Judith E. French by Moon Dancer

them.
    London, she thought. He said he’d been in London. Was it possible he was telling the truth? It would explain his knowledge of the language, but . . . She hurried to keep up with Wolf Shadow’s long strides. As much as she resented him, he was her only protector among the hostiles. If he deserted her, what would she do?
    Barking dogs and shouting children ran toward them as they neared the camp. Fiona counted several dozen bark huts and one larger structure with log uprights along the walls. There didn’t seem to be any formal arrangement of the shelters, but the paths between them were swept free of litter and pounded hard from use.
    Women and old people spilled from the huts, surrounding them, all talking at once in Algonquian and pointing at Fiona. There were a few warriors visible around the village, but they continued with what they had been doing, pretending not to notice the commotion. Fiona stopped a few feet behind Wolf Shadow and waited, trying not to reveal how frightened she was.
    In spite of her apprehension, she was unable to stifle her physician’s curiosity. The Shawnee villagers had the same light coppery skin as Wolf Shadow, and all were well-formed in face and body. The babies were plump and bright-eyed; the chattering children seemed free of the eye infections she’d seen so often in the slums of Irish towns. The women were small and pretty, all with black hair and eyes as dark as coal.
    Several women shouted at Wolf Shadow; one shook her fist angrily at Fiona. He answered them calmly in their own language, all the while maintaining his good-natured expression. She couldn’t understand a word, but heard her name mentioned several times.
    A small dun-colored dog yapped at her heels, and from the corner of her eye, she saw a tom turkey—tail spread and feathers puffed out—stomping the ground in tight circles, moving ever nearer. She took another step closer to Wolf Shadow just as a boy darted out of the crowd and yanked her hair—hard.
    Fiona whirled on him. “Stop that!” she admonished. “It hurts, and ... and it’s rude, very rude.”
    The child’s mouth opened, and he began to howl. Tears rolled down his cheeks as a gray-haired woman lunged forward and yanked him to safety.
    Wolf Shadow put an arm around Fiona’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “No one will harm you.”
    The gray-haired woman glared at her, but Fiona noticed two other women whispering behind their hands. One looked pointedly at the older squaw and the weeping child, and giggled.
    “I’m not afraid,” Fiona said. Surely he didn’t expect her to let herself be abused by a naughty child.
    A tall, graceful woman in a beaded dress ducked out of the large bark house and walked quickly toward Wolf Shadow with an expression of relief and delight. He hugged her affectionately and turned to introduce her to Fiona. “This is my sister, Tandee—in your language, Willow.” He motioned. “Willow, this is Fiona. Willow speaks English,” he explained. “She’ll make you welcome. You’ll stay in her wigwam for the time being.”
    Willow’s exquisite features hardened, and she replied in a quick burst of words. He answered in Algonquian; she frowned and shook her head no. It was plain to Fiona that Willow had no intention of welcoming her into her home.
    “Take her back where she come from,” a sensual young woman with an infant on her back called in heavily accented English. “We no want her here. She make trouble.” She pushed her way to the front of the group. Shell earrings dangled from her ears, and more shells were laced in her loose, flowing hair. “I, Shell Woman, say you no belong here.”
    The other women began to speak in Algonquian. Yellow Elk shrugged and moved away from Wolf Shadow toward the long house. The dun-colored dog continued to bark annoyingly at Fiona.
    Wolf Shadow exhaled slowly and straightened his shoulders. “Fiona is our guest,” he told his sister. “I expect you to