There were clouds gathering in the north, and she thought it might rain before long. She was beginning to pick up threads of the Blackfoot language, so she could at least communicate. She had found life hard in the Blackfoot village, but there was also companionship and loyalty—joy in the children who played in the shadows of the vast mountains. The young girls worked beside their mothers, learning crafts that had been handed down through unknown ages. It was the women who really sustained the family units; they toiled from morning until night, their hands never idle. The warriors spent most of their time hunting and providing food, while young boys were given freedom to practice and learn how to use weapons. Marianna wore a soft doeskin gown and moccasins, and found them to be quite comfortable—certainly more suited to the weather than her own gown, which had been in tatters when she’d arrived in the village. Chief Broken Lance frightened Marianna when he turned his dark gaze on her.
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