Feather by Susan Page Davis Page B

without Feather, his family would never be complete, even if Hunter got married and asked the elders to allow him to adopt him. That was one of Karsh’s daydreams. Even before Feather was lost, he had dreamed of it. They were children of the tribe, but it would be so much better to have a family of one’s own, a strong and caring father like Hunter, and a mother like . . . He never saw the mother’s face in his dreams. He would let Hunter choose the mother for him and Feather.
    But in the years they had been with the Wobans, Hunter had not married, and now Feather was gone. The family was a mirage that had evaporated into dry, empty air.
    And so his conversation with Hunter had ended in frustration once again, and he was still here, forcing himself to lay aside the vision of finding Feather and working for the safety and comfort of the tribe.
    “The sun is setting,” Alomar said, and Karsh looked up. It was true; the light was already fading. He quenched the last nail of the day—only sixty-three today. He would do better tomorrow.
    “Go join the men at the lake,” Alomar said. “I will put away the tools.”
    “No, I’ll help you. Then we’ll both go.”
    The old man smiled at him. “You are a good lad.”
    Karsh stored the tools in the men’s shelter while Alomar carefully fitted the new nails into a small box. Neal and the other men left the building site and headed for the lake to swim before supper.
    “Go,” said Alomar. “I follow, but I come slowly.”
    Karsh ran down the path, pulling off the leather tunic he wore when working with metal and fire. It was uncomfortably hot in summer, but it kept the sparks from burning him or making holes in his fabric clothing.
    “Hey, Karsh!” Cricket called from the water, and Karsh hurried to leave his leggings and moccasins in a heap on the shore, then splashed in to frolic with the other boys. The men came in more leisurely, ducked under the water, and swam a few lengths, surfacing beyond the shallows where the young boys played.
    Karsh kept an eye on Hunter, and when he returned to shore, Karsh followed.
    “What, done dunking Cricket and Bente so soon?” Hunter asked, reaching for his clothes.
    “I want to talk to you.”
    Hunter pulled his leggings on and sat down to brush off his feet before donning his moccasins. “We can’t track the Blens, I told you,” he said quietly.
    “I know. It’s not that.” Karsh waited until Hunter looked up at him. “I want to go on the big hunt with you.”
    Hunter gritted his teeth. “Not this year. I can’t let you.”
    “Why not? I’m a good shot; you know that.”
    “Yes.”
    “Please.”
    Hunter sighed. “You are hoping we will find some sign of Feather.”
    Karsh looked down at his feet. The fine gravel was sticking to them. “It’s too hard to just sit here while you’re gone. It was bad enough last year. I wanted to be with you so much! But now . . .” He looked up, not wanting to whine, but hoping Hunter could see his aching need to do something, to make some progress toward finding Feather. “I can’t do nothing. Hunter, I need to find her, or at least . . . at least to be trying.”
    Hunter’s mouth softened, and he rested a hand on Karsh’s shoulder. “When my wife died—”
    “You had a wife?” Karsh blinked at him, shocked for a moment out of his distress.
    “Yes, many years ago.”
    “You’re older than I thought.”
    Hunter smiled. “We married very young. I was eighteen, as was she. And two years later she died.”
    Karsh frowned, trying to see where this story’s ending lay. “What does that have to do with Feather?”
    “It’s hard. That’s all, Karsh. When someone you love dies, it’s hard. But I suspect it’s not as hard as this has been for you. Because when Ella died, I knew there was nothing more I could do for her. You don’t have that knowledge. You will always wonder about Feather and wish you could have saved her.”
    Karsh pulled away. “No! I will not always