Little Bear felt a glow of pride. Grandfather had said “wounded warriors.” Had Grandfather meant to call him a warrior?
Little Bear was still puzzling over that question when he went to sleep. It was his first thought when he wakened the next morning. He sat up in his buffalo robe, happy to find his shoulder hardly pained at all.
There was no snow falling and the sky was clear. As soon as the sun was a short way up in the sky, it would start to melt the snow.
“Shall we start for home today?” Little Bear asked.
“If your wound is healed enough,” Great Bear answered.
Grandfather removed the poultice and examined the wound.
“You can travel,” he decided. “I’ll put a bandage on for safety.”
Little Bear went with Grandfather to get the horses. As the two of them approached the herd, Little Bear stopped to admire their horses. He and Grandfather together had sixteen good mounts, enough for a small hunting party. Grandfather watched Little Bear’s pleasure.
“You are rich.” Great Bear smiled. “Few warriors own that many ponies. You can pick a fine horse from this herd and it won’t matter whether you are able to buy Flying Arrow’s roan colt or not.”
“We have many good horses,” Little Bear agreed, “but I must have that roan colt.”