Feather by Susan Page Davis Page A

he wished he could see the iron worker’s shop.
    Sometimes when Rose and Zee were baking, they scooped hot coals from the fire pit and transferred them to the clay oven. When the oven was hot inside, they scraped out the coals and put in the food they wished to cook. But the oven would never get hot enough to soften metal, Karsh was sure.
    “In the Old Times,” Alomar said sadly, “they even melted metal and poured it into molds. That’s how some of the things you’ve found were made.” He nodded toward Karsh’s woven belt. “That buckle, for instance.”
    Karsh wiped the sweat from his forehead and returned his strip of iron to the fire. “How could you melt metal? In what would you melt it?”
    “A pot,” Alomar said, but he sounded doubtful.
    “A clay pot would crack,” Karsh said.
    “Not a clay pot, then.”
    “What kind of pot would hold the molten metal and not melt itself?”
    The old man had no answer. They had spoken of this before but never found a solution. “The trader comes soon. We can ask him. He goes to many tribes. Some of them work metal. He may have knowledge of special tools and ways to work.”
    “We know some metals are softer than others,” Karsh mused. “The red metal is softer than iron, and the heavy metal softer still.”
    “Yes,” said Alomar. “I’ve seen lead melt on a stone beside a hot fire. You can shape it easily, even when it’s cold.”
    “But we don’t have much,” Karsh said, “and it’s too soft to use for tools.”
    He was glad they were raising the new building. For the last month they had worked hard on their hidden sleeping platforms and secret food caches in the forest. But those were finished now, and they had turned to this new structure in the village.
    It meant they would have another house that was livable in winter and would not all be crammed together in the lodge. Three winters they had spent that way, and now, especially with the addition of Neal and Weave’s baby, all could see the need of a larger living space. The two married couples would move into the new house, and each family would have a room of its own on opposite sides of their common living area. Shea and Rose, with their daughter Gia and young son Cricket would live in one side, while Neal, Weave, little Flame, and the new baby would be in the other. The unmarried adults and orphans could spread out a bit more in the lodge this winter, and it would be quieter.
    But Karsh knew it would be too quiet for him at times. He could not stop thinking about Feather. Imagining a long, cold winter without her was too painful to bear.
    The others seemed to have forgotten her. Seldom was her name mentioned. On rare occasions, Karsh would look up and find Hunter watching him. Only a week ago, Hunter had come to him on the ridge, where Karsh had climbed to sit and look down at the berry patch where he had last seen his sister.
    “You miss her,” Hunter had said, and his simple words had started tears flowing. Karsh hid his face in his arms.
    “Don’t be ashamed,” Hunter said, touching his bowed head. “It’s not a disgrace to weep for one you love.”
    Karsh gulped for air and wiped his face on his sleeve. If Rand had been the one to find him, Karsh knew he would have received a stiff lecture on discipline and the good of the tribe. “Do you think Feather is alive?”
    “I do.”
    “I want to find her, Hunter. I need to go and find her.”
    Hunter shook his head and looked out over the valley below. “You must give up that idea. The Blens range far and wide over the plains. Even if we could find the band that stole her, we are not strong enough to take her from them. We found their camp, remember? There were dozens of them. We would surely lose more of our people in such a venture. We mustn’t lose any more of our number. Do you understand that, son?”
    Karsh closed his eyes tightly. It hurt him inside when Hunter spoke to him so gently. It was almost as if he had a father. But