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feel her leaning against him, could feel the curve of her hip, the length of her thigh. He thought of what lay between those thighs, and he reached an arm around her under her reindeer fur vest, resting his hand upon her breast. Through the deerskin shirt he could feel her nipple stand up against his palm.
    The spring sun was delightfully warm. He was a fool to let Morna spoil his fun, he thought. “Come,” he said into Cala’s pretty pink ear. “Let’s go into the woods.”
    Linked together, the boy and girl made their way into the clump of trees that screened this part of the river from the valley floor.
    * * * *
    They parted within the half-hour, Cala returning home while Ronan remained where he was.
    Perhaps he could marry Cala, he thought. Their blood lines were not within the forbidden degree of closeness, and if he married her he would not have to leave the tribe.
    He heard movement behind him and spun around, frowning. He did not want any more company. His brow smoothed out when he saw who it was. “Nel. What are you doing here?”
    She came to sit beside him on the bank, first plunking the basket she had been carrying down under a tree. Nigak bestowed his usual lavish greeting, licking Ronan’s face and sniffing him all over. Ronan scratched the wolf’s ruff and looked at Nel. “I have been gathering herbs for the Old Woman,” she answered. “We are going to make some medicines tomorrow.”
    He smiled at her and let Nigak continue to sniff him.
    “I passed Cala on the path,” she said. Nigak finally finished with Ronan and went to curl up beside Nel. She reached out to smooth the silvery fur between the wolf’s ears. Her voice was muffled. “Did you lie with her?”
    He was staring at her averted face. “Sa.” He sounded preoccupied. “What is that bruise on your cheek?”
    She shrugged and still did not look at him. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, turning her face so he could see it more clearly. “How did you get it?” His voice was no longer preoccupied but sharp and authoritative.
    Her lids were lowered so he could not see into her eyes. “My stepmother was angry with me. It is nothing, Ronan. Truly.”
    There was a tense silence. Then Ronan said, “I will deal with Olma for you.”
    “Na!” She pulled her chin away from his hold. “You will only make it worse if you interfere. I have to live with her. Until I am old enough to marry, there is nowhere else for me to go. It is best for me to try to get along with her, Ronan. Believe me.”
    He shook his head. “There are too many years before you can marry, Nel.”
    “Not so many. I have two handfuls of years already, remember. “ She smoothed one of Nigak’s ears and added gruffly, “Would you wait for me, Ronan, or is three years too long?”
    “Wait for you?” Ronan repeated blankly. His braid had been loosened in his encounter with Cala, and his black hair was blowing in the breeze from the river. “What are you thinking of, minnow? You and I cannot marry—we are hearth-cousins.”
    “Na,” Nel said, “we are not. I asked the Old Woman, Ronan. You were hearth-cousins with my mother. You and I are marriageable.”
    He put up a hand to push the hair from his face. “Marriageable?” Silence fell. Then he said slowly, “Is it so?”
    She nodded.
    “I had not considered that.” His voice was thoughtful.
    She leaned toward him eagerly. “Would you wait for me, Ronan? I promise to grow up very fast.”
    He smiled. “The moon blood comes when the Mother wills it, Nel. You will have no say in the matter.”
    Nel’s response to this apparent rejection was to fling her arms around Nigak’s neck and bury her face in the fur of his ruff. Ronan reached over and rested his hand on her back. She was such a skinny little thing, he thought, feeling the sharp shoulder blade under his palm. He wanted to murder Olma. He felt Nel quiver, and he frowned in concern. She was not crying?
    “Nel?” he said.
    “Are you going to