The smoke drifted above the seething fire, making specters and goblins of the gathered youth. Clothed in feathers, beads and the finest cloth their families could offer, all huddled together against the cold night.
"Tonight you are no longer children." Glaring out over the assembly, Head Chief Gazelle folded his strong arms, his eyes coals. "This night you must head out into the wilderness and use the teachings you have been given to survive. As men you will be given choices, all sometimes without easy answers. Some of you–," the warrior paused to glower at two seated boys at the edge of the flames, "might not make it even that far."
The two boys that were caught snickering startled and turned their attentions back to the speech. The smaller of the two, fairer of flesh and hair, flushed and looked to his gloved hands. The other, fiery in locks and demeanor, turned his sky-colored eyes to the tribal soldier in defiance.
Clearing his throat gruffly, the chief shot the pair a final disgusted look before picking up where he had left off. As the other teenagers listened at rapt attention, the red-headed youth elbowed his mate.
"We'll never have a chance to prove ourselves if he keeps talking about the virtues of manhood all night. Tomorrow morning our mothers will find us frozen here like stones!" Smirking, he saw the bewilderment in the other's eyes and gave him another gentle nudge. "You look like a frightened rabbit, Feather."
"Aren't you a little bit nervous?" Feather's gentle green eyes were clouded in concern. "You remember last year, don't you? How fifteen went out, but only seven came back? This isn't some idiot boys' game, Heron."
The chief's son groaned softly in the back of his throat. "I never thought you'd become such a coward, going on like a little girl. I'm older than you, so I know what I'm talking about."
Such a rebuke from his best friend made the shyer of them blush.
"I'm no coward!" he insisted, jabbing his elbow into Heron's ribs with more force than was necessary. "I'm just as brave as you are! And you're only two months older, it doesn't prove anything!"
Their squabbling drew Gazelle's disapproving scowl once more. With a sweep of his arm, the other boys rose and ran off into the snow, scattering like disturbed blackbirds. Their trial had begun. The chief's footsteps were heavy as he approached, looming over the sitting lads.
"I'd expect better from the son of my first and most prized wife," the leader growled, taking his offspring by the arm and yanking him to his feet. "Tell me, Heron, how am I to pass on my land, my title, my people, to a son that behaves like a jester?"
Affronted, the young boy pulled his arm back from his father's grasp, rubbing the muscle where the fingers had bit.
"I don't know, Father," he answered coolly, his tone barely civil. "But you have already said you will be chief for years to come, so why does it matter?"
"It matters, boy. Just because you are of my blood doesn't mean the gods will give you special treatment tonight. In their eyes all are equal no matter where they come from. The Jaguar People lost their Chief-in-waiting last year. Do you want the Sky People to come under similar punishment? Do you?"
Feather could see the spark ignite in his friend's steely eyes. When angered, Heron resembled the chief in more than looks, also sharing his bad temper.
"No, Father. Feather and I will be careful. We've got everything we need for the next three days. We're a pair."
"Thank the gods for something," Gazelle snapped back. "At least you made an intelligent choice in who you chose to be your partner. Feather has shown himself to be wise in judgment." He looked from his child to the seated boy. "Most of the time."
Feather glowed in the light of his chief's praise. It was rare to receive compliments from the curt and taciturn head of the Sky People, the largest clan in the Red Lands. Aloof to a fault, Feather had been surprised when their chief had announced his choice to accompany the tribe's striplings to the bitter winter forests. In his stead, Feather knew that Gazelle's most trusted man, Broken Wing, would act as leader.
"We're ready to go." Heron's voice had begun to break in recent weeks, but he hid it well, keeping his tone level as he turned to his companion. "Come up off the ground, Feather. We have to catch up to the others."
Feather nodded and stood, dismayed to see that his hair was starting to freeze together. He could hardly feel the toes in his slippers or the fingers in his gloves, and his stomach had started to rumble with hunger. He had been too uptight to eat any of the stewed deer his mother had made earlier.
