Kokila said good-bye and reminded me she wanted stories about our journey when I returned. Adelaide stood beside her, staring at me with such intensity I almost turned back. She had used every argument possible to try and persuade me to stay away from the town and the white men in it. I wondered if she would ever trust another white man again. The cool spring air roused our horses as they trotted from the village. I was glad of the furs we carried and wrapped a large deerskin around me for warmth, settling in for a long ride. Wahyaw said the journey would take three days if the weather held. He rode beside me like a guardian for most of the trip. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, though when he did speak, it was obvious the words had been carefully considered beforehand. After an hour of silence, he cleared his throat and I realised he was about to honour me with one of his rare spoken thoughts. “I am sorry for you and Soquili,” he said, still looking straight ahead. I hadn’t expected to hear a note of regret in his voice.
