Dark Moon Walking by R. J. McMillen

to recognize either of these two?”
    Walker shook his head. “Couldn’t see anything. Too dark.”
    Dan nodded. “Wait till I’m back outside, then both of you take a good look. They won’t be able to see you through the porthole, but you both need to be able to recognize them if you see them again.” He moved back out to the deck.
    Walker leaned over the table and peered out at the big inflatable floating just feet away. The two men in it both had their eyes hidden by dark glasses, but he could sense them checking out every inch of Annie’s boat. One had long, dark hair and a heavy build. The other was tall and slim with short hair so white it seemed to glow.
    Dan’s voice drifted back to the cabin. “Nope. Hasn’t been anyone here for weeks. Is there a problem?”
    The reply was almost drowned out by the rising pitch of the outboard. “No. She is probably just out exploring. We will go back and wait.”
    Walker straightened and was about to move when the outboard quieted again.
    â€œThat is a nice canoe. Do you like to use it here?”
    â€œIt’s not mine. My friend uses it to paddle around a bit.”
    The outboard sped up again, and its whine diminished as the men left the bay.
    Dan stepped back inside. “I think our plans have just changed.”

SEVEN
    For the first time in a week, the morning sun burst through the clouds and set the water dancing. Gliding past the familiar shoreline, Walker felt a growing anger replacing the dread of the past two days. This was his land. Gigame' Kana'l , the Creator, had chosen this place for his people. Thunderbird ruled these skies. U'melth , the Raven, had placed the sun and the moon here, and Raven had given them the salmon, the namesake of his clan and sustainer of his village.
    The People, his people, had lived here, fished these waters, walked these beaches, for thousands of years. Like them, he had come to love and respect this world. He knew every bay, every cove and every inlet, not only by its shape and depth, but by its scent and the rhythm of its swells. He knew what lived there and where it lived. He knew the pattern of the seasons and the surge of the tides.
    There were mornings when the tendrils of mist rising from the water wrapped around him and almost stole his breath with their soft caress. When the frolicking play of a family of river otters held him rapt and spellbound. When the wheeling flight of a flock of gulls, pure white against a hard blue sky, made his heart sing.
    There were evenings when the canopy of stars, brilliant against the black depth of the night, shone so brightly that it frosted the trees with silver light and lit the ground around him.
    There were days when the orcas leaped from the ocean, huge and magnificent, water sheeting from their smooth, muscular bodies, and his world stilled in awe.
    Like his ancestors, and like the creatures he shared this land with, he too killed, but only for food, and he wasted nothing. He had learned long ago, on the harsh asphalt streets of the city, that violence was never an answer. And this was violence. Of that he was completely sure.
    Claire shared his world and shared his appreciation of it. A white girl from a different culture, she had effortlessly gained his respect with her warmth and her work and her simple lifestyle. Her values echoed his own and those of his people. She had given him the gift of her friendship when few others would have considered it. He would not turn away from her now.
    Whether or not Claire was still alive, he had to find her. He had to find out who was doing this. He had to find out why. Most of all, he had to get his world back into balance and restore the harmony that was both his sanctuary and his birthright.
    He had left Dan and Annie last night, slipping away into the darkness. They all agreed that he should be the one to continue the search for Claire. She would not be likely to respond to a stranger in