him sprawling in the snow. He sat up, spitting snow, his hood fallen back to his shoulders. The small man yelled something angrily at Heckram and in that instant was revealed as a woman, not a man at all. She tore her bow from her back and flung it down into the snow, followed by a stiff hare on a string.
Lifting the skirt of her tunic, her hands worked at something at her waist. Heckram could only stare at her. Was she going to disrobe here in the snow? Why?
Then she was dragging out a pouch of soft leather and opening it. Taking out a roll of very fine, thin bird skin, she shook it in his face. She knelt again in the snow on the other side of Lasse's body. Her black eyes flashed at him as if challenging him to push her away again. He didn't. But he kept his grip on Lasse, holding the youth close, trying to put his own warmth into the boy's body.
Her skill was apparent as she eased the torn fabric back from the gaping wound. She was talking fast, in what sounded like a strange parody of his own language. She said words he could almost understand, then shook her head angrily at him. In sudden silence, she firmly gripped Lasse's arm above the wound, nodded violently at her own hands, then released Lasse's arm and grabbed one of Heckram's hands. She set it where hers had been and told him something commandingly. He stared at her in puzzlement, then gripped the boy's arm as she had. She nodded her violent agreement, and turned aside from Lasse to scoop up a double handful of clean snow.
The boy jerked slightly as she applied it directly to the wound. Heckram kept his grip. The snow reddened in her hands, but the bleeding slowed. She bent her head over his arm, studying the wound, then applied more snow. This second treatment seemed to satisfy her, for after examining the wound a second time, she spoke softly in reassurance.
'It's not that bad?' he asked and she seemed to understand, for she nodded, but again patted his hand and told him, 'Grip!' The word was strangely accented, but he understood. She rummaged again in the leather bag and brought out a container made of a deer's hollow leg bone. She pulled a wooden stopper from it and shook a grayish-brown powder into her hand. 'Willow bark.' She spoke very slowly and clearly. She trickled a pinch from her fingers into the open wound. The bleeding almost stopped.
Gently pinching the wound closed, she wrapped the soft skin bandage over the wound.
He watched the practiced way she slipped a finger under the binding to be sure it wasn't too tight. Lasse began to stir, and she spoke to him as she worked. The boy's eyes were huge in a face gone sallow.
'Who is she? What happened? How bad is my arm?' The rising urgency in Lasse's voice reached the woman, who knotted the bandage gently and patted his shoulder.
She motioned to Heckram to loosen his grip. Lasse hissed in pain as he removed his hands. The woman spoke again, more slowly this time, and Heckram understood enough to tell Lasse, 'You're to rest and not try to move your arm for a while. And eat or drink something.'
'Of course,' Lasse agreed calmly. 'Before or after I pass out again?'
'I don't blame you.' Heckram pulled his eyes from the reddened patch of snow. His face was so pale. He kept his hand companionably on the youth's shoulder, but suspected that if he moved it Lasse would topple over.
The woman was already gathering her things. 'You! Healer!' Heckram called to her.
She looked around at the familiar word. 'Are your people close by? Is there any kind of a shelter close by? A kator? Talvsit?' At first he thought she couldn't understand what he was asking, but then he caught the wariness in her eyes. 'It's the least you can do after you shot him! All we ask is shelter for a night. Look at him! I can't drag him home this way. If he doesn't bleed to death on the way, the cold would get him. After all, you're the one who shot him!'
He gestured angrily at her bow. She seemed to finally catch the idea, for she shook the bow at him and flooded him with words. He caught 'hunter' and 'accident' and watched her gesture vehemently at a fallen snag uphill of them.
With a wave of his hand, he accepted her story. 'Seems to have been an accident, though she doesn't seem too apologetic. I suppose she feels we're the ones who carelessly got between her and her prey. Lasse, if I can get her to take us to her shelter for the night, is that all right with you?'
'You mean because she shot me? It was an accident, Heckram. And she could have just run away and left me to bleed in the snow. No. There's no sense in holding a grudge, my friend. Besides, I don't think I have the strength if I wanted to. Has it gotten colder?'
'Yes. Night's coming on,' Heckram lied easily. He picked up the boy's coat to shake the loose snow from it. He couldn't pull it on over his head, so Heckram wrapped it around his shoulders. Lasse rose slowly.
'I could carry you,' Heckram offered softly. Lasse shot him an offended look that rapidly became abashed. He gave him a grin that was part grimace. 'Not yet, anyway,'
Lasse told him, but he put his good hand on Heckram's shoulder, and with it a part of his weight, 'I wish we had brought a pack-harke. I'd ride him like a child.'
Heckram looked at the woman. She had retrieved her bow and hare. Hesitation was still evident in her eyes, but Heckram stared at her coldly. She owed them shelter for the night, and she knew it. For Lasse's sake, he wasn't going to let her out of it. At last she nodded curtly.
'Tent,' she said, and, with a beckoning gesture, she started off slowly through the snow.
CHAPTER SIX
Tillu's mind seethed with plans. She set a pace through the snow that kept her well in front of the two hunters. As soon as they sighted her tent, she raced ahead. The glow of the fire showed through the worn seams and the ventilation flap of the tent. She pushed hastily inside, scarcely noticing the wealth of firewood Kerlew had stacked by the entrance. Inside the tent, she dropped her bow and hare on the floor and looked about frantically. How to give the impression that men shared her tent and were expected to return soon? Quickly she snatched half the hides from her pallet and heaped them on the floor to make them look like a third bed. No, that wasn't right. She should have spread them out to make it look like two persons slept in her bed. She snatched them up again.
'There is blood on your hands. But the blood on mine will be darker.'
Kerlew's words jerked her attention to him. He hadn't moved since she came in, but remained sprawled on his pallet, staring into the fire. His arms dangled over the edges of the rough bed, his hands resting palm up on the floor. His eyes were unblinking and unfocused, his voice deep and dreaming.
'Kerlew! Wake up and help me!' she snapped irritably.
The boy took a deep breath and rolled over. He looked up at her. 'You were gone so long. Was the hunting good?' His voice was his normal halting speech and she breathed a sigh of relief.
'Help me get ready. Two men are coming. One of them is hurt. Don't talk to them, for they can understand some of what we say, and you might say the wrong things. I want them to think that someone else lives with us, a man who may come back -'
'I found my rock.' Kerlew grinned uncertainly as he interrupted her, holding up the polished red stone for her inspection. She glared at him.
'A lot of good that will do us! Get busy!'
Kerlew was still gawking in confusion as the man pushed the tent flap open. The youth staggered in before him, dropping instantly to his knees before the fire. He swayed in place, and the big man steadied him as he glanced about. He scuffed his foot against the scraped earth floor of the tent and asked something.
'Birch?' Kerlew guessed, his tongue slow but his face eager. Tillu frowned, but the big man nodded. The boy shrugged his lack of comprehension, and the big man hissed in exasperation. Tillu spread out a hide on the floor beside the youth and eased him down onto it. The big man made a gesture for waiting and disappeared from the tent. The youth closed his eyes. Tillu watched him breathing. He was too pale. He had bled more than such a wound should, and he seemed more exhausted than should a boy of his years. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him shrewdly. He was not as robust as the man he hunted with. She would guess that he had not been eating well recently, perhaps not for a long time. And she surmised from his growth that he had never been a sturdy child. But, for all that, he was healthy enough. He'd live to hunt again.
