Feather by Susan Page Davis

warmer clothes soon.”
    “I don’t ask Lex for anything.” Feather shivered. Lex rarely spoke to her now, and she stayed out of his way, but she still thought of him as her master.
    “You are getting on in the tribe,” Tag said. “You have this skill. You should use it to get what you want. Ask for things. Remind Hana and Lex that you need clothes. But not too much.” He grinned at her. “You have to carry all your own things. If you collect more clothes than you need, I will not help you lug them around.”
    Feather felt warm and safe as she sat shoulder to shoulder with Tag in the shadow of the boulder. But she knew she would never grow complacent and be content with the life of the Blens.
    “Tag, I won’t stay with this tribe forever.”
    He looked at her from beneath lowered eyelids, but she knew he was watching her closely.
    “You’ve been with them two years,” she whispered. “You are going to take part in their ritual. Are you going to live out your life a Blen?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Then I will miss you in the spring, because when we go north again after the winter, when the day becomes as long as the night, I will go home to my people.”
    He looked at the arrows again. “I like the design you made. Do you put that on all your arrows?” His voice cracked just a little.
    “No,” Feather said. “Not for the Blens. I make them good arrows, to kill meat and to keep me from being beaten. But I do not make them beautiful for them.”
    He nodded.
    “That pattern is my brother’s mark,” she went on. “That is the exact way I make arrows for my brother.”
    “Your brother!” He sighed and shook his head. “I did not know you had a brother. I am honored that you made me these arrows with his sign. Does he still live?”
    “Yes! And I will find him again next year.”
    “I hope it is true.”
    She nodded but noted that he did not offer his help. “In the spring,” she said again, “when lost things are found.”

Chapter Six

    Karsh felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and a shudder ran through his whole body. In all the days since the Woban men left on their fall hunt, in all the days he had been standing watch with the three men left in the village, this had never happened.
    A stranger was walking slowly up the stream to the entrance of their valley.
    Karsh pulled in a deep breath and ducked low behind the ridge. Crouching, he scurried to the signal post, an innovation of Jem’s this summer. He had devised it so that the other sentinels could be warned quickly without shouts or whistles that might betray them. The people of the village could see the signal too if they looked up the hill.
    He pulled the lid off the pottery jar that held the flags. Weave had made them, and all the Wobans had memorized their meanings: white for the return of villagers, yellow for the trader, red for enemies. Karsh seized the pale blue flag, for unknown people approaching, looped its cord on the fork that topped the sapling serving as a signal pole, and stood it in the cairn.
    The pole was not tall enough to show above the ridge. Only those in the valley of the Wobans could see it. The colors were chosen to show up against the foliage and rocks on the hillside. In winter they would need to replace the white flag with one more colorful Karsh thought as he looked along the ridge toward the next sentry post. Yes, Shea had seen his message and was hurrying toward him.
    Karsh scrambled back to his post and crouched behind a large rock, then cautiously peered from behind it down the valley. A solitary man was striding along toward their village. As instructed, Karsh stayed hidden.
    “I expect he’s seen our smoke,” Shea whispered, ducking low beside him.
    “He seems to be alone,” Karsh said. He studied the stranger. “I don’t see any weapons.”
    Shea rubbed his chin. “He must see the lodge by now.”
    “Should we alert Alomar and Rand?” Karsh asked.
    Shea hesitated and looked back