Hate-crazed eyes locked on his, the buffalo sighting down its long horn. One Who Cries thrust the splintered shaft into the mad beast's eye, making the animal flinch.
Yipping, One Who Cries rolled away, the huge horn driving deeply into the frozen soil, pinning his parka to the ground.
One Who Cries whimpered, waiting for the pain.
He squirmed, fear lending his ravaged body strength. Nothing happened.
"Now that's a sight."
One Who Cries looked up at the calm voice, seeing Jumping Hare peering down, shaking his head.
"Never seen anything like it," Singing Wolf added in mock awe before cocking his head and sucking his lips. "Looks like he's bleeding to death."
One Who Cries glared, wiping the dirt and blood from his face. He started to vault up—only to be reminded he was still pinned by the buffalo horn. The huge animal trembled slightly and relaxed as One Who Cries yipped again.
"It's the point." One Who Cries studied the dart he'd taken from the bison's side. "This is the first one I threw. See, caught the rib and shattered." He lifted a section of rib to show everyone where the lenticular point had embedded in
bone and snapped off. Then he pointed to a blunted stone point which had fractured upon impact.
"See, you can't help it when you hit a rib. That's part of the job. But this one"—he picked up a second dart—"didn't hit any rib. I cast, it hit, and the buffalo turned." He twitched his lips as he looked at the blood-caked point still hafted to a forearm's length of splintered shaft.
He scratched his head. "I couldn't think what to do as those horns started hooking for me, so I grabbed the dart. Figured that was the safest. But it didn't go in all the way. Where the point is bound to the shaft, it's too thick. Makes a big knot so the point doesn't cut all the way into the animal."
"So?" Green Water lifted an eyebrow in question. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Get a lot of new clothes." Jumping Hare laughed, holding his nose as he indicated One Who Cries' filthy, torn parka. The smell of buffalo blood still hung cloyingly in the air.
One Who Cries growled and glared through slitted eyes. "I'm going to make a better point."
"The People have been making points like that forever," Singing Wolf told him hotly. "That's how points are made."
"Why?"
"Because that's how, that's why."
One Who Cries fingered his chin thoughtfully, looking at the point. "The problem's the hafting. Too thick."
"I told you," Jumping Hare reminded from the side.
"Make the shaft thinner."
"Then it's too weak," One Who Cries argued. "Our darts already break too easily. Willow and dwarf birch are crummy—"
"You've got to use that much binding," Jumping Hare insisted. "If you don't, the point slips sideways when it hits."
"A thinner point?" One Who Cries turned it sideways to the fire, closing one eye to squint down the length of the ripple-flaked stone.
"That's not the way the People make points," Singing Wolf declared. "It's bad enough with Runs In Light stirring things up. Now you want to go changing the People's point?"
"Uh-huh," One Who Cries murmured, lost in thought as he fingered the stone.
* * *
"Going someplace?"
Runs In Light started, grasping his darts, looking owlishly up at the jagged gray rocks above.
"If I'd been Grandfather Brown Bear, I'd have had you for dinner." Broken Branch smacked toothless jaws. "And from the looks of you, a poor one at that. You call yourself a hunter? Walking along, eyes to the ground?"
He puffed relief, fear draining from his charged muscles. "What are you doing out here?"
"Me? What are you doing out here?" She cackled, sliding down the polished glacial rock. He didn't answer, instead reaching up to grip her hands in support. They felt birdlike in his. When she reached the ground, she stared up at him, brown eyes sharp.
"You're going back?" he asked, fearing her answer would be a part of the vision.
"My legs hurt. Heron's pool made me feel ten seasons younger. Besides, I've been to the Renewals. I've danced enough thanks that if Father Sun doesn't know how I feel by now, he never will. There's nothing there for me anymore."
He watched the gray strands of her hair being tugged by the wind.
"And you? Where are you heading?"
He hesitated, not really sure he knew: a leaf in a gale, pirouetting to some unknown Power's whim. "I'm . . ."
"I'd say you were following the tracks of the People," she said, eyeing him inquisitively. "Long walk that, longer than this old woman wants to make."
He dropped his eyes, hands knotting on the dart shafts until his knuckles stood out white.