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as though making sure what he said was true. “He will be a good trader, someday, but before then I will make you my wife. When your old husband dies, I will claim you,” he said, “and someday I will take you back to visit your people.”
    “Yes,” Daes whispered. “Yes.” Of course she would be his wife. She would be anyone’s wife if it meant she could get back to the First Men and to Aqamdax. Once she returned to her own village, she would never leave it. Until then she would be whatever Cen wanted her to be.
    For a time, Fox Barking spoke of Sok’s greediness, his selfishness, but then the man suddenly seemed to change his mind. He praised Sok’s hunting skills, his dogs and his two young sons. He said Tsaani should pass on his wisdom and his place even before his death; he should give Sok all his bear hunting songs. Who could say, perhaps if Sok was chief bear hunter, then Wolf-and-Raven would beg him to take his daughter.
    Though Tsaani lay with his back turned, at first he grunted a few answers. What else could you do with a man who did not understand rudeness? Finally Tsaani was silent, even though Fox Barking began to speak about the village dogs and the curse that had been brought to them all by Chakliux. When Fox Barking still did not stop talking, Tsaani drew his breath in through his nose and made snoring noises. Then he heard Fox Barking get up and leave, but not before he rummaged through Blueberry’s food bags.
    At least the man did not leave hungry, Tsaani thought, and tucked his laughter into his cheek as he drifted into dreams.
    When their lovemaking was finished, Cen wiped himself on the furs of his sleeping place, adjusted his breechcloth and slipped on his leggings and parka. He watched Daes as she dressed, his eyes dark, soft. She could not look at him. Once, she had believed he could fill the emptiness of her first husband’s loss. She had been foolish, but her pain had been so great she would have done almost anything to escape it. She had given herself to Cen, breaking the taboos of her mourning. In punishment, she had conceived.
    She had known she could not stay with her people, so she had left the village. How else could she protect her daughter from spirits angered by what she had done?
    Too late, she had discovered the hardships of a trader’s life. How could she stay with him, chance the storms, travel the rivers and tundra, all the while caring for a child? She had asked him to take her to a village where she could deliver their baby, had pleaded that he find her a husband, a hunter, who would care for her.
    In sorrow, he did so, and left her, but came back each year, sometimes twice a year. She had told him it was best for their son. Finally this summer, Ghaden was strong enough to make the journey to the First Men Village. This year, Daes would not let Cen leave without her. She laid her hands against his back, stroked his wolf fur parka.
    “Yes,” she whispered. “I will be glad to become your wife. Then we will return to my village. I will see my daughter again. You can build a lodge there, and when you are not trading, you will have a warm place to stay, and a wife waiting for you.”
    He turned and looked into her eyes. “Tell your husband he must die soon,” Cen said.
    “He will not live through another winter,” Daes told him, and felt a sudden sadness, knowing her words were true. “But I will go when you say. If you want me to come now, I will come.”
    Cen narrowed his eyes, tipped his head and stared at the caribou hide walls. “From here,” he said, “I go upriver to the Rock Hill Village and beyond. By the time the ice breaks, I will be back. Be ready to go with me then.”
    “Go away,” Tsaani called, and in his need for sleep did not regret his rudeness. “I have had enough people in this lodge. Go away, and do not come back until morning.”
    Tsaani turned his head toward the doorflap, but the lodge was so dark he could not see. Even the hearth fire,