"A leader?"
He nodded seriously. "A great leader. That's why I've done what I've done. Talon taught you well out there, didn't she? Oh, I watched you kill the moose. Well done. A perfect throw."
"How?" she asked, suddenly recoiling a step.
"I followed you all through the growing of the Long Light. I watched, and I admired. I'll admit, at times I was tempted to ambush you, enjoy the temptations of your body."
"Y-you followed us? All that time you ..."
"But of course. I wouldn't want the woman I cherished to come to any harm . . . not after you loved me so on the march from Mammoth Camp."
She shivered.
"I never hurt you," he reminded her. "I love you more than anything on this earth. Except perhaps our People."
Reeling, she turned and looked away, feeling him close, feeling his arms go around her, warm, protective. His fingers traced the firm line of her jaw, striking fire along her flesh.
"I ... I'll never love you! Never. You forced me ... used me for your pleasure like some . . . some . . . You brought me back to Crow Caller, threw me at his feet—humiliated me before the People. No, I ran to escape you."
"I know." He said it so sincerely.
She pushed violently away, fists knotted at her sides. "You know?" she demanded, rage building at her memories. "What do you know? What do you know of Crow Caller's caress, of my despair? How can you know what it felt like that day Talon and I sneaked away from Sheep Whistle's camp?"
"The visions." A mounting sadness grew in his eyes. "I
told you, I'd never harm you. But I've seen. Seen your Power,
Fox. Not now, not any time soon, but one day, your word
will be law. In the vision you'll be the strength of the People
and I—"
"And you mock Runs In Light's Dreams?" she cried, shaking her head.
"Did he ever have visions of you?"
She fumbled with her dirty fingers, eyes downcast. "No, he Dreamed—"
"I have visions of you. We're tied, you and I. I've seen you changed—made powerful. And it's my duty to force you onto the right path. Help you grow into what you'll need to be."
Bitterly she snapped, "I'll be what I want, not what your twisted imagination would make me!"
He shook his head slowly, a fragile set to his lips. "As I
love you, I would spare you. But I can't. Like me, you have your place. Eventually, we'll be together, powerful, the fate of the People in our hands. Then you'll love me and understand what I've done for you."
Her retort died on her lips at the queer look in his hot eyes. "You're mad."
His odd eyes never left hers. "Maybe. Remember that I've sworn I love you. My wrath is for the Others who would drive us away. For you, I have only tenderness and I cry at the thought of what you will face. When you come to me—"
"I'll never come to you!" she spat. "I'll embrace an Other before I—"
He reeled, brow furrowed. "No! Never say that! You . . . you're mine! Mine, you hear? Why do you think I fight? That you would fall to the hands of an Other? It's to keep you clean . . . pure for my seed, that together, you and I, the greatest of the People can found a new line of—"
She scuttled backward. "Mad," she whispered as he looked at her, shaking his head.
"No," he pleaded. "You don't see it! I do. I see the child in your womb. My child!'" A trembling smile touched his lips, eyes growing watery. He reached out a gentle hand to touch her. "I've seen our son!"
"No!" she screamed. On fleet feet, she whirled, leaving the hide sack behind her, bolting over the hill. Only when Green Water grabbed her in strong arms and held her did she finally stop shuddering.
"What?"
' 'Raven Hunter,'' she tried to explain, the horror too great. "He's mad, insane."
"Hush, it's all right. He won't bother you." Green Water hugged her again.
Dancing Fox jerked around, looking fearfully over her shoulder, searching, but seeing nothing more than waving sedges, wormwood, and the occasional grasses of the smooth hillside.
"Why is it always us?" One Who Cries lifted his hands, eyes on a knot of people arguing loudly a dart's throw away. The elders waggled scolding fingers and snapped at the smoldering young men who fingered their darts and shook their
stubborn heads. Arguments filled the camp. Raven Hunter's actions had brought it all to a boil.
In the shelters on the terrace, a deep-seated tension had invaded the skin lodges. Women worked hides, eyes veiling worry as their men bickered. The children no longer ran among the dogs laughing and teasing. The stick and running games had fallen silent.
One Who Cries shook his head, studying his dwindling supply of quartzite point blanks. He chose one, looking carefully at the stone, practiced eye seeking any flaw, any irregularity. Stubby teeth sunk in his lower lip, he squinted at the point before rubbing the edge along his grooved sandstone, preparing the platform.