Nathaniel's sleepiness was suddenly gone. "Where is Otter?"

Made—of—Bones spread out one hand and closed it in a sweeping curl of her fingers. "Gone, with the warriors. And his Windigo rifle." Her mouth turned up at one corner. "Vous et nul autre."

Elizabeth felt her skin rise and flush all along her back. Nathaniel put a hand on her arm; it was only that, its warmth and weight, that kept her from shaking. He was staring at the old woman; she looked back at him, one white brow raised, and then she left them.

"Nathaniel," Elizabeth said hoarsely. "What does it mean?"

Outside, the faith keeper's song began, calling the Kahnyen’keháka to the festivities.

Nathaniel swung his legs down so that he was sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform, all tension and concentration where just a few minutes ago he had been sleeping with his body curled around hers, his hand on her belly.

"Otter hasn't gone after Richard," she said out loud, wanting it to be so.

Nathaniel shrugged. "Maybe not."

Elizabeth thought of Otter at the Stick Beating Dance, his gaze always fixed on Richard.

"But perhaps," she conceded reluctantly. "Otherwise he would have taken his leave of us."

Nathaniel grunted, running a hand through his hair. "He don't know what he's getting himself into."

Elizabeth was torn between worry and irritation, and with something smaller and meaner: she did not want to chase a nineteen—year—old bent on revenge into another wilderness, for the sake of a man whose greed had nearly cost her everything she held dear in life. Or even, God forgive her, for his own sake.

She leaned forward to put her chin on Nathaniel's shoulder. "I owe him a great deal," she said. "But it is time to go home."

"We'll go home," he agreed, touching her cheek. "The boy has the right to fight his own ghosts."

They took leave of Stone—Splitter and He—Who—Dreams formally, presenting their small store of tobacco as a gift. Then they visited each of the clan mothers, and accepted well wishes. She—Remembers gave Elizabeth a carry bag decorated with elaborate quill work and beads. Two—Suns had a pair of fine doeskin leggings. It occurred to her, as it had every day that she had spent with these people, that everything she wore and everything she ate came from them, but that this was taken for granted: their generosity was fundamental to their character. She wished she had some way to repay them for their kindness, and said this to Robbie, who was busy with his gear.

"I've no' a doot the day will come when they will need your friendship," he said quietly. "Or that ye'll remember the kindness shewn ye.

Made—of—Bones came down to the river at the last minute, Splitting—Moon behind her. They had provided baskets of herbs and other gifts for the Kahnyen’keháka at Hidden Wolf and Elizabeth saw the old woman's eyes moving over the way these things had been packed in the canoe. Then she repeated the messages she had already given Nathaniel for her daughter, until she was satisfied that he had each of them word for word.

She seemed to hesitate and then she turned to Elizabeth. "The O'seronni medicine to keep the brûlot away, the one that turns your skin brown—do you have any of it?"

Elizabeth glanced at Nathaniel, who looked as puzzled as she felt. "I do not," she said. "Nathaniel?"

"There's a half bottle, in my pack."

The old woman produced a small satisfied grunt. "Stay away from it," she said to Elizabeth. "And suffer the bites." And she left them without another word of farewell.

"What was that all about?" Elizabeth asked Splitting—Moon. "I know she is upset with me, but to wish me bitten . . . ?"

"Le pouliot," said Splitting—Moon, glancing over her shoulder. "It is poisonous.

"I assumed that pennyroyal is poisonous to the black fly But not to us—I used it, we all used it," Elizabeth protested, her nose flaring as she remembered the strong tang of the sticky liquid.

"It is poison to the child," Splitting—Moon said, her gaze firmly excluding Nathaniel and Robbie from the discussion.

"In any form?" Elizabeth asked faintly.

"No. Only if you drink tea made of it. If you put on your skin, it would not cause harm."

Elizabeth frowned. "Then I don't take her meaning."

"My grandmother would counsel against any O'seronni medicine for a breeding woman. But it always puts her in a bad mood to have her family leave her." Splitting—Moon offered a rare half—smile. "I am afraid that she does indeed wish you bitten."

* * *

Paddling downriver, Elizabeth looked back to see Made—of—Bones standing on a rise above them. The force of her personality subdued by distance, Elizabeth saw her for the old woman she was, in the curve of her spine and the sparse white hair lifting in the wind. A woman who had lost most of the people she loved, and feared to lose more. Suddenly Elizabeth wished she had made more of an effort with her.

Treenie whimpered a little and put her head on Elizabeth's knee, and when she looked up again, they had turned a corner and Made—of—Bones was gone.

She leaned toward Nathaniel and whistled softly so that he turned his head toward her. Behind her Robbie had already begun singing.

"She knew. Made—of—Bones knew about the child," said Elizabeth.