The flakes of snow that had started to fall with the evening's onset were growing thicker, the wind having a keen snap to it as it fluttered through his cloak. Drawing it closed tighter around himself, Feather wondered how Heron could stand so strong, a pillar against the battering gales.
"Then get on with you both." The chief's dismissal was sharp. "Good luck Heron, Feather. I hope to see you intact in three days' time." With a crunching of snow under his feet, Gazelle turned and started back toward his temporary camp, a row of tents outlined against the horizon. He started to fade, consumed by the inclement night.
No sooner had his father disappeared from view, Heron turned on his heel and struck out, form stark against the white dunes. The skeletons of frozen trees, locked together in arctic hugs, beckoned.
Feather found himself struggling through the oppressing powder to keep pace. Tears came to his eyes as the wind raked across, sending ice into them. Halting, he cried out sharply as he started to rub the snow away, making Heron stop and glance back.
"What's the matter now?" he called out, the darkness ripping his question to shreds. In frustration he stormed back as his friend didn't answer, taking Feather by the shoulders and giving him a firm shake. Startled, Feather emitted another moan, trying to back away.
"What happened? We're losing ground to the others!" Feather winced at Heron's impatience and jerked back from the punishing hands. Opening his eyes, he could feel shame bludgeon him like a heavy boulder.
"I-I'm sorry. It was the wind. It got ice into my eyes and I didn't expect it, so I screamed…" Even to his own ears, it sounded like a child's excuse and he looked to the ground, to his numb toes. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a tiny voice, the blood hot in his face.
"Never mind. It's all right. I'm sorry for being upset with you. It's just that when my father says things like he just did, I just…I swear sometimes he hates me." Heron trailed away and shook his head, turning back to smooth brown clumps of frozen hair from his friend's pale visage. "You've been my best friend since we were babies. I can't stay mad at you."
Feather felt warmth begin in his chest and spread outward. His heart quickened and he tore his eyes from his friend's. A lump had formed in his throat and he gulped it back. Recently, new feelings toward the chief-in-waiting had kept him awake at night, made him brood and seek solitude. He had heard other boys whisper and point at the budding girls in their tribe, why didn't he feel the same?
"Heron! Feather! Please wait!" The cry from a nearby hilltop made both turn, shielding their eyes as one against the punishing flakes. A lithe figure descended in an awkward run, holding something out to them.
"Bluejay?" Heron's brows lifted in surprise as he recognized the female's sweet soprano. As the young woman approached, Feather could see the wooden box she carried, marked with ornate carvings of birds in flight, ivy twisting around their wings.
Breathless, Bluejay managed a smile at her elder brother.
"Heron, Father sent me to give you this. He said he almost forgot to give it to you." The daughter of Gazelle's second spouse, Bluejay was the only other child the chief had fathered since the death of his first wife at Heron's birth. Feather knew Heron was jealous of the girl, the way their father treated her like the most important thing to him. It was a deep insult in a place where sons were finer than gold.
"He would," her brother frowned, again in poor spirits. Taking the box, he opened it to the frigid air, snow landing on the glistening glass bottles and satchels of powder inside. Even from where he stood, Feather caught the pungent tang of medicinal herbs and wrinkled his nose.
"It's for the dream-sending. The other boys got theirs from their families but I guess Father was so busy with making sure everyone else was prepared he overlooked yours," Bluejay shrugged, then turned a sweet smile on her sibling's mate.
Unlike Heron, Bluejay had inherited the black tresses of their father. Her eyes were close-set, the color of a calm river, a smattering of freckles across her snowy skin. Already, she was smaller than the boys, a good head-length shorter. Feather remembered the past summer, when they had been able to see eye-to-eye. There was something in her gaze that made him uncomfortable and he sought refuge at Heron's side.
"Thank you." Heron's courtesy was forced. "You can go back to the camp and tell Father I got them. Feather and I are all right, if that's what he sent you out to check up on. We're not little children, despite what he likes to think."
