“Certainly I do. You are entitled to your own wyakim to protect you, Bright Star.”

He said nothing else, but I could see by the moonlight that he was smiling. I felt warm for the first time in days, and my stomach didn’t ache.

I started to shift away once more, but he kept his hand lightly on my wrist and opened his buffalo robe.

“Lie down here with me, Bright Star. We will both watch the stars.”

I glanced over to make certain that Blue Mountain Woman still slept, then lay down next to Hawk and rested my head on his arm. I knew I was precisely where I wanted to be, but I still felt cold and nervous all over.

What a man. He didn’t object when I put my cold feet on his legs. For days I had begun to think I would never be warm again. I snuggled closer. He obliged by turning sideways until our bodies fit together.

I never had the courage to ask, but I have wondered if he was as ready for love as I was right then. The only thing stopping me was supreme exhaustion of such depth that it took months for me to revive. No matter. I had been learning well from the Nimiipuu and understood their unwritten wisdom of enjoying the small moment. It was enough to be close and warm.

I was almost asleep when Hawks put his lips to my ear. “Do something for me.”

I mumbled a reply. I suppose he considered it adequate.

“If anything happens to me, take my necklace.”

I still regret I was too tired to fully register what he was asking and why, but I mumbled something else. He shook my shoulder. “I do not want the Bluecoats to take it off me. Promise me.”

I promised, then fell asleep. Strangely enough, or maybe not so strange, I dream of Thomas Jefferson and his medallion that Lewis and Clark carried west. I didn’t dream of the profile of our third president, but of what was on the back: Two crossed peace pipes, two clasped hands and the words, “Peace and Friendship.”

I woke before dawn, roused by my stomach, a trusty alarm clock. In this case, it was someone else’s alarm clock. Hawk sat up, folded his arms across his middle and rocked gently. When he saw I was watching him, he nodded. “Good morning, Bright Star.”

“How can you say it is morning? It’s pitch dark.”

“Look again around the edges.”

I looked, and sure enough, the faintest fringe of dawn was curling up from the east. The cold winds of last night presented themselves, too. I shivered and tried to move closer to my source of warmth.

“Where are you going? It’s so early.”

“I feel the need to be moving, to be away from this place.” He put on his Jefferson medallion and reached for his moccasins.