must find Skylark and make her reverse her magic. Then he would kill her so she could never do this to another man.
An unfamiliar sound drew his attention. Something large was crashing through the forest in his direction. Frost whined but he ordered him to heel and the dog sat, his ears alert.
Night Storm slipped his bow from his shoulder and notched an arrow. From the sound it was an elk, though soon he realized that it made too much noise. He sighted down the long shaft. Perhaps he would bring home meat for his mother and father after all. If it was an elk, there would be more than enough to share with many families. His mother would be so happy to have the fine white teeth to decorate his sister’s dresses.
But the creature thrashing his way now howled like a wolf and then quacked like a duck. Night Storm lowered his bow and watched as a naked man leaped over a rock and headed straight for him. The man waved his arms and shouted.
Falling Otter, he realized. Skylark’s father. He glanced about. Was she here?
“Napping at noon. Everyone nap. Feasting, napping and then games!”
The man spotted Night Storm and slowed. He grinned and came forward at a trot, holding out a stick.
Night Storm returned the arrow to its quiver and slung the bow across his shoulder.
“For your new home, unless you think to live with your mother forever.”
He didn’t live with his mother. “Here.” The man extended the loincloth. “Put this over your eyes for a napping. It will block out the light. Have to go. She is after me again.”
She? Night Storm looked back the way the man had come. Skylark was here. He knew it.
The man did a little circle dance, a dance reserved for women and then continued on.
“Tell her she’ll be late for staying put. Hurry, hurry. I’m so full.”
He lifted a new stick and used it to hit each tree trunk he passed. The knocking sound continued long after he was out of sight.
Night Storm turned in the direction the man had appeared. He had a certainty growing within him that he would find her soon. He had first found her here on a day when the new green leaves were so bright with sunlight that they hurt his eyes. He dropped the stick and tucked the scrap of buckskin in his pouch. Then he moved as quietly as he could, but still the jays called out from the treetops warning all creatures of his approach.
He saw her then, moving with a delicate tread in his direction. He ducked behind a thick tree trunk and drew out one arrow, gripping his bow. He pressed his naked back against the rough surface of the tree’s solid trunk.
He peered around the tree to watch her approach. She was just as lovely. The fringe of her simple dress swayed with her graceful stride. If he killed her would it break the curse?
He didn’t know.
Could he force her to remove it? If he captured her, would she trade his freedom for hers?
He could only try. Night Storm lifted his eyes to the heavens and offered a prayer to the Great Spirit asking for his help. Then he stepped from behind the tree and drew back the bowstring far enough to send an arrow cleanly through her heart.
Her step faltered and she stopped, staring with widening, mysterious eyes. Her mouth dropped open next as she gasped.
“You,” she said.
“Me,” he answered, and sighted the arrow.
Night Storm held his bow poised. Beside him, his dog whined and crept forward, gray eyes fixed on the woman as he wagged his narrow tail. He ordered his dog to stay and Frost dropped to the ground.
Skylark’s eyes went wide as he held her in his sights. Had she now realized that he had not mistaken her for game but was intentionally targeting her?
She lifted her hands and waved them before her.
“You know me. I am Crow!” Her voice rose in volume and pitch on her last word.
“I know you.” He held the bow steady.
She shook her head, her expression bewildered.
“Witch. Remove the curse,” he said.
“What?”
“Witch! You cursed me.”
Her head shook from side to side. “I am not a witch.”
“It is what a witch would say. Remove the curse or I will shoot.”
Her eyes narrowed, sparkling bright as she fixed them upon him, and for just a moment he feared she would bring on another spell. But his vision remained clear and he heard no ringing in his ears.
“Even if that were true, killing a witch would not end a curse.”
That made him hesitate. He had not expected the witch to do anything but what he asked. Why did she not fall to her knees and weep like an ordinary woman? Instead, she met his gaze with an unwavering one.
His grip tightened on the bow, but his conviction faltered.
“The spell you had here in the forest. You think I caused that?”
“And the ones that have followed.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
“Witches need no reason to curse a man.”
“Of course they do.”
“You knew that I would take you with me, so you stopped me.” Doubts filled him. Was this just another trick?
She scowled as if his words angered her. “You say I did this thing. Now, I will tell you what I did do. When you fell, I went to you and put you on your side so you would not choke on your blood. I put your bag under your head, to protect you from striking the ground.’
He stared, not knowing what to believe. Although the tension in the flexed bow urged him to release his arrow, he pointed it at the ground.
“Did you find your horse tied to a tree?”
He had.
Astonishment filled him. All she said was so. He had awakened on the ground beside his dog with his bag under his head like a pillow. The buffalo skin he used as a saddle blanket covered his body and his horse had waited patiently for him, saddle hanging over a branch by his side.
She lifted her chin as if he had answered her.
He released the tension of his bow, easing it back to rest but keeping the arrow notched.
“If I meant you harm, why did your dog not attack me then or now? I have not cursed you. I have saved you.”
“You
