Free People of the Wolf by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page A

ones who accepted the Dream did. The others, well . . . Raven Hunter called him child. Nothing new in that. They'd been at each other's throats since they were boys—for reasons he'd never understood. Still, it hurt.
    "I think everything's packed," Jumping Hare said. "People are ready. We don't have much time. The light is so short."
    "I know." Runs In Light's eyes wouldn't stay away from" where Crow Caller assembled his group. So many friends stood there including Dancing Fox. Pain constricted in a tight band around his heart. "I'm ready."
    Following his gaze, Jumping Hare frowned. "You can't do anything. She's his. Her father gave her away to pay for healings. She owes him. It's just the way."
    "I know. Only I feel this is my last chance. That if I don't go and take her from him—"
    "It always seems that way. Me, I lived through it when my first love married another. Now, I've made a name. I'll find a wife at the next Renewal. You'll see. Wait until Renewal." Jumping Hare clapped him on the shoulder and turned away, walking back to duck into a shelter.
    Runs In Light felt a growing urge to be alone. He trudged over the drift, out of sight of the camp. Fear tormented his gut, setting it to writhing like the tangle of bott-fly maggots
    he'd once cut from a dead caribou's throat. All his life, unfamiliar faces and voices had haunted his sleep, calling to him from some echoing cavern in his mind. One voice in particular rang out above the others, a woman's. He felt oddly as if he were going in search of her now. It frightened him. Fantasy or reality ? Am I taking my people on a Dream Walk ... or leading them to their deaths? Wolf had come to him; he knew that. Yet some unspoken doubt lurked, whispers of trickery or magic barely audible beneath his faith. Had that Dream-walking man of the Others cursed him? Sent him this manner of destruction?
    Pulling the sinew strings of his hood tight, he gazed wearily out over the vast wilderness. Snow crawled like fog close to the ground, stirred by the glacial breeze. Ravens soared in the white glaring sky, sunlight flashing silver from their midnight wings.
    "Wolf?" he called softly. The fur of his robe ruffled in the breeze. "Don't leave me alone out there. Help me—" "Runs In Light?" a sweet voice said from behind him.
    His stomach muscles went rigid. He knew her voice-would recognize it a thousand Long Darks from now in his Dreams among the Star People. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, muttering, "You came to say good-bye?"
    She stepped around to stand before him. He felt her presence, strong and warm, and opened his eyes. Despite the cadaverous thinness of her face, she looked beautiful, her waist-length black hair dancing around the edges of her hood.
    He met her gaze. Her gentle expression remained unchanged, but something in her eyes seemed to grow still, as if balanced on a knife's edge, awaiting death's final heartbeat.
    "You could come," he murmured lamely.
    He thought she was going to respond, but after a sharp inhale, she halted. Grief and fear mixed in her eyes before she lowered them to stare uncomfortably at the creeping snow. "He'd kill me. He has . . . parts of my body. Things that give him my soul. Being with you, I could destroy you all. He could send a bad spirit out of the Long Dark."
    "I'll take that chance. Come with me now, Dancing Fox. I can protect you. Wolf won't—"
    "I ate some of wolf," she breathed.
    "You-"
    ' 'Even if I can't come, I wanted to be part of your Dream. And I want you to know ..." She looked up and he felt his heart rise into his throat.
    She's made her choice. His guts fell, like intestines out of a belly-slit mammoth.
    "Don't say it," he whispered harshly. "It won't do either one of us any good."
    She took three quick steps forward, tears in her eyes, and before he knew it, wrapped her arms around his waist, pillowing her face against his chest. "Will you mark a trail for me? Maybe if I can—"
    "I'll mark a trail." Futility swept him;