Resting his hands on his knees, White Bear closed his eyes and let his mind dwell on a vast white-furred shape. Owl Carver had said that when a man wished to send his spirit on a journey in the other world, he need only think of his other self.
He saw the huge golden eyes, the massive, long-muzzled head, the towering body.
Soon he and the Bear spirit were walking together toward the sun.
Redbird did not understand herself. She hated White Bear, but when she saw blood running down his face, she had hated herself. She sat in darkness, biting her lips to keep from screaming.
She crept to the doorway and pushed the curtain open a crack. She could see him sitting again with his back to her, his shoulders broad in his green pale eyes' coat.
She drew back into the wickiup and saw the small steel knife she used to cut up food gleaming near the embers of her fire. She picked it up and held its edge against her feverish cheek.
The last light of day fell on her as the doorway curtain rose. Startled, she almost cut herself. She whirled to see Eagle Feather staring at her. She threw the knife down on the straw-covered floor.
Eagle Feather gave her a questioning look but said nothing.
She drew him down beside her and started telling him the story of why the leaves change colors and fall to the ground in autumn.