“So why keep this tradition?”
Tahoma looked toward the entrance.
“Because communities remember fear longer than individuals do.”
Eli waited.
“Twenty-one years ago, a drought nearly destroyed us. The elders believed we had abandoned too many old promises.”
“You believe that?”
Tahoma paused.
“I believe people need reasons to survive difficult years.”
That was not the answer Eli expected.
The chief stood.
“Rest.”
He left.
Eli ate venison stew that evening and eventually wandered toward the edge of the valley. The sunset turned the cliffs deep orange and violet. He found Yara sitting alone on a broad stone above the corrals.
He nearly turned around.
Then she spoke.
“If you came to apologize again, don’t.”
Eli stopped.
“I was going to ask if I could sit.”
She shrugged.
“It is a large rock.”
He sat several feet away.
For a while, neither spoke.
Finally Yara said, “Twenty-three years.”
“What?”
“That is how long people have discussed my marriage before discussing anything else about me.”
Eli looked at her.
“I learned to track before most boys my age could saddle a horse. I can shoot better than half my father’s warriors. I know every water source between this valley and Red Rock.”
She picked up a pebble.
“I negotiate horse trades. I organize winter stores. I lead scouting parties.”
Then she threw the pebble into the dust.
“And still every elder eventually asks when the river will choose a husband.”
Eli understood something then.
This was not simply an inconvenience for her.
It had been a shadow over her entire life.
“I’m sorry.”
Yara looked at him.
“For what?”
“For walking into the river.”
That earned the smallest smile.
“You were dying of thirst.”
“Still feels rude.”
The smile disappeared.
“My father is not cruel.”
“I didn’t think he was.”
“He is trapped by what everyone expects him to protect.”
Eli nodded.
“So are you.”
Yara looked at him more carefully.
“You understand quickly for someone who cannot read a map.”
“That hurts.”
“You deserve it.”
They sat quietly.
Then Eli said, “If tomorrow they decide we have to marry, I won’t force anything from you.”
Yara’s eyes sharpened.
“I would like to see you try.”
“That came out wrong.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his face.
“I mean I’m not interested in owning another person because I took a bath.”
She looked toward the sunset.
“Good.”
“I’m also not pretending I’m happy about it.”
“Even better.”
For the first time, they agreed without fighting.
The council met at sunrise.
Five elders sat in a semicircle with Tahoma at the center. Yara stood to his right. More than fifty people gathered around the stones.
The oldest elder, a thin man named White Cedar, spoke first.
“Our grandparents protected Moon Promise because they believed the man who entered unknowingly would arrive when the people needed change.”
Eli shifted his weight.
“That seems very specific.”
White Cedar looked at him.
“Young men always think old people invent details.”
A few people laughed.
Then Tahoma stood.
“There is something the settlement must hear before any decision.”
Yara looked at him.
Her expression changed.
Tahoma continued.