Dark clouds roiled on the horizon, the scent of a storm riding the chill wind. Fading sunlight lay in streaks of rusty gold across Talon’s ancient face. The old woman shivered in Dancing Fox’s arms, her whole body spasming.
“Stay alive,” Fox pleaded. “Live, Grandmother. Live.”
She pulled the worn caribou hide around them, but one hide was hardly enough to keep them warm despite the insulating layer of snow. They’d wandered down from the heights into the flats. Here, they found no places where the snow had been blown free of the surface. No exposed dung, no caribou or sphagnum moss, no willow or birch.
Lumps of snow marked places where the People huddled together. This was the end. They all knew it.
“You’re a good girl, Fox,” Talon whispered. “My legs are feeling warm. My feet feel like they’re over coals. You know, comfortable.”
Dancing Fox closed her eyes. “I’m glad.”
“Freezing’s not a bad way to go.” Talon sighed. “It really isn’t. A person just sleeps.”
“Grandmother, you’re not going to—”
“Yes, I am. I got a deep cold inside me. A killing cold.
Odd that killing cold makes you ache all over—then makes you warm.”
“Hush, save your strength.”
“I’m going to sleep warm. Warm,” she breathed, a faint smile curling her chapped lips.
Dancing Fox gripped her tightly, hugging Talon to her chest. The bones beneath the old woman’s emaciated flesh felt as brittle as dried twigs.
“At least,” Talon whispered, mittens stiffly tracing the patterns of light dappling their robes, “I won’t die alone.”
In the distance, she saw Crow Caller trying feebly to stand. Snow puffed from his robes. He struggled, weaving aimlessly, then fell back to the snow and tumbled to his side to lie still.
Fox smiled.
“A trail,” One Who Cries said without emotion. He bent down, looking at the slashed snow, seeing the way it had drifted in. Moving a couple of steps, he kicked at mammoth dung, winter dung, thick with sticks.
Runs In Light glanced at the anxious faces around him. One of the children had been found, frozen in her robes. Singing Wolf supported a little girl who stumbled uncontrollably.
Mammoth? How could weak humans expect to kill a mammoth? Especially a full-grown adult? But the sticks in the dung proved that somewhere, at least, forage existed in the snow. Where enough remained to feed mammoth, perhaps a hare could be trapped? Perhaps caribou? Not even that hope penetrated the lackluster eyes of the People.
“We can’t go further,” Laughing Sunshine called listlessly. “I can’t do it.”
Green Water padded over, looking carefully into Laughing Sunshine’s eyes, pulling a hand from her mitten to feel Sunshine’s cheeks. “We’ve got to stop for a while. She’s going to fall on her face if we push further.”
“Me, too,” young Moss agreed where he stood on trembling legs.
One Who Cries flinched, eyes searching the gray landscape, looking to the low-hanging clouds, feeling the bite of
Wind Woman’s fury. Flakes of snow rushed past, borne on the wind.
“Let’s stop. Darkness is falling. Tomorrow, those who can stand will follow the mammoth’s tracks.”
Runs In Light watched, gnawing doubt leaving him empty. He bent his back, cutting at the packed snow, lifting the light blocks from the drift. If nothing else, his efforts might keep some of the People alive to starve later. His faith in the Dream had stretched as thin as a caribou hair. Had it been real? He no longer knew.
Green Water watched him through furtive eyes for a moment before walking slowly over to place a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but don’t let Singing Wolf’s words hurt you.”
He shivered and blinked at her, feeling the horrible pang of doubt knotting in his chest. “Maybe he’s right. I … I’m responsible. I led you here.”
“You did your best, Wolf Dreamer. There’s honor in that. No one can give more than—”
“My best?” he whispered dully, scooping snow as his eyes darted over the wind-sculpted landscape. “Is that enough? I see their thoughts in their eyes. I see what they—”
“They’re just tired,” she chided. “Don’t judge them so harshly.”