"It wasn't like that at all." A frown marred Bluejay's pretty features. "He just sent me to give you that, that's all."
"Go back," her brother reiterated shortly, "this is a man's affair and you're a woman. Go learn how to do womanly stuff. We're busy." He turned and put a hand on Feather's shoulder. "Isn't that right?"
"I, I, yes," Feather stammered out, a gasp catching in his throat. Bluejay put her hands on her hips, pouting.
"Fine, I see how it is. Go off and do your manly things. I'm glad I'm not the one freezing in this hellish weather. I get to have a warm tent and food while you're spearing whatever you can outside in the dark. Hope you don't starve."
"I said we'll be okay," Heron retorted. "We don't have time to stop and talk. We're already behind. Come on." Heron's hand slid down and grasped Feather's, starting to pull him away. Seeing that she was no longer wanted, Bluejay offered a crude gesture to her brother and another mysterious smile at Feather before starting on the way back.
For a time they struggled through drifts, losing feeling in limbs, their teeth beginning to chatter. As the evening wore on, the temperature dropped and the snow on the ground thickened. There was no sign of anything to hunt, and Feather's misery grew profound. Heron made no complaint as he held his head high and plowed through the endless sea of white.
"Where is everyone else?" Feather finally mustered up the breath to ask. They had stopped under a large tree, the spindly limbs coated in icicles. Eerie silence pressed in on them from all sides as the pair peered between the grey trees, looking for footprints, the sound of voices.
At last Heron grudgingly shook his head, shoulder length hair swinging. "I don't know. I guess they went on without us."
Cold fear touched Feather's heart as he rechecked the darkness surrounding them. "What are we going to do then? We're lost."
"I can see that," Heron said, but without any rancor. "We don't have a choice but to make a fire here and try to catch up to them tomorrow morning. The snow's falling too much and getting too deep for us to make it much further tonight. I know where Father's camp is but I won't go back."
"Won't it just be deeper and harder to go through tomorrow morning?" Feather pointed out, wrapping his arms around himself. His companion sighed, the breath coming out as steam.
"Look, I'm cold and I'm tired. I can't go much further. It's better that we start out tomorrow well rested, then going through this gods-damned forest all night. You have the flint and tinder, right?"
"Right here." Feather reached to his pack and patted it.
"Good. Help me clear some snow away and we'll get some branches for kindling."
"Feather?"
The sound of his name drew the youth's head up from his knees. After eating what dried rations they had for the night and making a fire, the pair had lapsed into quietude, each in his own world. Now as he looked up, Feather locked eyes with Heron's shining stare.
"What, Heron?"
"I've seen Bluejay looking at you. Like she was when she came to meet us earlier. In that funny way that girls use."
"So what?" Feather shifted uncomfortably on the cloak he was using for a seat.
"So, do you look at her too?"
Feather's pulse started to hammer. He chewed his lower lip and started to twist his fingers in and out of one another, trying to get the circulation back.
How am I going to answer that? I don't look at her. I look at you.
Heron took his friend's discomfort for an answer. "I knew it!" he crowed, so shrill that the forest rang. "I knew I caught you looking!"
"It's not like that at all!" Feather protested, then caught himself and swallowed.
Heron's expression was sly. "Then what's it like, huh?"
"I don't see girls looking at you. Must be because you're ugly," his friend returned teasingly. Heron sat back, pretending to be wounded.
"Me, ugly? I don't think so. I happen to see a very handsome man when I look in the river in the morning when I wash up."
"Must be the person next to you then," smirked Feather, edging closer to the fire. Heron grinned back, then dipped a glove into his pack, retrieving the box his father had sent for them to use.
"Let's have our dream-sending tonight." There was mischief in the redhead's voice.
"We can't." Feather was bewildered. "We're supposed to use that on the third morning, or else we'll make the gods angry–."
"Let them be pissed, I don't care," Heron shrugged, unfazed by his blasphemous talk. "I want to know what the gods are going to tell us. I bet they won't care half as much as those dried up husks say they do."
