Sam gave the iodine a minute to work through the tea, swirling the cup around to help it. If the tea had been boiling, he was wasting his time, but he didn’t know for sure, and he’d rather go through the trouble for nothing than spend the next several days crapping his guts out.

He wasn’t sure just yet how to proceed. He’d been practicing first meetings in his head now for weeks, but hadn’t ever considered that the contact might be initiated from the other side. Natives were supposed to be superstitious and easily frightened. He’d expected a bit more reticence.

The, what, Saginaw? Sure, Saginaw. The title, at least, he’d understood, if not the words that must comprise the man’s name. For now, he’d just think of him by his title.

In any case, the Saginaw, while certainly cautious, didn’t seem all that frightened. He’d have to consider what that meant about his understanding of these people. After all, any information he had, even the thinnest, was, at best, a thousand years removed from the fact.

He raised his cup in a toast. “Friend,” he said, smiling. The Saginaw mimicked the gesture and drank.

The tea was, he thought, sassafras root, although it was difficult to taste much past the iodine, and he’d not had sassafras anything since he was a kid. He took a polite drink and tried to think what to do with the meat. He wasn’t about to juggle jerky and tea without making himself a bigger fool than he had already.

Fine. The Saginaw hadn’t made the slightest hostile move, and Sam had made pretty sure they were alone. He settled the rifle against his chest and thigh and removed his right hand from the poncho, taking the meat in it. He took a good chunk in his teeth and tore it loose, letting the salt taste wash through his mouth and fight the iodine.

They sat there for awhile, eating and drinking, with neither making a move or speaking, both of them, it would appear, less than sure of how to proceed.

It was Kills Bear who reopened discussion once the meat was gone.

“The Tall Tree are leaving for our spring camp,” he told Sam deliberately, waiting to see if he’d been understood. He sighed when the only response was a frustrated head shake.

Breathing in deeply, he tried again. “Was our gift unfit?”

Gift was a word Sam knew. It had held a prominent place in his plans after all. Smiling, deliberately, he reached in through the neck opening of the poncho and brought out the necklace they’d left him, and which he was now wearing.

Kills Bear wanted to put a hand to his face, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea. Bad to show frustration to spirits. They were capricious, and one never knew what would anger them, or how great their anger would be. Or what path it would take.

Yes, while it was good to know that the spirit had enjoyed the first gift, that was not the gift they were addressing. The Sam spirit was obviously not an idiot, and equally obviously not an enemy. It was simply unable to communicate properly, and perhaps did not completely understand the full use of its current form.

He thought abruptly of Sings in Morning. So suddenly had she popped into his mind that it took a moment before he could sort out why. She was of age now, it occurred. Approaching past, and without suitors. He could not blame the young men, of course. Her head was always in the clouds, was Sings in Morning’s, staring off into the sky or following the flight of a butterfly, or the drifting of a leaf in the stream. She was also often too smart for her own good, and unafraid of showing it.

He looked to the Sam spirit and wondered if it had taken on a man’s desires with the body. He wondered equally if he were evil to be thinking of how much better for the band to have a spirit physically tied to them, protecting them from the other spirits, and, yes, their enemies among the other tribes. A spirit who could take three deer in the blink of an eye before they could wake and flee, for that was the tale told by the tracks to the hunters who’d followed the smoke and then the arrow of stones and the blazes.

He could hear the wise woman in his head, warning him of the dangers of making deals with those of the higher world or of the earth. And still, he considered. Sings in Morning never shut up. Always, was she chattering about this or that. Who better to teach the Sam spirit the proper sounds of the people’s words than one who never stopped using them?

And if the Sam spirit should happen to notice that she was not unpleasant to look upon? Well, now, who was to say what might happen then that would have nothing at all to do with wise old Kills Bear, or what his intentions might originally have been?

He could hear already the angry voice of the Sachem, and those of the council, scolding him for such dangerous thoughts. But had they been there to look into the hungry eyes of Tall Trees until the smokes had appeared? Appeared as though they were answered prayers?

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But how now to broach the subject? One did not simply give a woman of the people to a spirit, even Sings in Morning, much as one might want to from time to time. Nor could he know if the spirit might be willing to take her.

