Savage Betrayal by Theresa Scott Page B

stuff himself, even though war chiefs of his status were expected to have very large appetites.
    ***
    Fighting Wolf sat in the hall of his enemy. During the feast, indeed, it was all he could do to eat even a small amount of food. The bile rose in his throat several times when he thought of how he was sharing food with his father’s murderers. His anger threatened to surface when he thought of his beloved parent falling prey to these wicked men. Only with a strong act of will could he push back his anger. Soon he would allow himself the luxury of revenge on the low creatures. Soon! For now, he would keep a calm facade while in the enemy’s lair…
    * * * *
    The noise of the feasting drifted outside. Tonight the usual night sounds were silenced. The croaking frogs were mute, the singing crickets stilled, and small animals tread warily near the boundaries of the village.
    A large, yellow moon shone down on the bay, casting its long, ghostly light over the sea and over the land, creating eerie, giant shadows everywhere. Far out to sea could be seen swirling mists, waiting to surround the unsuspecting canoe traveler.
    A shadowy figure leaned against the darkest wall of Thunder Maker’s longhouse, hidden from the Ahousats and Hesquiats alike. Nearby, the fur flap over a door at the side of the house opened briefly and a smaller shape stepped out into the night.
    Spring Fern needed a breath of fresh air. She wandered quietly out into the night, away from the longhouse, breathing deeply of the scented stillness. The cool moist air blowing in from the ocean felt good against her heated skin. All the loud noises and partying had given her a headache and she longed for quiet.
    She had felt Sarita’s tension all evening and the waiting was wearing her down, too. In a little while, it would be over. Sarita would be married and she and Sarita would be on their way to the Ahousat village. She wondered idly what was in store for her there.
    The harsh snapping of a twig caught her immediate attention. Turning quickly back to the longhouse, she found her way blocked by a dark, looming shadow. With a gasp she stepped back, prepared to run.
    “Don’t be afraid, little one,” came a quiet, deep voice.
    “Who is it?” she asked tremulously.
    “Rottenwood.”
    “Oh,” she gasped. “You quite scared me, Rottenwood. I—I was afraid for a moment.” She suddenly stopped, realizing she didn’t really know Rottenwood, and she had no reason to relax in his presence, despite his reassurance. The man was always staring at her.
    As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again in that quiet voice, “I was enjoying the night air. I feel restless tonight with so many Ahousats in the village.”
    She nodded, unaware that he had to strain his eyes to see her response. “I don’t like it either,” she admitted. “Soon, however, I’ll be used to them, I suppose. I’m going to their village with Sarita, you know.” This last said with a toss of her head.
    She heard the quick intake of his breath. “No, I didn’t know,” he answered blandly. “Are you pleased to be going there?”
    She shrugged. “It is all the same to a slave, isn’t it?” she said ruefully, with just a trace of bitterness.
    It was his turn to nod in the dark, her turn to strain her eyes looking for his response.
    They stood there quietly for a moment in a comfortable silence. Quietly he reached out one large hand and brushed a long curl of her hair away from her face. “You’re very beautiful,” he whispered, moving slightly closer to her.
    “D-don’t, please,” she trembled in the cool night air, but not from the cold.
    “I wouldn’t hurt you, little one,” he murmured. “Don’t you know I’ve wanted to talk with you, to hold you for so long?”
    “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked uncertainly. “I don’t really know you. I’ve never encouraged you in any way.” She began to grow indignant.
    He let out a quiet chuckle. “No, you certainly haven’t