"You shouldn't talk about the priests that way. They said it takes three days to be a true man, remember," Feather warned, but couldn't help a smile. Heron had always been the more daring of them both, earning Feather's admiration.
"You worry too much." Heron took a packet of powder from the box and a bowl, scooping up a fistful of snow. As Feather looked on, the young chief-to-be melted the flakes, then tore open the packet and poured the contents in. The water flashed an alarming red color at first, but as Heron removed his glove and stirred it with a bare finger, it settled to a murky brown.
"Want it?" Heron thrust the small bowl out at his friend and Feather held up his hands.
"I don't, you go first! It was your idea."
"Fine, sissy." Tipping the bowl to his lips, Heron drained it, concealing a face of disgust at the taste and replacing it with a cocky smile to Feather. "See, it's not so bad. It's your turn now."
"I'm not a sissy, quit that." Feather reached across to take up the bowl and powder. Copying the other boy's process, he soon had a bowl of muddy liquid as well.
"Going to drink it or look at it all night?" Heron arched a superior brow and pointed at the bowl. "I'm going to be old by the time you get around to it."
"I can do it too, watch," Feather defended, then swallowed back the medicine in one gulp. "See, I can—Oh, gods…"
The shadows stretched long, the trees snickering as the wind blew into their leafless branches. The snow burned as it lit on his skin, and his thoughts flew too fast to be sorted. He stumbled as he tried to stand, colors dancing in front of him. Reality began to shift.
"Feather? Feather!" He could not hear Heron's cries as the world was lost to him.
"Feather, come on, wake up!" A pair of hands shook his shoulders as the voice called his name. Feather groaned, shifting in his sleep. The hands would not give in, rattling him harder until he started to pull away from the threads of his dream.
"Lemme alone , wanna see Heron…" he mumbled, then a dash of cold water broke into the remains of his rest. He gasped as he shot straight up, swiping water from his face and swearing under his breath.
"Sorry, had to wake you up like that. Sometimes I think you're sleeping so deeply that you want to be lost to the world for good." A sweet voice from the corner of the room drew his attention to a sleek creature, dark in hair, intense in gaze. She laid her pitcher down near the fire that burned between them.
"B-Bluejay?" He was so dumbstruck her name tumbled clumsily from his mouth. "What are you doing here? Heron and I were–-."
"Heron isn't here, Feather." Bluejay's voice was calm as she came and pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're feverish again. No wonder you're having hallucinations."
"Where is he then? Why am I in here? I'm supposed to be outside…" In a daze, Feather attempted to get up, but Bluejay's gentle hands arrested him, forcing him to sit.
"Feather. Listen to me. Heron isn't here. He hasn't been in some time now." Bluejay sat back, wiping sweat from her brow as she tried to restrain him. "He's gone with the Hoof People. I've told you before, again and again."
"The Hoof People? His father's first clan?"
"Yes. He returned to them to become their chief. The night you two were recognized as men, he awoke from his dream, babbling and shivering when he found our father, going on about how you were dead. They say the gods laid hands of displeasure on him, made him crazy."
Bluejay blew out a sigh. It was time to give the same answers to the same questions. "The village has been in an uproar for years over it. Heron began to attack us. He blamed our father for putting something in the medicine that affected you both."
"The chief wouldn't…Where is he? He'd put a stop to this, he has the best warriors in the Red Lands." Awestruck, Feather turned to the young woman. There was something different about her. Her voice had matured, becoming fuller, deeper. Her curves had become more pronounced and the freckles that had plagued her were fading.
He realized he too was not the same. His body had grown taller. Rows of differently colored beads were strung in the necklace he wore, the mark of a grown man of some years. Then, he saw it; the single white bead in the middle, the mark of an invalid.
"Where is he? He can't be behind this all, he can't. The Heron that's my, my…He wouldn't do that!" Desperately, he surged past the awkward moment to take Bluejay's hands in his.
