."
Jumping Hare flapped his arms helplessly. "We've got to
go back to the Renewal. It's the way of the People. It's just the way, that's all."
"The way ..." One Who Cries echoed regretfully.
No more was said.
Chapter 20
Grassy hills rolled in green waves around Dancing Fox; scattered marshes glistened with dew. Bushes sprouted green leaves along the jagged drainages, the pungent scents of willow and wormwood wafting on the breeze.
Fox huddled in the blind she had painstakingly excavated from the slope of the hill. With rapt attention, she stilled the desire to move, to redistribute her weight so the circulation would restore feeling in her foot.
Movement.
She froze, hardly allowing herself to breathe. The head-high sedges obscured her vision of the side of the slope, but she could make out the blotch of gray brown. Creeping tendrils of horror traced around her heart. Not Grandfather Brown Bear! On this wondrously warm morning, he'd amble along, winter hungry, looking for anything edible.
The wind still blew in her face, hiding her scent from any potential prey.
Heart battering her breast, she waited, eyes glued to the brown. A head shook; a soft snuffling carried on the wind. Moose! How long since she'd seen a moose? Five years? Maybe more? And then it had been far to the west in lands long wrested from them by the Others.