“And I am thankful that our mother has decided to keep spinning like the magnificent dancer she is. Oh, and I offer thanks and praise to Grandmother Moon and ask that she bless me soon so that I may pass into the next phase of womanhood in her name.” She ended with a high pitch, one hand on her flat stomach, and then sat down abruptly.

“Excellent, Owl, excellent.” The Chief looked to the woman on the floor. “Wren?”

Just then, there was a flutter of movement near the tree beside Rose. She turned her head quick. A large crow, feathers iridescent in the waning light, landed on a branch that bobbed under its weight. It turned its head to the side in that odd way birds do so that he could regard her with the full orbit of its black eye. She glared back, lips pursed. Shut up, she thought. Shut the hell up.

“Caw!” It screamed in return. Crows were prone to assholery.

Her head still above the edge of the sill, Rose turned to look back inside. The crow’s call had drawn the attention of the youth, who was now looking directly at her with quiet intensity. The women were still chatting, the Chief leaning on his knees with a benevolent smile on his face, but all it would take was one word from the youth and Rose would be caught. She dropped to the ground but knew it was too late; she’d been spotted. She needed to make a decision, and fast. Run or stand her ground. At least she had a sniper of sorts lying in wait.

And then she realized that all decision-making time had disappeared. Because there, crashed through the bush, hand still clutching the stock of their rifle, was Derrick’s prone body. She sighed, clutching the sides of her head and pulling at clumps of matted curls. “Come on, come on…think!”

“You don’t want to be here.”

Rose fell back on her ass, then scrambled up, hands seeking solid wall behind her, getting away from the window. In front of her was the young person in the blazer, arms crossed over their chest, a long shock of bangs brushing their nose.

Rose took in their dark knees, small hands, and the unreadable features set in a wan face. Then she looked back over to where Derrick lay still, mostly hidden, and wondered if he’d passed out or been taken down. Then she sighed.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

It took them a while to pull Derrick out of the tangle of brush once they’d assessed that he was indeed still breathing. Then they had to carry him between them, his toes digging small trails into the dirt.

“This guy really busted up his leg.”

“Bear trap.”

“Yikes.”

They conserved their words. They needed breath more than words, but they did manage a quick introduction.

“I’m Rose. This is Derrick.”

“Nam.”

They started up the overgrown stone path to the front door, and it opened before they got there. They were greeted by the Chief, bare-chested and shrewd-eyed, all the women in white huddled behind him like a bouquet. “And what do we have here?” He took a step outside and put a finger under Derrick’s chin, raising his face, looking him over like a fruit at the market. Then he turned his attention to Rose, narrowing his gaze. He reached out and, before Rose could protest, grabbed one of her loose curls.