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dried strips of buffalo meat into powder. Her nails chipped and bled from the constant smashing against the rocks, but she did not care. Pain meant that she was still alive. She reasoned that the constant bleeding forced blood into her often-numb fingertips. She’d hate to lose her fingers to frostbite.
    She looked around at the bustling group and decided it was not so bad after all. The women dumped off the work that they did not want to do, and she could work at her own pace, since they would have to speak to her in order to berate her. Also, having stronger arms meant that she could pound the meat easier than the other women could.
    No one was watching. They were too busy preparing for the blinding winter storms that would begin within the next moon cycle. She pulled out a small, buckskin purse from inside her trousers and scooped a handful of buffalo powder into it. Eagle Eyes walked by and caught her. She glared at him and he frowned, walking away in silence.
    They never spoke about what happened at the camp with Bearclaw, but his compassion had grown towards her. He gave her his cast-off clothing and blankets so she wouldn’t freeze to death during the bitter cold nights. He had even argued against the elders about keeping her as a man. Although he had lost the argument, he had not lost her respect for standing up for her.
    She had not been surprised by their choice to keep her as a man. Small Tree had handed them a new way to torture her. Only, she used her change to her advantage. Dancing Cat knew they would leave her to starve once all of the work had been done. She planned to escape before then.
    She only needed another week’s worth of food, and then she would slip away in the middle of the night. Perhaps she’d head for Red Valley and sell herself as a slave to the first person she found. Anything was better than a death not of one’s own choosing.
    Bearclaw had taught her that.
    Dancing Cat rubbed her leg through her buckskin trousers, somewhat accustomed now to the taunt, muscular features of it. She doubted she’d ever completely get used to seeing herself as a man. She tried looking at her body as little as possible, still embarrassed by seeing a man naked. Even if that man was herself.
    “She’s over there.”
    Dancing Cat looked up to see her chief, her mother, and her grandmother walking towards her. And him. She wondered if her mind was slipping away. She dropped her grinding rock in surprise. Not a day had gone by without her daydreaming about Bearclaw.
    “I don’t know why you’d request such a low price for peace,” Hawk Sight said, her hands raw and red from forming still-warm bone marrow into cakes with the buffalo and berry powders. “She is cursed.”
    “Young though I am, perhaps I am wiser than you, Hawk Sight,” he said, without smiling.
    Dancing Cat coughed to hide her laughter, which did not escape Crow. Her mother’s glare could cut river ice into sheets. “While you believe your ancestors banished her, I believe mine brought her to me.”
    “And this is the only cost for peace that your father demands?” the chief asked. He clearly had not expected a visit from the Red Valley, for he was not in his proper attire. Instead, he sported his everyday tunic and trousers.
    Dancing Cat sat quietly, still fearful to look up. She had not realized Bearclaw was a chief’s son. It made sense, she supposed, that he had been allowed to leave with so many items on a spirit quest. Or that he had even been allowed to go on one so close to winter. A young man would be needed on the hunt.
    “My father has given me full power to negotiate peace between our peoples. We have no wish to retaliate for your invasion; however, such a violation cannot be overlooked. I demand a woman as my wife. I will take your cursed one.”
    Dancing Cat gasped, though she was not sure if it was horror or surprise. Her natural instinct was to prickle at the idea of being bartered like a beaver pelt. Yet, only