We always do. She held out a hand. Come. Nashoba wants to speak with you. Ethan followed her to where Nashoba stood with three other elders, two men and one woman, all gray-haired and weathered, all carrying the weight of hard years in their eyes.
Nashoba gestured for Ethan to sit. We have been talking about you, about what comes next. All right. You are a warrior, a good one. But you are also white.
That makes you dangerous. Not to us, necessarily, but to our survival. Nashoba's voice was calm but firm. If the soldiers find you here with us, they will use it as an excuse to attack. They will say we are harboring fugitives, consorting with the enemy.
Ethan felt his stomach sink. You want me to leave? No. We want you to understand the risk. If you stay, you put all of us in danger.
Not from your actions, but from what others will believe about your presence. Nashoba leaned forward. So, I ask you, why do you want to stay? What are you running from or toward? Ethan looked at Ayla, then back at Nashoba.
I'm not running anymore. I'm staying because this is the first place in 5 years that feels like it might become something. Not home, not yet, but something. And when the soldiers come, because they will come, then I'll fight, same as you. The woman elder spoke for the first time, her voice sharp and clear.
You will fight, yes, but will you die? Because that is what we are asking. If you stay, there's a good chance you will not see another summer. I know. And you accept this?
I do. She exchanged glances with the other elders. Then Nashoba nodded. Then you stay, but not as a guest. You will train our young men, teach them to fight like soldiers, teach them tactics, strategy, how to think like the enemy.
Can you do this? Yes. Good. We leave in 1 hour. Be ready.
The meeting was over. Ethan stood feeling both relieved and terrified. He'd just committed to staying with a hunted people in a dying land, teaching kids to fight a war they'd probably lose. But for the first time in years, he'd chosen something instead of just letting life happen to him. That had to count for something.