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barely.
    Light slowly filled the interior as the sun rose higher, and Deborah looked around her with interest. A variety of items were stacked neatly at the sides. Blankets were folded in an orderly manner, and gourd vessels sat in tidy rows. A few wooden bowls, scoured clean, were wedged in among carved cups and loosely woven baskets filled with some kind of berries. Her stomach growled at the visual reminder of food. Would they ever think to feed her?
    And what about her cousin and the others? Were they to be starved, too?
    Deborah tucked strands of her tangled hair behind her ears as she struggled for composure. It wouldn’t help to grow upset. She would need all her self-possession to get through this ordeal.
    Footsteps sounded in the dirt outside the opened flap, and Deborah steeled herself. Relief made her almost weak when the slender girl entered, and she sighed.
    The girl looked up and smiled, as if she knew how Deborah must feel.
    “Ihka puni tuihu,” she said in a soft voice, her smile widening when Deborah just stared at her. She lifted the bowl in her hands, and a curl of tantalizing steam rose in the air. “Kuhtsu?maru.” The unfamiliar words were simply gibberish, but the girl’s meaning was clear as she held out the bowl. Deborah took it gratefully. There was no spoon, just a bowl of some sort of stew. Chunks of meat and vaguely familiar vegetables bobbed in a thick, fragrant gravy, and with a sigh between pleasure and dismay, Deborah dipped her fingers tentatively into the bowl.
    A soft giggle made her look up. Mischief danced in the young girl’s eyes, and she held out a shallow spoon carved from bone. It had a rough wooden handle. Deborah smiled at the look of delight on the girl’s face as she reached for the spoon. She forced herself to eat slowly instead of wolfing down the food, but it was difficult. When the bowl was half-empty, she looked back up at the watching girl.
    “Thank you,” she said softly.
    Kneeling, the girl looked at Deborah with her head tilted to one side like a small, interested bird. Her thick shiny hair gleamed in the soft light, and a smile curved her lips.
    “Ura.” When Deborah looked mystified, she repeated in a slow, hesitant voice, “ Ura —thank you.”
    “Do you speak English?” Deborah asked immediately, but the girl only stared at her without answering. Well, it was too much to hope that she’d know more than a phrase or two of English, she supposed. Probably learned from a trading post. At least the girl was friendly and seemed to like her. She cleared her throat.
    “Wura,” she said in an effort to mimic her, and that sent the girl into peals of soft laughter. Deborah laughed, too, wondering what she’d said.
    “Uruu?” she tried again, and more laughter greeted her effort.
    When she’d finished the stew, the girl took the bowl and gave her a gourd of cool water to drink. With her basic needs satisfied for the moment, Deborah studied the Comanche girl, wondering if they could possibly communicate successfully. It would be helpful to have a sympathetic ally in camp, especially when she recalled a pair of hard blue eyes and an even harder face. Deborah smiled, and the girl smiled back, obviously ready to cooperate in the business of making friends.
    Putting her palm against her chest, Deborah said, “Deborah.” Then she reached out to indicate the girl, tilting her head to one side and lifting her shoulders questioningly.
    A smile curved her mouth as the girl chirruped, “Ohayaa.” She put her hand on her chest and repeated, “Ohayaa.” Deborah repeated it several times until the girl was satisfied, and felt a sense of accomplishment. Then Ohayaa pointed a finger up toward the patch of sky visible through the smoke hole. Pantomiming, she spent several minutes translating her name into English for Deborah, pointing to the sun, mimicking the role of a plant, until finally Deborah exclaimed, “Sunflower!” and the girl nodded