He gave me a wary face when I explained my intentions, but offered no argument. I felt his forehead, which did not reassure me, because he was the warmest thing in that tunnel. I found some cleaner water than I used in my delicious dinner, waited for the mud to settle to the bottom, then wiped off as much of the dirt and blood as I could.

The wound seemed to be the result of shrapnel from one of the big guns. It made a jagged path above his knee, with the bone blessedly intact. The disturbing flap of skin hanging down seriously unsettled my aforementioned dinner. All I could do was plow ahead, even though the whole mess looked like it needed a long row of stitching. I gritted my teeth and held the flap of skin down tight where I thought it belonged and wrapped the lavender brocade around as snugly as I dared.

Hawk sucked in his breath a few times, and made one or two involuntary moves with his hands to stop me, but didn’t say anything. I wanted to close my eyes, too, but someone had to perform a surgical procedure and I saw no volunteers.

When I finished, I fixed a flour and paste stew for Hawk. He opened his eyes when I put the cup in his hands, and drank the glue almost like it tasted good. He must have noticed how anxious I looked because bless his heart, he had the energy to tease me.

“Bright Star” – oh, don’t please – “who taught you to cook?”

“I learned from the finest chef in Omaha. If I mentioned his name, you would be deeply impressed.”

He smiled at that and touched my face. No, he did more. He held his hand against my cheek. “You’re going to make some lucky Nimiipuu a fine wife. Your father will probably get half a chicken for you.”

He was hilarious and I laughed. “No, no, at least two chickens,” I teased back. “My father is a shrewd trader.”

More laughter. I am certain the other occupants of the tunnel though we were completely barmy. He held my hand then and his eyes softened with memory. “My father paid Meopwits ten horses for Blue Mountain Women, four three-point trade blankets and that copper pot.”

He had me then. Who knew a half-dead Nimiipuu with nothing to his name could make me an even better offer? “You’re worth twice all that,” he said simply. “Maybe someday I will be able to make your father a wealthy man like Meopwits. As it is, take this.”

He handed me the brass trade ring he wore on his little finger. I held out my hand and he found that it fit on my forefinger. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I was a fraud. It would keep.