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Wobans would have shared equally in the work, men and women together, she knew, and they would have made the work easier by singing and laughing together. The Blens didn’t sing, she had decided by now, and when they laughed, it was a menacing sound that made Feather shiver.
    One evening she saw Lex making the rounds of the men in their band and collecting arrows from them.
    “What is he doing?” she asked Hana.
    Hana barely looked up. She was stirring a concoction she brewed for the men on chilly evenings, and it had to be prepared just right.
    “They break arrows when they hunt, or sometimes the feathers are ruined and must be replaced. While we are camped like this, it is a good time for Kama to fix them.”
    “Kama fixes arrows?” Feather eyed the dark-skinned woman with new respect. Kama always seemed pessimistic, complaining about the food, the weather, the decisions the men made—anything at all, it seemed—and predicting that they would not reach the warmer lands to the south before the snow fell.
    “That is her job when needed.”
    Feather hesitated, wondering whether or not to reveal her own skill at fletching. Would they take her away from the heavier chores of hauling water and fuel? Or would they keep a closer watch on her, knowing she had a valuable ability?
    In this tribe it might mean more freedom, she decided. So far she had given her captors no reason to believe she would try to escape, and little by little she had found herself less restrained. If she could sit down for a good part of the day and work on arrows, her sore feet and bruises might heal before they resumed the endless journey.
    “I can do this job,” she said.
    Hana continued stirring. “What job?”
    “The arrows. I am skilled at this. I learned from an elder, and they say I’m very good at it. My hands are small, and I can bind the feathers perfectly.”
    Hana stirred on, saying nothing.
    Feather bit her lip. “Should I bring the small kettle now?”
    “Yes,” said Hana. “But Denna and I will serve the men.”
    Denna was a teenager, and Feather had learned that she was also a relative newcomer to the Blens. She had traveled with them for less than a year, and her bitterness was evident in her sulky response to commands. Feather had thought of trying to befriend her, but Denna shunned her. “You are a slave,” she’d said. “I’m a member of the tribe now.” Yet she recoiled every time she was forced to take part in the tribe’s activities.
    It gave Feather hope because it was apparent that no one stayed a slave long with the Blens. Those who worked hard were rewarded by being adopted into the tribe, as Tag and Denna had been.
    Now Denna went to help Hana with the drinks, throwing a scowl in Feather’s direction. Feather was sorry the girl had to go among the rowdy men and serve them, but she was glad she could retreat from the crowd. She waited behind her rock for half an hour, but Tag didn’t come. At last she gave up and went to her sleeping spot and rolled up in the wool blanket that was his gift.
    T he next morning, after she helped Hana with breakfast for Mik’s band, Feather was sent to Kama.
    “You make arrows?”
    Feather swallowed hard. “Not the shafts, but I fletch them.”
    The woman looked her up and down, and Feather wondered what she saw. She knew her own clothes were worn and dirty from a month on the trail, and her skin was sun browned. Her torn shirt was mended with a needle she had borrowed from Hana. She tried to keep her hair neat. After she had been a couple of weeks with the Blens, Tag had brought her a comb—from where she did not ask. She carried it in her pouch and used it daily.
    Kama nodded in apparent satisfaction. “You show me.”
    Feather gulped and followed her to where she had set out her tools and supplies in the shade of a large tree. A bundle of fresh arrow shafts was propped against a rock, and a collection of about twenty damaged arrows lay beside them.
    “Many arrows are