She turned back to the brass bucket, which simmered now. As I watched with interest, she used two sticks to remove stones that upon closer inspection looked volcanic. She set them in the fire, then added other hot stones. I gasped in surprise as the water bubbled immediately. She repeated this addition and removal several times until I found myself salivating at the wonderful aroma the cooking had released. My stomach rumbled in uninhibited fashion, which made her laugh and pat my knee.

While dinner simmered, Blue Mountain Woman sliced off several pieces of what I already knew was camas root bread, and set them on a polished piece of wood close to the fire. It was all I could do to keep my hands off. I hadn’t eaten since last night’s mere appetizer. As I watched her deft motions, I vowed that if I ever returned to civilization, I would never turn up my nose at beets or pears, foods I detest. Brussel sprouts, too.

When I didn’t think I could stand it any longer, Hawk returned. He sat cross-legged by the fire and waited. Using those sticks, Blue Mountain Woman took out a slab of whatever-it-was from the pot and laid it on another piece of wood, along with a portion of camas bread.

I did my best not to wolf down my portion. Was it salmon? A discreet glance at the pot told me there were no seconds, so I made firsts count. Another lesson learned.

When Hawk finished, he leaned back on his buffalo robe and propped himself up on one elbow. “I told the chiefs about you, Liz.”

My stomach slid around and landed somewhere south of my knees. I must have looked pretty stark, because Blue Mountain Woman touched my arm.

“They weren’t too pleased, but they were mostly angry with me,” Hawk said. “They want to see you.”

What could I say? Of course they wanted to see me.

Hawk stood up, brushing flecks of food off his chest. “I will come back for you when they are ready. Maybe you can straighten yourself around a little?”

“That bad?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

“Pretty much,” he said. When I frowned, he had the wisdom to leave.

He was right. I nearly shrieked when Blue Mountain Woman found a scrap of mirror so I could survey the damage. I knew I was sunburned because my face felt hot and tight. Some cosmic being must have taken an eggbeater to my hair, which was scrambled all over my head. Yes, I was sunburned, but my face had more layers of dirt on it than unexcavated Pompeii. Tears had streaked the dirt down my cheeks, one of which sported a bruise from where a branch had snapped at me.

I didn’t know where to begin. Blue Mountain Woman took the brass pot off the dying fire and motioned me to take off my clothes. I smiled inside at the thought that I was going to smell like salmon pretty soon. Hopefully there were no mountain lions skulking about. I stripped down to my drawers and camisole while Blue Mountain Woman held out my riding habit by the front of the shelter to give me some privacy and beat it with a stick.