In the beginning, there was only Walker standing alone on the plain, a solitary bulwark to protect the courts of fairy from the buffalo army that Minisino had raised against them. The worst of it was that Walker didn’t even want to be here. His sympathies, if they were to be counted, lay with the buffalo, to the clans with whom his own people were kin. Not to fairy.

It was his daughter that was dead.

It was he who should be seeking vengeance.

But not like this. Not through war. That was never the way of his own clan. For them, all life was sacred and the taking of it—even from an enemy—left a scar on the soul that never went away, even after the prescribed cleansing and healing ceremonies had been undertaken.

There were no exceptions. Not even in the defense of one’s own territories and life. The scars remained forever—in this world, and in the next.

Walker wouldn’t allow it—not in his daughter’s name.

The stomp dance, the drumming, the chanting, the thunder of the buffalo didn’t stop, didn’t even pause, when he took up his defensive position. But he knew they were aware of him. He knew they saw the tall tines of his antlers scraping at the sky, the determination in the set of his shoulders, the stillness in him when everything that defined them at this moment was sound and movement. They didn’t call for him to join them, but they made no threatening move toward him, either. He wasn’t sure if it was out of respect for his recent loss, or because they knew that one antlered forest lord standing against so many buffalo soldiers would make no difference when they finally marched on the fairy courts.

After a time, Minisino stepped out of the crowd to face him. Walker wore the shape of a man, tall and broad-shouldered with the wide spread of his antlers rising high, but the buffalo war chief still loomed over him, taller, broader of shoulder, shaggy as only these plains cousins could be.

They faced each other in a long silence until Minisino finally raised a hand and silenced the war dance. The ensuing quiet seemed as loud as the thundering drums and stomping hooves had earlier and left a ringing in Walker’s ears. He could still hear the drumming, but soon realized it was the sound of his own pulse, still keeping time to the rhythm of the now silent stomp dance.

As the quiet lengthened, deepened, the two cerva studied each other, neither speaking.