But until Eagle Feather was grown, the people would turn to her. The men, like Wolf Paw, had lost heart. She would give them heart again.
In spite of the pale eyes, the Sauk would find a good trail.
The walk from Grandpapa's house to the ruins of Victoire seemed to Auguste to take all morning. By the time he stood facing the blackened chimney that towered over him like some ancient idol, his legs hurt. He was panting, but the crisp winter air infused vigor into his nostrils and lungs. He sat down to rest on a broken beam that had once held up the ceiling of the great hall.
He was still weak from having been so badly wounded and from lying in bed recovering. And even now his left lung was still not able to fill itself full with air, and probably never would be.
This was the farthest he had ever walked. Too far, really. But the bright December day invited him out of doors, and he wanted to see his land.
My land.
It was his now, without question. Now that Raoul's body had been found.
He was glad there had been no marks on the body. Glad that the Fleming children, who had found it day before yesterday while playing down in the gorge, hadn't had to see a human body torn to pieces, as he feared Raoul might be found.
Ginnie, the middle Fleming girl, had followed a cardinal into the mine entrance; once the child had seen the body, the little redbird had flown out again and disappeared.