Indignant, she roughly rummaged through her pack and jerked out the wadded pine marten blanket. The thin strips of marten fur, woven tightly together, were beautiful, and kept her very warm. She tugged it over her shoulders.
Sky Messenger added twigs to build up the blaze, but it was barely a palm’s width across.
“Why can’t we make a bigger fire?”
As though irritated because he’d already explained, he said again, “We’re in Hills country. A big fire will reflect from the trees and can be seen from a good distance. It will also produce a lot of smoke. The scent carries. On a dark night, billowing smoke wouldn’t matter so much, but tonight there’s a full moon. Streamers from a big fire would rise over the treetops and stretch out across the sky like a trail. Anyone could follow it to us.”
“But a small fire will produce light and smoke, too.”
“Yes, but not much, if it’s built correctly. Down here in this hole, a small fire will be almost invisible to passersby, and what little smoke rises will be diffused by the breeze and the thick branches over our heads. If anyone gets close enough, they’ll still smell the smoke. Every fire is a risk.”
She cocked her head and thought about it. “That makes sense. I guess I’d rather be alive than warm.”
“I’d rather you be alive, as well.”
They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire, while he set up the dinner pot. The size of two fists put together, the pot held barely enough to feed them both, but since he always cooked, she never complained. It was a little like being at home in the longhouse where the newly adopted war captives cooked for her family. She wondered if he realized that, and did it to make the nights easier for her, or if it was just his way. Because it was small, the pot did boil faster, which allowed them to get more sleep. She liked that.
Sky Messenger drew his chert knife from his belt and sliced up the squirrel they’d snared at dusk, letting pieces drop into the pot, occasionally tossing a piece to Gitchi. After he’d poured water over the top and set the pot at the edge of the flames to boil, he sat down cross-legged beside her. His black cape spread around him in sculpted folds.
“Are you certain you’ll be warm enough without your blanket? I want you rested tomorrow.”
He glanced up as though intrigued that she cared. “I’ll be fine. I am accustomed to the cold.”
He tossed another twig on the meager flames. Sparks sailed into the air. He frowned uneasily at them until they winked out amid the sycamore branches.
“Sky Messenger?” she said hesitantly. “This friend who saved you, the man we’ll be stopping to see on the way home, who is he?”
Even pitched low, as it was tonight, his deep voice was startlingly beautiful. Gitchi eased down and propped his big muzzle in Sky Messenger’s lap. Sky Messenger stroked his head. “He’s a war chief. He taught me everything I know about honor and duty.” More softly, he added, “And about self-sacrifice.”
“Really?” She brightened. If he was a war chief, when they got there, they’d be feasted and showered with gifts. Her world was brightening. “I probably know him. Standing Stone war chiefs come to see Grandmother all the time. What’s his name?”
“He’s not Standing Stone, though he was born among our people.”
It took a moment for her to digest this news. “You can’t mean … Are you trying to tell me that we’re going to walk into an enemy village without a war party at our backs?”
“I think we’ll be all right.”
“You think?”
He leaned against the dirt wall and worked to find a comfortable position before he replied, “I can’t be sure. I haven’t seen him in a long while. And it won’t be easy getting close to his village. But if we make it, I think he will protect us.”
“What nation is he?” Her eyes slitted.
“He was adopted by the People of the Hills. The woman he loved was there. He went to her. They have three beautiful daughters.” While he scratched Gitchi’s ears, he gazed at the moon-glittered water that pooled between the rocks in the bottom of the hole. “I am happy for them, though I miss them very much.”
Indignantly, she said, “And is your mother happy that you are friends with an enemy war chief? She was once a great Standing Stone war chief. Doesn’t it worry her?”
“I’m sure it does.” Love and respect softened his voice. “Especially now that she is the Speaker for the Women.”
“And she will soon be the Yellowtail Village matron.”
“I suspect she will, yes.”