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Raven’s fingers dug into the fur, tugging the pelts closer.
    Bear’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t you want a child? Your mate didn’t start a bud growing in you—in what, four turns of the seasons? Every time your sister weans one, she has another to suckle. If I can’t aid the Earth Mother in swelling your belly, then no man can.”
    He pulled the pelts from her hands, dropped them beside the pallet, and looked at her through the flickering shadows for a long moment before fumbling at his leather loincloth. Then he pushed her down onto the furs and clambered on top. Because of his height, his enormous chest covered her face, and all she could do was lie flat like a stone on a lake bottom until he finished. She gasped for breath when he rolled off.
    He sat up and lifted her right hand. “You should be more careful, plant woman,” he said, tracing a slow finger over the crusted scratch made earlier when they’d hidden in the rocks. Then he grasped her arms and pulled her so she was also sitting. His fingers skimmed her hair. “Black and shiny as your namesake’s feathers.” He thrust his fingertips into its thickness.
    Her scalp tingled at his touch. There was no mistaking these intimacies—he was wooing her. But Raven was wary. Earlier, he’d made it clear how he felt. He disliked her, and most likely it was only the mating that put him in a better mood—if so, that goodwill would soon fade.
    She made herself smile. “I am fortunate to be at your hearth.” She drew one of the displaced furs up against the chill and looked him in the face, holding his eyes. “The Earth Mother favors you.”
    His brows rose. “And what does that mean?”
    “You have courage and strength. Because of your decision to take the meat, the settlement will sleep deeply tonight, their stomachs full. And the bargain you made with the Longheads showed much wisdom.” She found it easy to say those things because they were true.
    The corners of his mouth turned up slightly—only a hint of sharp eyeteeth. Black eyes glittered in the lamplight, and again his fingers smoothed her hair.
    Emboldened, she continued, “I’ll put the captive’s arm back in place tomorrow. That will help him survive the trip so he can rejoin his people—”
    “ People —why do you call them people?” He frowned and pulled his hand away. “You saw them. We were with that wretched beast all afternoon. Surely you understand that he isn’t like us.”
    “It’s just that—”
    He slashed a hand through the air in front of her face, cutting her off. “And they frighten away game, so when we go out on the steppe, we find nothing, and then the band sleeps hungry—not like tonight. The elder was right. I should throw him in the lake. That’s what a truly wise man would do.”
    “Very well, beasts then—animals. It’s just that animals capable of planning a hunt with fire and blood can surely plan revenge.”
    Raven ran a hand under the fur covering and along her ribs. They felt tender, as if mildly bruised. “Your decision to bring him here instead of killing him was a good one. But a one-armed ma—beast won’t survive on the steppe or in the mountains, and his whole tribe might come if he doesn’t show up.”
    He tilted his head to look at the poles supporting the top of the lean-to and seemed to be considering her words.
    “I have reset many out-of-joint shoulders,” she said. In reality, she’d only helped with a few.
    She let the covering slide to her lap, despising herself but not knowing how else to sway him. His eyes strayed down, turning smoky.
    She lowered her voice, making it warm, breathy. “I can do so again. I know how to.”
    His tongue licked his top lip as if savoring honey, and then the covering was completely off her.
    At some point during the night, Raven dreamed she was a real raven, a bird. She sat upon a limb and groomed her glossy plumage. The pinions slid cleanly through her bill with a satisfying swish.
    A rustle of