For a moment, she was just a daughter mourning a father. A woman terrified of the dark. Help me, Elias. She breathed. Help me keep them walking.
I will. He promised. Until the wheels fall off. The journey brought them to the edge of the settlement lands again. They needed flour.
They needed ammunition for hunting. They approached a small town called Iron Ridge. It was a cluster of buildings clinging to the side of a mining road. Winona ordered the warriors to stay back. She took Elias and Two Moons.
Driving a single wagon loaded with tanned hides, the only currency they had left. They stopped the wagon in front of the general store. The town was quiet, but eyes watched them from windows. A dog barked incessantly. The store owner came out onto the porch.
He was a heavy man with a dirty apron and a shotgun leaned against the door frame. He looked at the hides, then at Winona, then at Elias. "We don't want your trade," the man said, spitting tobacco juice into the snow. "We have good skins," Winona said, her voice steady. "Winter coats.
We need flour." "I said we don't trade with hostiles," the man repeated. "We are not hostiles," Elias said, stepping down from the wagon. We are travelers and we have money if you don't want skins. He reached for the small pouch of coins Vain had dropped in the mud which they had recovered.
The store owner picked up the shotgun. I know you, he said, narrowing his eyes at Elias. You're the white renegade, the one who turned on his own kind. I am a man trying to buy flower, Elias said, keeping his hand away from his pistol. Get out, the man said, raising the barrel before I call the boys.
We heard about the Narrows. We heard you kill good men. They were mercenaries, Elias said. And they attacked us. They were white men, the shopkeeper shouted.
And you sided with savages. A door opened across the street. A woman in a bonnet stepped out. Holding a broom. Get moving, she yelled shrilly.
We don't want your trouble here. Take your [censored] and go back to the hills. Winona stiffened. Elias saw her hand tighten on the wagon rail until her knuckles turned white. She was trembling, not with fear, but with a rage so hot it could have melted the snow.
She had been educated in their schools. She spoke their language better than they did, and they looked at her like she was a stray dog. "Winona," Elias said softly. "Don't." She looked at him.
Her eyes were black flint. She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. She learned in that moment to hold her rage like a blade. She would not dull it on people who did not matter. She would save it for the throat of the beast.
"Turn the wagon," she said to Two Moons. As they turned, a man walking down the boardwalk stopped. He wore a suit that was too nice for Iron Ridge. He looked at the wagon, then at Elias. "Wait," the man called out.
The shopkeeper lowered his gun slightly. What do you want, mister Hurst? The man in the suit walked through the slush to the wagon. He looked at Elias's bandaged arm. You are Thorne, the man asked.
Who is asking? Elias replied. My name is Hurst, the man said. I write for the Denver Tribune. Elias tensed.
A reporter. I'm not interested in stories. Elias said, I'm not interested in stories either. Hurst said, I'm interested in facts. I received a wire from the capital.
It seems a certain Major Lynch has been relieved of command and a certain trading company is under investigation for fraud. Winona looked down from the wagon seat. What does this mean to us? It means, Hurst said, looking up at her with a strange expression. Respect perhaps or curiosity that the narrative is changing.
People in the east are reading about the Narrows. They are reading about the ledger. You aren't just hostiles anymore. You are a question mark. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of tobacco.
I don't have flour, Hurst said, but I have this. Keep going south. There is a magistrate in Silverton who was asking questions about vain. He might listen to you. He tossed the tobacco to Elias.
Good luck, Thorne. You're going to need it. They drove out of Iron Ridge with empty wagons, but the mood had shifted. The wall of silence had a crack in it. That night, the intimacy between Elias and Winona shifted, too.
The frantic desperation of the chase was gone. The adrenaline that had fueled their initial passion had burned off, leaving something quieter, steadier. They lay under the buffalo robes in the small travel tent. The wind howled outside, but inside it was warm. Winona traced the line of the scar on Elias's shoulder.
The stitches had been removed, leaving a jagged pink line. "It is ugly," Elias murmured. "It is history," she corrected. She kissed the scar. Then she moved up to his jaw, her lips soft.
There were no grand declarations, no promises that they would live forever. They knew better now. They knew the world was a machine that wanted to crush them. But in the small space of the blankets, they carved out a sanctuary. Winona Elias whispered, pulling her close with his good arm.
She rested her head on his chest. I am here. Their making love was slow, rooted in a profound, aching tenderness. It was a reclaiming of their bodies from the violence of the last month. When he touched her, it was with reverence.
When she held him, it was with an anchoring strength. They stopped being symbols, the renegade and the chief's daughter, and became simply a man and a woman, huddled against the cold, choosing each other in the dark. But the daylight brought the weight back. The tribe was divided. As the hunger deepened, whispers began to circulate.