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I shake my head and feel a huge weight lift from my shoulders. “You don’t have to be sorry, Bren, and I don’t want to do it any differently.” Still, I think it’s nice of him to offer me a choice.
Days pass and Bren soon manages to take on small jobs. He showed Darrow how to make rabbit traps and carved himself a bow out of ash wood, greased it, and shaped it over the fire. Since making arrows is so unpopular, Bren takes on the task for the Navapaki in exchange for keeping a portion. Using pre-dried hazelnut wood, he removes the bark and sands the shaft smooth, then carves the tips from bone and attaches the quill. As thanks for five arrows, Coven gives him a bowstring from civilization so he doesn’t have to use the tendon of an elk.
It’s now early August, which I know from Thea who has a clock with a date display in her teepee. In general, a lot is not quite as original and wild as it seemed at first glance. Except for Amarok, of course.
Since Thea is about my build, perhaps a little fuller around the hips, she gave me a spare set of clothes the day before yesterday. I only had what I was wearing when we arrived in the camp: underwear, long jeans, and my white T-shirt, which was more of a muddy color after spending days in the forest. She left me a knee-length leather dress with pretty red embroidery that was too tight for her after Yoomee was born and a pair of fringed moccasins that cover my ankles. She also lent me her horn comb several times—a real treasure in the middle of nature. I’ve started braiding my hair into two pigtails anyway, feeling a little like Winnetou’s little sister. I usually go searching for edible berries, but I don’t wander far from the camp because I don’t know what’s lurking between the bushes—apart from that, my ankle still hurts. Although Nashashuk has concocted a tincture for me, the throbbing has not completely subsided. My sunburn, the blisters on my feet, and the mosquito bites have healed wonderfully with Thea’s ointment, but I’m hesitant to ask whether the green paste is natural or a drugstore product.
One evening as the sun sinks lower, making the lake in the reedy bay glow, Amarok suddenly stands before me, dressed only in long pants and moccasins. His blue-black hair falls loosely over his tanned shoulders and his leather headband features an eagle feather that bends toward the ground.
I am so startled, the bowl of raspberries almost slips out of my hand. The sight of him and his silent arrival is something magical and intimidating. And he’s never been so close to me during daylight as he is now. So far he’s only dared watch me from afar, maybe because he still questions if I am the deer woman after all.
“Hi,” I say, feeling uncomfortable. The coolness of the approaching night wraps itself around my bare calves. It reminds me of the moment in front of the RV when I was unsure if I should enter.
“Hi.” Amarok smiles, showing a row of gleaming white teeth. Nobody knows his true age, but I’d guess nineteen or twenty.
“You no deer woman, I’m sorry.” The words come out clumsily and with the wrong intonation, but they sound sincere and endearing.
My initial shock subsides slightly. “You mean not, not no,” I correct affectionately and nod in confirmation.
He points to a couple of hoof prints on the bank that I didn’t notice. “Moose,” he says. “Dangerous. No collecting here.”
He must have practiced to be able to communicate with me so well. Then again, he has often heard the language as the Navapaki in the camp speak a mixture of English and their mother tongue. Perhaps Amarok understands a lot more than Darrow believes.
Up close, his eyes look like two dark, sparkling crescents. Today, he has no war paint on his face. I have since learned that they only use the symbols on specific occasions. Each one has their own symbols that bring good luck or express strength, and different colors have different meanings. According to Darrow, it’s only us white people who refer to it as war paint because we don’t know any better.
It’s just then that I realize he’s handsome. Not because I don’t find First Nation people handsome in general, but because I’ve never looked at Amarok from that perspective. He has a nice wide mouth and a strong, long nose. He’s a Mohawk, not a Navapaki, I learned that from Thea.
“I’ll show Josephine where to collect,” he now says and nods at me invitingly.
I pause, the old fear breathing down the back of my neck again. A mother black bear is on the path in front of the containers. You can’t go that way right now. Bits of memory flash through my mind like lightning. “I should go back,” I say firmly, but then he grabs my hand firmly.
“I show you.”
He pulls me along a beaten track where tall bushes converge like a barrier on either side. For a few seconds, I think about what to do. If I pull away, I’ll probably insult him and that’s the last thing I want to do. I will never forget what he did for me and Bren. But what if he…
I look around discreetly, but there’s no one here but us. We’re a bit removed from the camp, but if I have to, I’ll scream—as soon as I think it, I am ashamed. I am being unfair to Amarok, 100 percent. If only he wouldn’t hold my hand so tightly.
He walks ahead quickly, obviously with no intention of letting go of me. My heart is beating faster. His hand is completely wrapped around mine and my fingers are clammy. With each step, we move further from the shore and the camp until we finally come to a bleached rock face in the middle of the forest. It’s not tall, about the size of two full-grown men, but countless juicy berries grow at its base.
“No moose here. Never!” he says firmly and lets go of me.
“Nor deer women?” I joke, still breathless, and form my hand into makeshift antlers on the side of my forehead even though does generally don’t have them.
Amarok’s narrow eyes widen for a few seconds, but then he throws his head back and laughs. I join in. It goes on like that a few times, back and forth where I shuffle my feet like hooves and he pretends to hide. It’s good to be light-hearted, at least for a moment.
“Collect here tomorrow,” he says, emphasizing here and stomping the stony ground to clarify.
I nod, relieved and embarrassed. Apparently, he didn’t intend to pounce on me in the bushes. Did I truly believe he would?
Side by side, we walk back to the camp and I feel Amarok’s eyes on me. Every once in a while, I glance up at him and see something serious, saintly in his eyes. I’m afraid he actually fell in love with me. Maybe with my hair, like Bren did in the beginning.
As the camp comes into view, I search for Bren, but he’s not where he usually sits when he’s shaping arrows. I feel anxious. It’s been this way for the last few days, I just don’t know what exactly brought it on. Fear of Bren freaking out? Or fear of how I will react? Or is it simply fear of an uncertain future?
A crackle in the bushes makes me turn my head and I spot Bren coming toward us from the old oaks near the creek, his chin thrust forward.
Was he there waiting for me the entire time?
“There you are,” he says, and his forehead wrinkles as his gaze shifts from me to Amarok. “Where have you been?”
