Free The Outcast by David Thompson

the strip over her mouth. Failing, she went to sit up and froze. Someone was calling her name. With a start, she recognized Blue Water Woman’s voice. She tried to yell, but the gag muffled her cries.
    Blue Water Woman stopped shouting.
    Lou wriggled toward the lake. She figured her friend was wondering where she had got to. Blue Water Woman wouldn’t know what had happened and might turn around and go back to her own cabin.
    Then, to Lou’s relief, she saw her. Blue Water Woman, her rifle at the ready. Lou almost laughed for joy. She wanted to scream for Blue Water Woman to hurry and cut her free before the warrior came back. Her friend glided past the thicket—and a figure rose out of its depths.
    Frantic, Lou shook her head and thrashed about, trying to warn Blue Water Woman before it was too late. She watched, aghast, as the warrior picked up a rock. Blue Water Woman started to turn. Lou thrashed harder but stopped at the thud of the blow.
    Blue Water Woman fell to her knees. The warrior raised the rock to hit her again, but she pitched to the ground, unconscious.
    The warrior threw the rock aside.
    Relief washed over Lou, but it was short-lived. The next moment the warrior had her in his arms and threw her over the pinto. He swung up and lashed the reins.
    She was being abducted.
    From the heights to the west, the valley was a green gem rich with life, the lake blue turquoise at its middle.
    The seven Tunkua gazed down at the brown dots that were the lodges of the invaders.
    â€œWe still have a long way to go,” Splashes Blood said.
    Skin Shredder grunted and continued their descent. He did not care how far it was. He had come to avenge the death of his brother and nothing would stop him, save his own end.
    They passed through ranks of tall firs, somber with shadows, and came on a grassy shelf and a spring. Skin Shredder hardly gave it a glance and was halfway across the shelf when Splashes Blood cleared his throat.
    â€œWe walked all day and we walked all night and now you would have us deny our dry throats?”
    Skin Shredder stopped. “Drink if you want.”
    â€œWe have not eaten, either.”
    â€œYou have your deer meat.”
    All of them had bundles of dried venison, which six of them now unwrapped. Splashes Blood bit into a piece and smacked his lips. “You are not eating.”
    â€œI am not hungry.” Skin Shredder began to pace, his gaze on the lake and the lodges.
    â€œYou think of one thing and one thing only. It is not good.”
    â€œWhen I want someone to tell me how I should think, I will ask them.”
    Splashes Blood stopped chewing and frowned. “We have been friends since our mothers took us from our cradleboards, yet you talk to me with so little respect.”
    Skin Shredder stopped pacing. He frowned, too, and then raised a hand to the scarred ridges on his face. “I am sorry. Killing the Bear People is all I have thought of for many sleeps now. I want them to suffer. I want them to suffer more than anything.”
    â€œThey killed my brother, too,” Splashes Blood reminded him. “We must not underestimate them. We must be rested and have our wits about us.”
    â€œIt is hard to rest when your heart burns with the need to slay.”
    â€œYou must try,” Splashes Blood insisted.
    Skin Shredder slung his bow across his back. His meat was tied by a deerskin thong to his wolf hide belt. All of them wore such belts.
    The Tunkua rite of manhood required three things of every warrior: that he scar his face with the symbols of their clan; that he fast for five days and five sleeps and have a vision; and that he hunt and slay a wolf and forever wear its hide.
    â€œI have been told there is a girl among the Bear People,” Splashes Blood mentioned. “Those who have seen her say she looks to be but fifteen winters.”
    â€œYou and your girls…” Skin Shredder sank his teeth into a piece of meat.