Tsem recovered slowly, but after the first week the Mang healer attending him announced that he would certainly live— though he hinted that the debts he had incurred with certain gods would have to be repaid. Perkar, eager to do his part, organized a hunting expedition with Ngangata and a few younger Mang men. It was decided that a few women would accompany them, as well, and Hezhi, unskilled as she was, begged to be included.

Two days brought them to a lightly forested canyon, and there they made a strong camp, set up tents, dug firepits, built skinning frames for the hides they hoped the men would bring in. Hezhi set about learning the things Mang women did: gathering nuts, digging roots, tanning hides. The work was hard, and many times, early on, kindled nostalgia for the palace, where she was waited on by servants. The women she worked with were cordial but a little impatient with her. They seemed to expect her to already know how to do things. Hezhi was a quick learner, however, and before many days had passed the women began including her in their storytelling sessions, laughing now and then at her highly imperfect Mang, but never with any malice. The men returned every few days, always with game, and the women murmured much about the skill of Ngangata and his bow. Perkar was less esteemed, but he also killed much game, often entering the camp, flushed with his success, "like a little boy, just learning to hunt," the women would exclaim.

Half a month passed at the camp, and Hezhi began to feel a certain contentment, the days settling on her shoulders like a warm coat, her fingers learning their tasks as her tongue became comfortable with the language of the Horse People. One of the young warriors began flirting with her, and she became the object of good-natured gossip, though she kept a good distance from the young man. The lesson she had learned with Yen—Ghe?— was not one she would unlearn quickly. It was one of three pains still throbbing in her. The palace and her family were already fading. They were, as the saying went, more of her skin than her heart. But she missed Qey and Ghan, feared for them. She wondered often what the letter Ghan had left her contained—it had gone with Zeq' and his boat when he had fled.

Toward evening of the twentieth day in camp, Hezhi was scraping clean an antelope skin when the packhorses began to pace nervously in their corral. Many of the women stopped in their tasks, gazing down the canyon to see who or what might be approaching. They soon made out two riders, and one of the older women, astute in such matters, recognized Brother Horse and Yuu'han, his grandnephew.

That evening they held a celebration. Fortuitously, the hunters returned that same day, and so a deer was dressed and roasted. Brother Horse brought with him beer, candy, copper bells for the men and their horses, cloth and knives for the women. To Hezhi he gave one of the knives, a small, sharp blade.

"They tell me you learn quickly," he said. "Every Mang woman needs a good skinning knife."

"Thank you," she said, meaning it. The knife borrowed from Duk had always been that, and she was astonished at how happy she was to have her own.

"Well," Brother Horse went on, when she had accepted her present. "I have something else for you, as well." He drew forth a small bundle from his pack. "A friend of yours sent this along."

"A friend of mine?"

"Yes. Yuu'han and I rode down to Nhol, to buy sugar and knives."

"Nhol?" She took the package, fumbled it open with eager fingers. Saltwater started in her eyes when she saw what was enclosed. There was a book—The Mang Wastes—and a ten-score roll of blank paper. The latter was accompanied by pen and powdered ink. There was a note, as well.

"Hezhi," the note began.

"You may become Mang, if you wish," he said. "I will adopt you as my daughter, and we will find a good, capable husband for you. Who knows? Now and then I see the sparkle of power in you—not like it was, of course, not enough to change you, but perhaps enough to make you a shamaness, to earn an honest living that doesn't involve scraping hides."

"I'm learning to like scraping hides, thank you," she replied. "But I thank you for your offer. It is very kind, since I know I would be a burden, at least for a time."

"Families have broad shoulders," Brother Horse replied, "made to bear burdens."

"I don't know what I will do yet," she mused. "I think Perkar and I must speak."

"You are not bound to him," Brother Horse said.

"No, not bound exactly," she half agreed. "But there are debts we share, responsibilities we hold together."

Brother Horse shook his head. "Such young people to be so serious. Enjoy yourselves, before your bones turn into dry sticks and your skin into leather."

Hezhi smiled. "I will try," she promised.

