The smoke.
The screaming horses.
The number painted on one supply wagon.
Seven.
The Seventh Regiment.
She had dreamed of killing them ever since.
Now she was going to die before she killed even one.
The largest wolf lowered its head.
Ayana planted her feet.
“Come.”
It lunged.
The gunshot struck like thunder.
The wolf spun sideways and collapsed.
Ayana flinched.
The others scattered several paces, snarling.
A second shot split the night.
Stone chipped beside another wolf.
That was enough.
The pack disappeared into the trees.
Ayana stared through the smoke.
A man stepped from the darkness.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Hat low over his eyes.
A rifle rested against his shoulder.
He approached slowly.
“Easy.”
English.
Ayana lifted the branch.
He stopped immediately.
“That’s far enough,” he said.
She understood him.
Her father had insisted his children learn English from traders and missionaries.
Know the words of men who sign papers, he had said.
Words can steal more land than rifles.
The stranger looked at her shoulder.
“You’re hurt bad.”
Ayana said nothing.
His gaze moved toward the trail behind her.
“Anyone else?”
Her throat closed.
For one terrible second she saw Ka again.
“No.”
The stranger seemed to understand that the word meant more than it said.
He lowered his rifle.
“My cabin is half a mile down the slope.”
Ayana raised the branch higher.
“If I wanted you dead,” he said quietly, “I could’ve waited thirty seconds.”
She hated that he was right.
The world swayed.
The stranger took one careful step.
Ayana tried to strike him.
Her arm barely moved.
Then the mountain rose beneath her.
The moon broke apart.
And everything went black.
Ayana woke to the smell of cedar smoke.
Pain came next.
Sharp.
Deep.
She opened her eyes.
A roof of rough-cut pine beams stood above her.
She lay beneath blankets on a narrow bed.
Her shoulder was wrapped tightly.
Across the room, a man sat beside a table.
The stranger.
His hat was gone.
He looked perhaps thirty-five, though exhaustion made him seem older.
Dark hair.
A scar along his jaw.
Gray eyes.
His blue coat hung over the back of a chair.
Ayana stared at it.
Something inside her went cold.
The color.
The brass buttons.
The faded yellow piping.
Cavalry.
Her right hand moved beneath the blanket.
The man noticed.
“There’s no weapon there.”
Ayana looked at him.
“You searched me?”
“I removed your knife before you stabbed me in your sleep.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
She pushed herself upright.
Pain tore through her shoulder.
She nearly fell.
The stranger stood.
“Don’t.”
“Give me my knife.”
“When you can stand without turning white.”
Ayana glared at him.
His shirt was partly open at the neck.
