thought about so many times and had seen so often in
dreams. A black crust of blood had dried over the place where her rock
had gashed his cheek. On the same cheek a raised white line ran from
just under his eye to the corner of his mouth.

To try to wake a man on a spirit journey could be dangerous for him.

But her hands seemed to have a will of their own. She had to touch him.
She reached out, clutching his shoulders through the sopping blanket,
heedless of the rain pouring down her own face, running under the collar
of her doeskin shirt down her back and chest. She shook him.

"Get up! Come in out of the rain!"

His body felt lifeless when she shook him. But did she see a flicker in
his eyes?

"Please, White Bear, please!"

He blinked.

She threw her arms around him.

"Oh, White Bear! I do want you back."

She crawled closer to him, pushing her body against his rigid form.

She felt pressure against her back, pulling her closer to him. His hand.

Then his other hand.

She felt his chest rising and falling against hers.

Strong arms were holding her.

She looked up into his face, and color had come into the pale cheeks.
The brown eyes were looking down at her, warm with love. She forgot the
rain and the cold, and nestled in his arms.

She saw tears spill out of his eyes, mingling with the rain on his face.
She, too, was crying. She had been crying ever since she sat down with
him. She held him tight.

Looking past him, she saw in the doorway of the wickiup the small form
of Eagle Feather, staring at them.

12

The War Whoop

Owl Carver held the watch up by its chain; his smile of approval showed
he'd lost a tooth in front since White Bear left with Star Arrow.

"A handsome gift. I thank you for it. But what do you mean by saying it
tells us the time? Do we not _know_ the time?"

White Bear scoured his brain for a way to explain.

Sitting close to the old shaman, White Bear saw that age had bent him a
bit more and carved deeper lines in his brown face. Besides the
megis-shell necklace White Bear remembered, Owl Carver wore a new
necklace made of tiny beads forming a red, yellow, blue and white floral
design, from which hung a sunburst pendant.

They sat facing each other in front of the shaman's wickiup in the
center of the British Band's winter camp. In the fenced-off corral
dozens of horses stamped their hooves and blew steamy breath into the
gray sky. The hunters had returned w