"Ow, let go, you're squeezing too tight! Chief Gazelle has been dead for years now. Heron was to be made chief in his place, but he defected and ran off. He, he wants to lead the Hoof Clan in taking us over. He's forsaken us entirely. He and his men are camped a few miles down-river."
As Feather let go of her hands, Bluejay rubbed at her fingers, distressed. Feather was more disturbed by his dreams than usual.
"Then who's the chief? Why am I marked as a weakling? And what are you doing in my tent? That isn't allowed unless…"
"We're married, and you are. My father arranged it just before his passing. Not that we act like it. You'd rather be off looking for Heron than warming a marriage bed and at least trying to make our children. I have to make a chief's choices for you and pretend you're not as ill as you are. I must always pretend you're busy meeting with other tribes, not sick in a tent. We would all be killed otherwise. Why my father ever agreed to marry me to you after the accident, I don't know. I hate being the child of a second wife."
Feather caught the bitterness in her tone as she sighed again and started to run a hand down his leg. Children of second wives were not as good as first wives—Feather knew Bluejay would have had a difficult time marrying. He felt a stab of pity for her; she was stuck with him. Obviously having to tell him the same thing so many times was a chore.
A shot of searing pain made him wince. His breath was stolen away as Bluejay pulled away a poultice on his right calf, humming to herself as she looked to the wound.
"Why—Why didn't that hurt before?" Feather gasped, looking to the stained cloth she tucked away.
"The medication I gave you to ease the pain must be wearing off. See what you get for looking for one man when a whole tribe should be important?"
"Accident?" he asked next, and she clicked her tongue.
"Stop asking me questions and let yourself be seen to. I'm sure once the fever fades you'll remember it all soon enough. You remembered what the bead meant, at least."
He gave in, allowing her to attend to him. In time the fire began to burn low and Bluejay remained with him until he pretended to go to sleep. As she heard her stretch out on her own pallet and drift off, he opened his eyes, sitting up and making his way carefully to the tent flap.
His mind was jumbled, fuzzy, as he stumbled in the dark. In contrast to the world he had left, a hot summer night greeted him. Despite the agony in his leg, a greater pain drove him onward. He may have forgotten many things, but one memory burned bright.
I have to find you, Heron. I don't want to think you're suffering.
Startling out of a doze, the chief of the Hoof People picked his head up from his chest, sharp eyes darting from men entrusted to guard him to the flap of his ample tent.
"What is it?"
Heron's head jerked sharply to the side as one of his men posed the question. The corner of his upper lip lifted in disgust and he shook the remains of the dream out of his head. He smiled, reaching for a dagger that he kept next to him.
"Nothing to worry your little head over. Just a dream. I'll be going out for a while to plan a strategy." So saying, he rose from his chair, stretching his long, graceful limbs.
"I'll come with you then." Preparing to leave his post, the guard appeared hopeful. Heron snickered. The poor dumb fool had been a decent lover for one night, but in the end, unsatisfactory like the rest.
"Notice that I said ‘alone,'" he replied smoothly, pushing back the tent flap. "I don't need someone at my heels like a lost puppy every time I go outside to take a piss, thank you." He stepped outside, striding off and away from his clusters of warriors and citizens.
His eyes sought the beacon of the moon, recalling a summer long passed. He tucked the dagger away in his belt, looking back at the scores of men that would die at his command. He was the scourge of his father's tribe, his name whispered with shudders for miles around. It was the power he'd thought he wanted. Yet, through it all, something was lacking from Heron's life.
I need to find what I've been asked to look for. The due must be paid.
The Cerise River trickled near him. If he followed it for a few miles south, he would find the enemy encampment.
He would find his destiny.
Feather wasn't sure how long he had been dragging his wounded leg behind him like a club. The moon was hovering close to the horizon, starting to herald the rising of her brighter brother. Despair was already thickening his blood, slowing his movements.
I'll never find out.
