Free Feather by Susan Page Davis

beyond the tree.
    The boys ran to retrieve the arrows, and Feather waited, nervously eyeing Kama, but Kama did not look at her. When the boys brought her the arrows, she examined them closely. At last she turned away, and as she did she said, “You work with me now whenever we do not march.”
    The boys stared at Feather with raised eyebrows. Tag said to them, “You go on. I’ll be right there.”
    The other boys left but not without a speculative stare at Tag and a second look at Feather.
    When they were out of earshot, Tag asked, “You made those arrows?”
    “Just the fletching.”
    He nodded. “You do good work.”
    “It is what I do best.”
    “It might work in your favor. Their arrows are crude. They have few artisans. Pelke makes the beads, but that is child’s play.”
    Feather smiled at him. She was glad he still referred to the Blens as they , not we . It meant he did not yet count himself as one of them although he acknowledged that they considered him a member of the tribe.
    “I wasn’t sure whether to tell them or not,” she said.
    He looked off into the distance, thinking, and nodded again. “I think it is a good thing. We shall see.” He ran off to join the other boys.
    That afternoon Feather worked on the new arrow shafts. Kama prepared them and left the fletching completely to Feather. It was the same the next day. Feather saw Denna and some of the other girls scowl at her when they walked past the place where she worked, but they said nothing. At night they ignored her, but that was nothing new.
    On the third day of arrow making, Kama said, “The men want more arrows.”
    “We made twenty yesterday,” Feather said in surprise.
    “Yes, but now they need more. The men of the other bands have seen your work. They want to trade for our arrows, and Mik told me we must make as many arrows as we can today. I made him send all the boys out to cut more shoots for shafts. They will not be dry, but we have used nearly all that I brought from the last stopping place.”
    Feather considered the implications of that. First of all, Kama was telling Mik what to do. That was unthinkable. Second, at this rate, she would be making arrows all winter. They were no longer just a hunting implement but had become a trade commodity.
    “I will get one of the other women to help smooth the wood,” Kama said. “You make me a pattern in leather, and I can cut the feathers your way. But you must glue and thread them.”
    Feather smiled up at her. “We make a good team, Kama.”
    Kama frowned. “Why do you laugh?”
    “I was thinking how rapidly things change.”
    “Oh.” Kama sat down, and her full lips held a pout. After several minutes she said, “But you do think we are alike even with my dark skin?”
    Feather shrugged, embarrassed. “It did make me wonder if you are a true Blen.”
    Kama smiled then, the first time Feather had seen amusement cross her face. “Is anyone born a Blen?” she asked. “But you are correct. Many years ago I lived far from here. It is too far back to think about. My name was once Kamenthia, but that is not a Blen name, so now I am Kama.”
    She bent over her work, and Feather watched her, seeing a vision of herself many years down the road, apathetic, resigned to being a Blen.
    “Don’t you ever think about going back?” she whispered.
    Kama shook her head. “At first, maybe. Not now. I could not go back now. I am too changed from what I once was.”
    “You could change back.”
    “No. I am a Blen.”
    Feather picked up her tools.
    After a long silence, Kama said, “I try not to think of the past. It is best.”
    “It seems so,” Feather said, but her heart screamed, No! I will never forget! I will always remember the Wobans and my brother.
    “These people, the Blens, they are not the smartest people,” Kama said, and Feather stilled her hands and stared at her.
    “They rule wherever they go,” Feather said, choosing her words carefully. Was this a test of