Free Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page B

into the crevices to pull herself up, but the rocks gave way, and she slipped and fell, landing hard on a lower ledge. Blood trickled warmly from a scraped knee. She
bit her lip to drive back the hurt and tackled the rock face again, climbing until she could crawl over the top ledge.
    The boys were huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, behind a rock thirty paces away. They butted each other playfully as they fought for the best position.
    Twig got up and trotted toward them, but her steps faltered when she realized where they were. They must be looking down on the dressing area of the masked dancers. The dancers would conjure the Spirits of the buffalo in tonight’s ceremony. If they did everything right, with reverence, the buffalo would smile upon them, and bring their herds north where Twig’s people could hunt them and use their meat to feed their families.
    She bent low and sneaked up on cougar-silent feet to see what occupied them so thoroughly. On the grassy flat below the rocks, two women stood painting each other’s faces with bright red spirals.
    Twig called, “You turkey brains! Do you want to ruin the ceremony? You know nobody’s supposed to see the dancers until they come into the plaza tonight. You’re bringing bad luck. Do you want the buffalo to go away forever, like the mammoths have?”
    Shamed, Greyhawk slid backward on his hands and knees, but Grizzly grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him back up.
    Greyhawk let out a yowl while he chopped at the bigger boy’s meaty hands. “Quit that, Grizzly! Let me go!”
    When Grizzly laughed, Yipper went into a barking,
snarling frenzy and leaped for Grizzly’s hand where it held Greyhawk.
    Grizzly shrieked, let go of Greyhawk in the nick of time, and ran backward to get away. Yipper positioned himself between the boys and stood with his teeth bared, growling at Grizzly. The hair on his back stood straight up in a black bristly line.
    “What are you doing listening to a girl?” Grizzly shouted, and looked at his hand to make sure he still had all of his fingers. “What does she know?”
    Twig narrowed her eyes. “A lot more than you do, ugly boy, at least about our sacred ceremonies. My mother is the village Spirit dreamer and the keeper of the Wolf Bundle.”
    “So what?” Grizzly shouted. “She doesn’t have any power.”
    “Yes, she does!” Twig yelled back.
    Grizzly threw his huge shoulders back and stalked toward Twig like Grandfather Brown Bear walking on his hind legs.
    She let out a yell and ran.
    Grizzly was right behind her, chasing her down like Wolf does Mouse. When she jumped a bush to reach the trail that led back to the village, her hurt knee gave way, and she fell against a pile of boulders, a little dizzy.
    Grizzly bawled in triumph as he dove for her, but Twig somehow scooted out of his way, rolled to her feet, and stood with her jaw thrust out and her fists up. “Stop it, Grizzly, or I’ll break your nose again!”
    Greyhawk and young Muskrat raced up as Grizzly kicked Twig in her sore knee. When she screamed, he grabbed her hand and growled, “Now I’ve got you!”
    He swung his clenched fist at her cheek. Twig ducked and rammed her head into his stomach, then sank her teeth into his hand before flinging herself backward to break his grip.
    Grizzly roared in pain, stared at his bloody hand, and shouted to his friends, “Come on! Let’s get her!”
    Greyhawk glanced at Twig, then at Grizzly, trying to decide whose side to take. Muskrat, who had seen only eight summers, didn’t have much courage yet, so he jumped from foot to foot as though totally confused. His long black braid dangled in a fuzzy mass over his left shoulder.
    Twig braced herself for the battle. “Greyhawk! Help me. You’re my best friend!”
    “I know it!” he said, but he made no move to run to her side.
    “Your best friend is a girl!” Grizzly taunted. “You’ve got the brain of a tree stump! Come on, Muskrat, help me get her!”
    Muskrat