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

heard.”
    Pitch made a soft skeptical sound and rose to his feet. “I had better be on my way. A pleasant day to—”
    “You said she was looking for Dzoo?”
    “I have been sent to bring the Healer back to Sandy Point Village, Elder.”
    “Then you should be about your business. Travel in safety, young Pitch.” Rides-the-Wind propped his walking stick and struggled to stand up. “We shall talk some more when you return to Sandy Point Village.”
    Already started up the trail, Patch whirled, his brown eyes huge. “We—we will?”
    “Yes. If Rain Bear will permit, I would like to spend a few days in your village. Perhaps we’ll be neighbors.”
    “Neighbors?” Fear and dismay edged his voice.
    “Yes. Why? Does that concern you?”
    Pitch didn’t even try to act casual. “Why, Soul Keeper? Among us, I mean.”
    Rides-the-Wind gingerly took a step down the trail. Over his shoulder he said, “Something is coming, Pitch. I need to have counsel with Chief Rain Bear.”
    “Counsel?” A hostile tone lay in Pitch’s voice.
    Rides-the-Wind didn’t look back as he called, “About how to keep the wind from whistling through his chest.”

Seven
    T he forest had not yet given up the night’s numbing cold. Frost glittered in the towering fir trees and covered the beach. Even Mother Ocean seemed to have frozen in place. Her waves washed the shore in soft, quiet strokes.
    Rain Bear pulled his otterhide cape closed at the throat and followed the trail through the crowded refugee camps. Behind him, Dogrib carried a net bag full of crabs they had collected from a trap. One of the camp dogs had died, and Rain Bear had used the carcass to bait his crab trap in a tidal pool. He would use the remains to catch crabs until it was exhausted. Today’s catch wasn’t much, but they were going to need every scrap of food given the unending trickle of people limping in from the northern villages.
    Dogrib shook his long white hair back and muttered, “Our lookouts say Ecan’s war party is two days to the north. What are we going to do?”
    Rain Bear glanced at his war chief. Dogrib’s unusual pale skin had reddened with the chill, and a somber weight lay behind his blue eyes. “We must speak with the other war chiefs. See what they say. Then, we’ll decide.”
    Rain Bear took the southern trail through the Orphan Village camp where people, filthy from days of fighting on the run, hunched over their breakfast fires. Some were boiling strips of bark and fir needle tea—their only source of sustenance. A constant staccato of
coughs peppered the air. They cast longing glances at the bag of crabs visible through the netting.
    “I don’t understand any of this, Rain Bear. Why would Ecan attack us? We paid our tribute. Did Evening Star give you any reason?”
    “No.”
    “Then why do you believe it?”
    “I’m not sure I do. But I can’t very well afford to ignore her warning, can I?”
    As they passed another group of villagers, conversations halted; then awed whispers broke out and heads turned, following them.
    “Is it true?” A young warrior staggered to his feet and called to Rain Bear. A bloody bandage wrapped the right side of his head. “Is Starwatcher Ecan coming?”
    The weary people around him whispered and glanced fearfully at the surrounding forest.
    Rain Bear lifted his hands reassuringly. “His war party is two days away. Our scouts are keeping a close eye. As we receive more news, we’ll send runners to notify every chief.”
    The man nodded as he sank back to the log where he’d been sitting.
    Rain Bear started to walk away, but an old man’s frail voice stopped him: “Where is Dzoo, Chief? Why isn’t she here to protect us?”
    At the sound of Dzoo’s name, quiet descended. People stared wide-eyed at Rain Bear.
    He turned and saw the old man standing in front of his makeshift lodge—little more than deerhides sewn together and draped over a cord strung between two trees. He resembled a knotted