As Okwaho looked down, he saw a stone on the ground. He picked it up and hefted it. It was round and heavy, the size of one of the balls they used to play tewaraathon. It was the perfect size for throwing. It made him think again of Clouds Forming.

She had always teased Okwaho about being stronger than he was, so that she could always throw a stone farther. It almost made him smile when he remembered that, for it was true. And he had never minded her being better than him at anything. He’d always enjoyed being around her, and that enjoyment had only become greater as they’d grown older.

In fact, now that each of the friends had three handfuls of winters, Clouds Forming had become a good-looking young woman. And she was well aware of that.

“Before long,” she would sometimes say to Okwaho and Tawis, “it will be time for me to choose a man to be my husband. To which of your mothers shall I bring marriage bread? Or should I just marry you both? I have no doubt that both of your mothers would gladly give you to me. After all, who would she ever want who was better than me?”

All three of them had laughed at her gentle teasing. But the truth of it was that neither Tawis nor Okwaho would have minded a grown-up life where the three of them would always be together.

She had wanted to come with them. But her family had chosen not to join the new village. As close relatives of Atatarho, how could they?

So, for the first time in their lives, the three young people had been separated. Okwaho and Tawis were sad about many things involved in moving away from their familiar lives, but their separation from Clouds Forming made them saddest.

It was Clouds Forming whom they saw last as they left the village among the hills. She had been standing by the opening of the huge stockade wall encircling the entire village. She had waved at them until they could no longer see her after turning onto the trail through the grove of maple trees.

chapter four

THE MORNING

Okwaho lay on the sleeping rack against the southern wall of their longhouse. He did not want to rise. The constant burning of anger within him was not being cured by sleep. Whenever he did sleep, it gave him no rest. Either he found himself reliving the loss of his friend, trying to find a way for Tawis to escape, or he saw himself as a grown man, a well-armed warrior setting out to take revenge. But in those dreams of vengeance he never succeeded. He always woke before he could strike their enemies, staring up at the smoke hole in the longhouse roof.