Makaro left with Oyeka two days later. He did not try to speak with her, nor she with him. She hadn't stayed long that night, fleeing back into the shadows of the tents, towards her own, where she had cried herself to sleep.

On the day of their departure, she did not see them off, busying herself instead with seeing to the stores of winter supplies. With the herd yet to arrive and the first snows of winter threatening the skies, the clan grew restless with worry. Ensuring a well-stocked reserve would do much to assuage their fears. Acorns and dried tubers were not inspiring to the palate, and their bland flavour, eaten day after day, would set many of the people's teeth and tempers on edge. They were wholesome, though, and filling. They had seen them through many lean winters before and would again if needed.

As was customary they kept the stock a small distance from the camp, and by the time she returned to the tents, Makaro was already gone. She wondered briefly if Tebia had seen him off, but pushed the thought away angrily. She would not think of it. Not now. There were too many things to do.

She stopped often, on her way towards the main fire, to speak with the people of the clan. Her father had tasked her with the duty of raising the spirits of the people, and she did her best to comply.

Some of the people expressed concern about the early winter, fearing, perhaps, the spirit of the gods were angry with them. Others were afraid the blue-eyed men would come again and kill them as they had killed Bene's people. Most, though, were worried about the absence of the herd. All three of these things gnawed at Ayessa as well, but she could not tell them that.

"People need to know someone is in charge," her father had said, "that someone is doing something about their fears and worries. They need not know that that someone is also afraid. That is a Chieftain's solemn secret and his greatest burden. We carry the weight of these things so our people do not have too. Do you understand that, Ayessa?"

She hadn't then, but she did now. What she told them instead was that they had a plan. The invaders would not come, the winter stores would carry them through, and summer would come again.

"All will be well," she said, over and over till the sound of the words lost all meaning to her ears.

She paused to watched Judaii and Heime, who were helping the men of the clan strip wood off branches for tent poles. The new men and woman who had arrived with Bene had been sleeping under skins since their arrival, but with winter coming, they would need warmer accommodations.

The two young boys were solemn and serious faced. A byproduct, perhaps, of what they had seen. They were not brothers, but both had lost their family during the massacre of their people, and both stayed now with Fakeem in her tent. It could not lessen her own loss, but caring for them seemed to give her renewed purpose.

Reaching the main fire, Ayessa seated herself beside her father.

"And what do the people say today, daughter?" he asked her, his voice low, for her ears alone.

"The same as yesterday," she admitted. "They worry about the winter, about the strangers, but mostly about the herd."

Her father tapped two fingers against his lower lip as he gazed into the flames, deep in thought.

"Perhaps it is time we found the herd," he said after a moment.

She frowned. "You want us to go find the herd?"

"Not us. You."

"Me?"

"They can't be far," he said. "No more than a day or two. Take Eshemwa, he will keep you safe."

She scoffed at that. "I can keep myself safe."

He cupped her chin and smiled. "I know that, yayaza, but I will still feel better knowing he is with you. Leave tomorrow, in the morning. We will not tell the people where you go, only what you have found when you return."

***

They left the next morning before the sun rose.

Eshemwa kept to himself for the most part, speaking only when a situation required it.

He seemed tense and angrier than usual, although, she supposed that shouldn't surprise her. The whole clan was on edge these last few days.

They travelled north, weaving east to west, searching for signs the herd had passed through. By the end of the first day, they were no closer to having found it than they had been this morning. Ayessa stoked a small fire while Eshemwa caught and skinned a plump rabbit to cook over the flames. It was a silent meal, broken only by the sound of the wind picking up speed over the cold plains of frost covered green.

Spitting out the last of the bones, Eshemwa wiped the remaining grease of his dinner on the grass beneath him, then spread out his hide blanket and rolled himself up into it without another word.

Ayessa remained staring into the flames for a time after before finally banking the fire and crawling into her own blankets.

As she pulled the hide over her, the first tears fell. Held back all day, they rolled down her cheeks now in angry protest. She let them fall. It was the deal she had made with herself, to only think of Makaro at night. She kept her anguish quiet, not wanting Eshemwa to hear, for that would only shame her further. His breathing never changed though, the uninterrupted rhythm of slumber, and listening to him, she drifted off to sleep.

***

The morning dawned grey and bleak, the clouds overhead promising a miserable day of travel.

Tightening the furs of her collar, she rose and found Eshemwa watching her.

"You waste your tears on him," he said.

She blinked, surprised. Perhaps she had not been as quiet as she had thought last night, and he, not as asleep.

"That is not your business," she said, more heat in her tone than she intended. It shamed her to know he had heard her cry.

He finished rolling his blanket, long fingers expertly knotting the sinew that held it in place. "I say only what I see."

Angry as she was at Makaro, she could not stand to let another abuse him.