The wound in his leg had reopened, sending dark blood across the earth. Feather paused and tried to secure the makeshift bandages across his leg before rolling his pant-leg down, perspiration heavy across his bare chest. He was growing weaker with each step he took, and if he didn't stop soon, he would pass out
He sank to the earth, feeling close to tears. Already they welled hot and waiting under his eyelids. Impatiently, he brushed them away with the back of his hand, damning his infirmary.
"Heron…" His bitter mutter was heard by none but the passing fish in the river. "Where are you?"
A rustle in the bushes off to his left made him startle. A dark figure emerged from them with mincing steps. The moon revealed a scarred face, a glittering knife. Feather felt his blood grow cold. This man had not come upon him to invite him to anything pleasant.
"So you're one of those damned sparrows the chief has asked for us to kill." The rich voice mocked him and his people in one sentence and in spite of himself Feather felt his teeth clench. The foreign warrior came near, wicked grin unnatural by the silver of the moon.
"Already wounded I see, and with no weapons. This should be easy." Feather stiffened, reaching to his belt only to realize the warrior spoke true. He had nothing to defend himself with.
He was an easy target.
The blade was warm against his throat, surprising him. The warrior had come up from behind and Feather didn't scream as a handful of his hair was taken, his head pulled upward. If he was going to die, he would do so as a man. He could almost hear a younger Heron in his head, jesting.
"You sissy, can't you die with some dignity?"
Like you'd do any better in my place, Feather's mind answered back dryly.
The warrior's grip on the knife tightened and he felt the first of death's agony.
"I want to make this slow," the warrior hissed, breath warm in his ear. The knife made deliberate progress, lingering, and Feather shut his eyes, wanting it to be over.
If I have to die like this, at least Heron and I will eventually…
"What do you think you're doing?" A new voice had cut in, irate and demanding. The warrior's hold slackened, and the knife withdrew. Feather let out a held breath and opened his eyes, seeing that a new warrior had come onto the scene.
Great, now I have two of them to do me in.
"Nothing. I just found this one and thought…" The warrior was stammering as he stepped back.
"You thought nothing, that's right," the new voice growled. "Get him up and follow me back to the encampment."
Feather bit back a cry as he was brought up unceremoniously by the arm, eyes watering. He felt the knife poke into his spine as he the warrior got behind him, leading him just behind the one that had interrupted them.
Feather thought he knew who the voice belonged to, but mentally shook his head. It was too much to hope for. Blood loss was making him dizzy; he could simply be imagining he knew the speaker.
He was going to die, lost and alone.
One flash of firelight as they entered the Hoof People's camp spoke the truth.
So it's really him. He looks more gaunt and pale than I remember, but it's truly him at last. Striding in front of his warrior and captive, Heron ignored the gasps and stares his arrival brought. It had been months since a victory could be claimed on one side or another, and any signs of change were exciting for the clustered fighters. Heron breezed past them to his tent, admitting the warrior and his human cargo.
Feather's head had drooped as they'd walked along, despondent. Heron had made no moves to reveal himself to his old friend and current rival. Now as they reached the tent, Heron's man released Feather. The latter sank to his knees, looking to be at death's abode.
"Go, all of you. Get out of my sight." Heron clapped his hands for attention and gestured to the clusters of warriors that had gathered in his makeshift home. Mumbles of confusion greeted his command until he raised his voice.
"I said to get out, everyone! I don't want anyone hovering near my tent either, gods help anyone I find out there!" One by one, his men let themselves out, muttering as they went. Heron sometimes liked to punish and humiliate prisoners from the other tribe, sometimes using them for his own nightly pleasure, and he knew his men thought the torture amusing to watch.
As soon as he was certain they were gone, Heron took the dagger from its sheath and knelt in front of the other man. "So you thought you'd be able to get away from me, did you?" he began, loud enough for anyone lingering outside to hear.
Those captivating green eyes flamed as they met his. For a moment, both looked at each other. Then, Feather's face crumpled in recognition.
"Heron. Oh gods, it's you, so what Bluejay told me is the truth."
