Mouse glared at Raven, daring her to say something. Raven knew what Mouse meant. She was a common woman, used by any who wished to spend time with her. The young men in her tribe had such a female, but some widowers and married men also went to her lodge. Raven did not judge Mouse, for she knew she might suffer the same fate. When one was starving and freezing it was hard to say what one would do. Would she choose to stay alive, like Mouse, or die, like Fish?
“I have set snares to catch rabbits.” Raven motioned toward the prairie.
This earned another smile from the woman. “They will take the meat and the pelts. But there is no harm in trying. How is it that you know how to do such things?”
“My father...” Again Raven nearly said her father’s name. “My father and my brother taught me to hunt and ride.”
“Really? You can hunt?”
Raven nodded, not wishing to appear boastful.
“Can you track game?”
“Of course.”
“Shoot a bow, use a lance?”
Raven did not like the way this conversation had turned.
“Can you read the land and find water?”
“I have done these things,” she offered, “but not on the prairie.”
The woman was now glowing.
“There are others, six now that you have come.” Mouse paused and her gaze dropped with her expression. “Some have been here two winters. Some four. I have been here four. Little Deer nearly froze to death last winter because she was too young to be a common woman. Little Deer has not yet broken her link with the moon. When she does, they will take her to our lodge.”
Four years? Had Raven heard that right? In all that time had no one come for her? Raven felt a little piece of herself die. What if her brother and father could not find her? There were so many tribes of Sioux. Was she like a rock on the prairie, impossible to see unless you stumbled over it?
“I am of the Center Camp Crow, the Shallow Water tribe,” said Mouse.
“I am Snow Raven. I am of the...” But before she could speak, Mouse cut her off.
“Also Center Camp Crow, but from the Low River tribe. Your father is Six Elks.”
Raven’s stomach dropped. Somehow this woman knew her. She could tell the Sioux. Perhaps such information could be valuable. Mouse could trade it for a blanket or food.
“No. I am not.”
“I met your mother at one of the gatherings. I danced with her. I ate with your grandmother, Tender Rain, and listened to your grandfather, Winter Goose, tell stories of the Spirit World. He is your shaman.”
That had been before he and her mother’s mother died of the spotting sickness with so many others. The trappers had come and then the traders and then the many sicknesses. But the spotting sickness was the worst. It was why her father had said they must go. Leave the home they’d had since the beginning of all things.
Raven shook her head. “No, you’ve made a mistake.”
Mouse lifted a fist to her hip. “Why do you say this? You know who you are. I know who you are.”
In desperation, Raven told the truth. “But no one must know. Don’t you see? My only hope is to remain like any Crow captive. If they know, they could kill me or use me to hurt my family.”
“Or trade you and the other captives for some of their own.”
“No. I can’t take that chance.”
The corners of Mouse’s mouth continued to sink. “You cannot take that chance? Are you the daughter of the chief of the Low River tribe or are you not? Are you the granddaughter of the greatest far-looking man our people have ever seen or are you not?”
Her grandfather had been a far-looking man, one with the gift of seeing things before they happened. Snow Raven would give anything for that gift right now. Would she live to taste freedom again? Would this woman use her knowledge to dash any chance she had of survival?
“I used to be those things. But now I am just a captive. My life is no longer my own.”
“But you still long for freedom. We all do. You could lead us. It is in your blood to lead.”
Raven lowered her head, knowing what would happen if she tried. The risk was too great. “If we go, I will lead you to your deaths.”
“Winter is coming,” said Mouse. “Little Deer will not have enough to eat.”
Raven stared at Mouse. “What did she eat the past two winters?”
“Last winter was mild. The one before she stayed with me when I had no men. But this one will be hard and the men will want a woman on cold nights. If she is in my lodge they will take her, too. Snake has a baby. When her milk stops, he will die like the last one.”
Raven pressed her lips tight together against the urge to act. None of this was her fault. It was not her place to intervene. But was it her duty?
Mouse’s face went hard as she stared at Raven. “You ride. I saw you arrive seated on a horse. We can steal horses and you can lead us home.”
“They will catch us and kill us. We must wait for rescue from my father.”
“Wait? I hear the warriors boasting. They come to me with tales of great deeds. Weasel tells of stealing all the horses of your village. Is that true?”
Raven lowered her head. “Yes.”
“So I ask you, without horses, how will they hunt buffalo? And how will they come for you?”
Without horses, they would be wiped out. Suddenly Raven did not want her father to come for her. The cold dread of certainty took hold of her like an icy wind. Her father must look to his people’s survival. He could not waste precious time searching for her.
Mouse waited for an answer. “If he comes on foot, they will kill him.”
For the first time she understood, truly understood what she faced.
“He would be a fool to come, and Six Elks is no fool,” said Mouse.
Even as she recognized the depth of this cold reality, Raven could not relinquish hope. “He will come.”
Mouse snorted. “Do you know that I have a husband and a son? My husband is handsome and kind and loved me very well. Four times seasons have turned, but he has not come for me. Now I still tell myself that he will come, but I fear he has found another. We had a son, Otter. He was four when they took me. If I do not return home to my boy soon, will he even know his mother? I dream of them in my sleep. I think of them when I wake. They are what has kept me alive.”
Raven understood now what she had not before. If she was to find rescue, she must find it herself. Something else crept into her thoughts and she straightened.
“How is your husband called?” asked Raven.
“Three Blankets.”
Raven stilled at the name.
Mouse continued on, not noticing Raven’s shock. “Oh, he is very brave. He had his first eagle feather for slitting an enemy’s throat when he was only sixteen winters old.”
Raven’s hands had gone still, for she knew that Mouse’s son had fallen through ice in the river. Raven had been there in the winter camp when his body was brought back to the village.
The following spring, Mouse’s husband had been killed on a raid led by Far Thunder, the chief of the