He looked around dubiously, scanning the blood red sky behind them. Drifts hemmed them in like walls. “Singing Wolf called me a false—”
“I know. But he’s confused. He’s facing something he doesn’t understand. For the first time since he sucked a teat, he’s feeling helpless to provide for his family.”
He lowered his eyes at the warm understanding in her frail smile. “None of us are providing for our loved ones.”
“It’s a terrible reality for a man to face.”
“A man?”
Green Water nodded. “I’ve always felt sorry for men. They take responsibility for so many things that aren’t their fault. Like Singing Wolf when he looks at Laughing Sunshine with the death of his baby weighing on him. He fears Sunshine might leave him for another man … a better provider.”
“That’s crazy.” Wolf Dreamer chewed his lip. “She loves him.”
“But Singing Wolf doesn’t see it. Men are just that way.” She winked at him. “You should be glad you have us around to keep you out of trouble. Women stay sane in times like these. We have to.”
He clenched a fistful of snow. “I’m still responsible.”
She patted his shoulder. “Come, rest. I believe in you. Laughing Sunshine, Ocher, and Broken Branch, we all believe in you. We all know what you’ve done—and appreciate it.”
He stared at her as she smiled warmly, then nodded and walked slowly to where they handed blocks of snow out of the excavations.
When they’d cut three cavities from the lee of the drift, he carefully faded back, feeling the trail. Last time, wolf tracks had led him to musk ox. Perhaps this time, Wolf would come. Or perhaps he’d stumble over another winter kill—for Green Water and the rest.
On unsure legs, he turned into the growing darkness, feeling his way on the uneven surface of the trail.
Black’s yipping brought Heron wide-awake.
She sat up and rubbed stiff fists into her eyes. “Something different in that bark of yours,” she called out.
Red coals glowed around the rock-heaped fire pit. Retrieving her darts, Heron rose and pulled on her parka. Again the yip came, barely audible over the howling of the wind. She shoved her feet into her boots, snugging the laces tight and binding her hair with a thong before pulling the hood closed about her face. Last, she took her snowshoes.
Before leaving, she settled a couple of faggots of wood on the fire and ducked through the flap. Snow whirled from the darkness—a twisting cascade as she turned her head, half-hesitant to undo the hood and free her ears. No, not good to get her head wet in this. The head lost too much heat unprotected.
Black barked again. She got a fix on the direction and hesitated. Even with her knowledge of the area, only a fool walked out in the wind-whipped storm. Still, something in Black’s call, some wrongness, goaded her onward.
“Never heard you yap like that,” she murmured in concern, feet crunching on new snow as she angled away from her home.
She whistled, hearing the faint responding howl. Bending, she tied her feet into the webbing of the snowshoes. Steadfast, dart nocked in her atlatl, she crunched up the slope, into the brunt of the wind. Her lips chilled, making whistling difficult. Snow packed on the front of her caribou parka, forcing her to walk head down to keep the storm from blinding her.
Black yelped excitedly in the distance.
Rested though she was, her aged legs complained, aching in the deep drifts. Time and again, she whistled, following the lead of Black’s cry. For what seemed an eternity of night and Wind Woman’s incessant harassment, Black’s call grew louder.
He bounded out of the dark, whining, the bitch White on his heels, as always, unsure. Black leapt away. Stolidly, she followed.
She almost missed him. He lay half-buried, face cradled in his arms, protected from the force of the gale. The snow around him had been packed by Black’s feet. The dog looked up, whining, tail swishing.
“There,” she cooed. “Good boy. Just like I trained you, huh?”
She bent down, squinting at his clothing in the blackness. “One of the People. Here?” She blinked, an eerie sense of familiarity taunting her heart.
Frowning for what seemed an eternity, Heron finally pulled his snow-encrusted arm away, looking at his slack features. “Too late.” She sighed. “Looks like he’s froze.”