"What did she tell you, Feather?" It was the first time he had spoken his friend's name in years, and he savored the feel of it in his mouth. "That I'm a traitor, a murderer? What? What did my dear darling sister say? She was always so clever. I never once believed you were making all the choices she told the other tribes you were. Fortunately for your people, other leaders are exceptionally ignorant. I wanted to see you one more time before I kill them all."
Feather flinched as the heat came into Heron's speech. He seemed to have the men and the power to do as he threatened. "Bluejay told me you defected to the Hoof People, that your father's dead."
That you're insane…
Heron nodded slowly, taking the information in. "I did. A lot of people say I killed my father, murdered him in his sleep. Do you believe that of me, that I'd do that?"
Feather searched the eyes of his long-time companion. "I…I don't know what to believe anymore."
Heron frowned and stood, taking Feather up with him. Quietly, he looked to Feather before lacing his fingers into the necklace he wore.
"I see a lot has changed since we last really saw each other. It's been such a long time." Heron was thoughtful as his fingers curled inward, and with a sharp pull Feather was brought so close their noses were touching.
"Heron, wh-what are you…?" Feather's breath was stolen and he winced as the leather lacing bit into the back of his neck.
"Tell me, Feather. You knew me best out of everyone when we were younger." Heron's voice was a breath as he pulled Feather close, wrapping his arms around him. Feather gasped as the dagger Heron held was directed at the small of his back.
"T-Tell you what?" Feather's heart was pounding and he felt like vomiting.
"Tell me, am I such a cold and cruel person? Everyone says so nowadays, but do you think I'm really so horrid?"
"I-I…" Feather grimaced as the dagger's cusp grew more insistent. Despite the heat that pooled between them, he felt chilled." All I know is that I've wanted to find you for so long, terrible or not. I wanted to know the truth."
Heron pulled back, running a gentle hand alongside Feather's cheek. "My Feather. I didn't think it would be like this. I never imagined. After the accident you were gone from me for so long. I didn't want to think the gods had punished you. That it was my fault. My father blamed me, too. If only they could see what an awakening I had that night."
"Bluejay told me about an accident." It was getting difficult for Feather to breathe and stars shimmered in front of his vision. "What was it?"
"Of course you don't remember it." Heron seemed to speak more to himself. "It was the night we were both to become men. I made you take that medicine although you said no."
"I recall that." Feather sagged against the heat of Heron's embrace, wanting nothing else. He could feel Heron's body relax suddenly, the bravado gone from his voice. He was suddenly like a child admitting a wrong.
"I'm sorry. I watched you fall that night. I, I just didn't know what to do. I didn't know that if I'd only gone sooner for help, you'd not have lapsed in and out of fevers, been delirious for so many years, have so many problems…You don't think I did it to hurt you, do you? The gods should be pleased. They asked me to find you and here we are."
Heron looked to Feather with wretched eyes as he held the dagger between them, the point between his thumb and forefinger. It came up straight between them.
Heron's hand brushed his cheek again. "You are the last thing in my path. You should have died that night. If I let you live...No, that cannot be."
Feather's heart thrilled as his friend clutched him close. The wounded man squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Then, he kissed his friend softly.
Heron broke the kiss first, then pulled Feather closer. "The gods have decreed this fate. They helped me make a choice that very night. What will you do?" heron chuckled. "What can you do? Oh, poor Feather, you have no choices left." The chief's voice was hot in Feather's ear.
As men you will be given choices…
Feather responded with a deep kiss, fingers finding the dagger's hilt.
...all sometimes without easy answers.
The fire had died low by the time Heron startled awake from his dream. Looking beside him, his hand quested to find Feather's.
Squeezing Feather's fingers, he felt their limp coldness and looked out at the night. The blizzard had stopped, lending the world an unnatural tranquility. Dawn was many hours away.
Did Feather dream the same as me?
It was the first time he'd ever know real fear.
Slowly, he stood up, starting off through the snow. It would be a long walk back to his father's tent.
He would return early, already a man.
The End
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