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he found so distasteful, except, of course, the abuse of the girl.
    He watched from a distance the celebration and the dance reenacting the kill. He was sick, spiritually and
physically. His strict training in the ways of the medicine man made the situation even worse for him. The deliberate infraction of a medicine taboo was beyond his understanding.
    Willow, watching the dejected Owl, was sympathetic, but not touched so deeply. She observed the custom of the People by refusing participation in the feast. However, she was able to be more objective about the situation. Medicine taboos, she realized, were different for different tribes—for different individuals, even. She remembered a man of her own tribe whose taboo had been antelope. From some vision or vow of long ago, he avoided the flesh of the animal entirely. He had been called “Eats-no-Antelope” behind his back by the children, she recalled whimsically. At any rate, Willow decided, the medicine taboo of others is their own concern. She could be much more tolerant than the strictly disciplined Owl.
    Despite such cultural clashes, the seasons moved on. The Moon of Snows was considerably milder than the People were accustomed to further to the north. There were only a few days when the snow lay on the earth. Likewise, the Moon of Hunger brought no major hardships. A few families fell back on the eating of dogs, the ever-present provision. Basically, however, enough meat and pemmican had been prepared and stored to supply the winter. Those who ate dogs did so by choice, or to enjoy a meal of fresh meat for variation in the diet.
    When the warm south breezes of the Wakening Moon began to bring the smell of moist earth, Owl became impatient. He thought that the decision to move north, back to more familiar territory, would never come. But at last, late in the Greening Moon, the Head Splitters began to prepare for the move.
    Owl was elated. He already felt that he was starting home. The details of planning an escape were secondary, compared to the fact that they were now headed for
familiar territory. He wondered if White Buffalo had fired the grass yet. It was hard to tell. The plants in this arid region were so different. The young medicine man needed the familiar grasses of the prairie to make his estimate.
    After the travelers reached the grasslands, there was one frustrating incident. The band was spread in a straggling column across the prairie when suddenly an excited murmur rippled down the line. Owl caught the word which he had learned the Head Splitters used for the People. His father’s own band, perhaps? If there were fighting, there was the possibility of escape. He looked around for Willow, but did not see her.
    The band moved quickly into a compact group, children in the center, then the women, with warriors around the outside. Owl, with a few others who were captives of a sort, and potential troublemakers, were herded near the center of the circle. He felt a sharp prick on the side of his neck and glanced around. The old woman, the mother of Bull’s Tail, he now knew, showed him the point of her skinning knife.
    â€œYou will be silent,” she signed. “If there is fighting, you are the first to die!”
    â€œOf course, Mother,” answered Owl, also in the sign language.
    He knew fighting was unlikely. Both groups would have their women and children; and would avoid conflict. He had seen such chance meetings almost annually, and had watched, fascinated, from the center of the circle. Now he did so again, peering around and between the horses carrying baggage or pulling pole-drags.
    A column of travelers began to file over the hill, heading in a generally northerly direction, but at a slightly different tangent from that of the Head Splitters. Three men moved their horses out from the Head Splitters’ band, and riders from the approaching group slowly moved out to meet them.

    Owl recognized old White Bear, chief of the