“We will deal with him, too,” Anwatan said. “But first we must find my father.”

“Your father?”

“He is the clan chief of the deer.”

“ I . . . I didn’t know that.”

Rabedy’s heart sank. So, not only had he been a part of murdering a person, now it turned out she was also a princess. No wonder war was on the horizon. He was only surprised that her own clan wasn’t standing shoulder to shoulder with the buffalo clan.

Carefully—because he didn’t want to appear to be slighting her kin—he asked her about that.

“We are a people of peace,” she said. “My father would have seen that reparation was made, but not this way. The buffalo have always been the warriors among the cerva, and they have old grievances with your people that go beyond the death of a few of the deer people.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I took no insult from your question,” she said. “They have their way and we have ours. We are not without anger or defenses. But we prefer the peaceful solution. Two wrongs will never make a right.”

“But still . . .”

She nodded. “Yes, amends must still be made so that those such as your erstwhile companions won’t feel that they can do whatever they wish without fear of punishment.”

“People can be so horrible, can’t they?”

“But they also have the potential inside them for great good, too, Rabedy Collins. It’s true we cannot make them turn from doing wrong. But we can set an example by how we live our own lives.”

“Do you think it makes a difference?”

“Everything we do makes a difference,” she told him. “The onus is upon us as to whether the difference we make is for good or evil.” She paused a beat, then added, “I will go find my father. Wait for me here.”

And then she was gone.

Rabedy stared down at the fire, then let his gaze drift out across the open water of the lake.

He knew they were doing the right thing. Giving up Big Dan and the others would stop so many innocents from dying. But if he was doing the right thing, why did he feel so guilty? Why did it feel so wrong?

Timony

After he had called up a half-dozen knives out of the sand, Timony knew it was well past time to stop. He looked at the weapons lined up in front of him, six razor-sharp blades that gleamed brightly, even in this dull light. Six of them were enough. More than enough, considering that he only had two hands. But cajoling and teasing the sand to take these new shapes had at least kept him busy while he waited. Now there was nothing to occupy him except the enveloping fog, his own worried thoughts, and just out of his view, the morose sound of the waves falling upon the shore.