"You do not know him as I do," she snapped.

Anger crept into his own eyes as he rose to face her. "I know enough. You think you are the first girl he has slipped into the woods with? Or even the second?"

Embarrassment caused the heat to rise to her cheeks.

"You are lying!" she said, though even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. The sweet words and careful evasions Makaro had strung together for her unravelled and snarled, showing themselves for what they were.

He took a step towards her, his anger palpable. "I do not lie."

Eshemwas was a large man, and in his anger, this close to her, she became acutely aware of every inch he had over her. She locked her legs to stop herself taking a step back. She could not let herself be cowed.

"You, Chieftain's daughter, have made yourself into a fool for him," he said.

"I am not a fool," she said, but her words faltered. She was a fool. Made into one by false words and promises woven of air. How had she not seen? How many others besides her and Tebia?

Eshemwa still towered over her, jaw clenched. He jabbed a finger at her chest, right below the collar bone.

"You do not realize your own worth. You--" he cut off suddenly and lowered his finger. Visibly gaining control of himself, he inhaled deeply. "You are the daughter of the chieftain. The clans are gathering and you need to represent our people. It is bad enough the rest our clan knows, see if you can keep the whole gathering from finding out."

Her ears burned with shame. The whole clan was aware?

Eshemwa stepped away from her and bent to retrieve his blanket and spear.

"We travel west," he said, and without another glance, headed in the opposite direction of the rising sun.

***

The steady drizzle of cold rain had crept its way under Ayessa's furs and she shivered. She adjusted her collar again though it did no good. The wetness was already inside.

Trying to ignore the damp, she ran her fingers across the bared wood of a small birch. It was one of many stripped trees they had seen in the last few hours, the markings of a bull in rut. Dropping her hand, she continued her climb up the small slope, her feet sliding in the muddied grass below. She crested the hill and forgot about the rain.

Stretched before her lay twenty reindeer carcasses, gutted and left to rot.

"Get down," Eshemwa said.

He had not spoken since morning and the sound of his voice startled her now.

She glanced at him, belly down in the wet grass.

"I said get down," he repeated, reaching for her sleeve and pulling her down.

"Our silhouettes are outlined against the sky, here," he said. "If there are any left to see."

"This looks a couple days old," she said quietly, jerking her chin towards the massacre below. "But why leave them here? Their hides could have been stripped for clothing, their bones for tools. Why leave them here?"

The sight of so much waste sickened her.

"It is a warning," Eshemwa said. "Telling us to stay away."

Ayessa frowned. "Without the herd--"

She let the sentence hang in the air.

"There is nothing we can do," he said, "not with just the two of us. We must return to the clan and warn them."

She wanted to protest, but she realized he was right. Nodding, she followed him as he shimmied back down the hill until they were far enough down to rise to a squat.

He reached over his shoulder and unslung his spear. She followed suit.

"Keep your spear in hand," he said, "and run."

***

They did not stop that night, but pushed on, Eshemwa leading the way. They alternated walking and trotting, and though her sides and legs hurt, she dared not slow for fear he would leave her behind.

It was the following evening by the time they reached the tents. The smell of cooking meat filled the air and Ayessa's stomach grumbled. She had barely eaten in the day and a half it had taken to return to camp, and her insides gnawed at her for it.

Eshemwa led the way as they wove their way towards the main fire, ignoring the questions called out as they passed. They could not tell the people before they spoke with Atua.

They found him at his customary place by the fire, but when he saw them, he rose quickly and ushered them away from the fire and out, past the tents. Only then did Ayessa realize how frightening they must look, covered in sweat and mud, half dead from exertion.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Ayessa told him, her breathing still laboured from the final sprint. When she finished, he said nothing, only closed his eyes, as though pained.

"It will be a difficult winter without the herd," he said finally.

"Difficult?" Ayessa said, incredulous, "it will be near disastrous. And what of next summer? Do we give up and leave the herd to strangers? They have invaded our land. Taken what is ours."

Her father sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. "We are too few, Ayessa. Without the other clans, we can do nothing except die. You heard Besheyu. They have hundreds upon hundreds of men. We will wait for the Gathering."

"The other clans won't move until summer, maitze," Eshemwa said. "We will be alone for the winter."

"I know," Atua said with another deep sigh. "We have survived hard winters before, we will survive this one too. Go, find Obu and tell him. His hunters will need to gather what they can to get us through."

Eshemwa left, leaving her alone with her father.

"What will we tell the people?" she asked.

"That the hunters will find food," he replied, "and that summer will come."

Ayessa was not sure. The winters were longer and colder than they had ever been, and the summers fleeting.

Atua put a hand on her shoulder and led her back towards the fires. "Come, daughter. Get warm by the fire. All will be well."

The words rang hollow in her ears.