Perkar edged around the skinning frame, admiring the hide from all sides. "You've done a nice job with this," he said. "One would never know you were once a princess."

She attempted a smile, but it fell into a flat line.

"Sorry," he hastened to add.

"No," Hezhi said. "It isn't that. Being a princess never meant much to me. It might have, I suppose, if…" But the if hung in the air.

He pretended to examine the skin more closely, embarrassed.

"What are your plans, Perkar?" she asked abruptly. "Do you plan to hunt with the Mang from now on?"

"No." He had been thinking about that, of course. "No. I'm repaying debts right now, and I thought to begin with the closest, the ones I owe here. I'm also told that winter is hard on the western steppes. When spring comes, I'll go back to my father's land, to my own people. I have much to atone for there, many things to set right."

"Many things that I share blame for as well," Hezhi said.

"This has been discussed," he told her. "I believe you to be blameless."

"If I am, you are as well. But if you bear responsibility, so do I, Perkar. You can't have it both ways. We did this together, you and I. No matter what Brother Horse says, this skein was wound by the two of us, out of our fears and desires. I barely know you, but we belong together, at least for a time."

He tried out a chuckle and found it wanting. "How old are you?" he said. "Why not rest for a few years, be a child awhile longer?"

The girl looked back at him wearily. "That is already lost to me," she said quietly.

"Lost things can be found," he replied. But he knew what she meant. He would never again be that boy with his first sword, whooping in his father's pasture.

"I don't know," he went on, when she didn't reply. "We have many months to think about it. It might be that you will change your mind."

"I might," she conceded. "I did promise Tsem a few things. But I want you to think on this."

Perkar grunted. "You know," he said, "you frighten me a bit."

"I? I thought you were a demon, when I first met you."

"Perhaps I am, when I wield Harka. I don't know. But you…"

"How do I frighten you?"

"Who knows? All that time, on the River, your face the only clear thing in my mind. I can't see you without remembering that, without remembering that I hated you for a while."

"You still hate me?"

"No. It is just a memory. A clear memory." He settled down, cross-legged.

Hezhi hesitated for an instant, eyes turned from him. "You were going to kill me," she blurted suddenly.

Perkar grinned sardonically. "We were going to kill each other, weren't we?"

Hezhi nodded, but choked suddenly, gasped with an obvious effort to fight back tears. Perkar stared at her with open dismay. She bit her lip and began to scrabble to her feet. Perkar, to his own vast surprise, reached his hand out gently, laid it upon her shoulder. After a tiny hesitation, he knelt and drew her to him, felt her heart beating in her slight form like a thrush's wings. She sobbed, once, into his shoulder, and he felt a sudden tightness in his own throat.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, as he hugged her awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I know it hurts, all of it."

"I never meant to…" she mumbled, sniffling.

"Shh. Never mind," he soothed back. For a moment they stayed that way, and Perkar realized that though he had come half a world to find her, he had never really touched Hezhi.

"Listen," he said seriously, disengaging but leaving his hand on her shoulder, "all of this talk about duty and responsibility is fine, but I would be happier if we could at least like each other."

Hezhi nodded, reached up to brush at the dampness beneath her black eyes. "I can do that," she said, her tone a shade less certain than her words.

Perkar smiled, but boyishly this time, with none of his world-weary hardness. "I can do that, too. Maybe…" He crinkled his brow. "Maybe we need each other to heal from this; I don't know. But when I go home, I hope you will come with me."

"I would like that," she replied.

Suddenly embarrassed, Perkar turned his attention back to the skinning frame. "I thought I might go for a ride," he confided. "I like this horse the Mang gave me. He reminds me of one I used to have." He glanced over at the girl. "Would you like to come with me?"

Hezhi surveyed her work. Overhead, a late flight of geese arrowed through the turquoise sky.

"Yes," she said, her eyes distant. "Yes, I think I would."

He rose and offered her his hand, but she stood on her own before taking it, grinning.

"Where shall we ride to?" she asked.

It was his turn to smile. "Anywhere," he said. "Wherever we choose."

They turned together toward where the horses waited.