He had to sit back and think for a moment then. Was he really considering this? Who could know what sort of danger or horror might await Sings in Morning once she and the spirit were out of his sight. Would the spirit carry her into the underworld with it? Could she even go? If so, could she come back?

Once again, he found himself frustrated that he knew so little of spirits or their habits. He must go to the wise woman and consult her. He thought that, having taken a human body, the Sam spirit must be tied to the human world, but how could he be sure?

The tracks, of course. Not the tracks of the ground, but the tracks of the spirit’s appearance. It was hunting and eating. It was using tools and wearing clothing. For whatever reason, it had decided it would be a man, at least for the now. Kills Bear would proceed as though that were the case until he was corrected, or found tracks that crossed these.

First, of course, he must consult the wise woman to see if she would agree. Then, he must ask Sings in Morning’s father. A formality, he was sure, assuming he was able to secure the wise woman’s blessing. Her dowry price had been dropping precipitously of late as she looked down her nose at any eligible bachelor in view. She might find a suitor or two at the summer camp, if she were to get to them before the young men of Tall Trees and their warnings, but that seemed equally unlikely. Comely as she was, her sharp tongue could not help but catch her out.

On the other hand, what if she angered the Sam spirit? Would it harm her or simply send her away? Seeing it sitting placidly across from him, he thought it very unlikely that it would harm her, but he did not know for certain. It was a serious problem, and not one to decide hastily or on his own.

Of course! he brightened. it wasn’t his decision at all, was it? She could be as sharp as she would, and what care? It wasn’t as though Kills Bear was offering her up as a bride, now, was it? She would be a teacher only. He would make sure that the spirit understood this, and that it might bring her back to the band at any time she displeased it. That should keep her safe.

Yes, he thought, she would be the gift of Tall Trees to show the Sam spirit the true ways of speaking the language.

Now, how to trade this wonderful gift to the spirit?

Sam was watching the Saginaw out of narrowed eyes as the thoughts and emotions played across the native’s features. The guy had a pretty good poker face, but even so, Sam could tell he was up to something. These people were supposed to be traders. It had been one of the things that had caused him to decide that they’d be his first contact. But if there was one thing you could be sure about traders, anywhere, and at any time, it was that they were traders. And that meant that they were out for the deal, and not particularly desirous of coming out on the short end. Well, neither was Sam.

He wasn’t in a good position here, but, at least for the moment, he didn’t think the Saginaw knew it. While he didn’t think there was any malice involved, he could see in those sharp eyes that the guy was looking for a way to get the upper hand. To what purpose, Sam had yet to fathom.

The Indian took a deep breath and looked directly into Sam’s forehead. Not his eyes. Maybe that was a thing to do with his thinking Sam was some sort of spirit. They weren’t shifty or anything, they just didn’t look right at his eyes, which was disconcerting.

“Spirit,” the Saginaw said carefully. “Speak bad.”

He had to decide what that meant. Bad could mean with malice, or poorly. Since they’d decided they were friends, or at least so he thought, he took it to mean poorly. He nodded.

“Spirit want speak good?”

Okay, he thought he had the second word. Desire/want/strive for. The last one he thought was maybe happy? No, that didn’t make sense. He squinted an eye and tilted his head.

“Good,” the man repeated. When Sam didn’t change his expression, the man thought for a moment and then made a fist and pumped it once. “Speak strong.”

Power? This was like one of those annoying video game puzzles where only the over-caffeinated devs could figure out the answer from the shitty clues. Wait! Think of it as a video game. A particularly bad one. One of those old ‘be an adventurer’ travesties.

Okay, power... powerful... strong? Strong. Good! Okay, run it through for context. Sam spoke bad. Got it. He could not deny. Did Sam want to speak good? Made sense. He’d go with that.

He nodded, smiling wider and feeling like an idiot.

Kills bear untensed his shoulders, which had begun aching. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he relaxed back onto his rump, wondering how to manage the next gully before him.

The Sam spirit wanted to learn the language better. Now, he had to speak to the wise woman about the danger of sending someone to live with a spirit, and then to Two Deer Running about his daughter and the possibility that he might be giving her to a spirit.

“You,” he said carefully. “Here,” he pointed to the ground between them. “Three days,” he held up three fingers and gestured to the sun.

Sam nodded. He didn’t need to understand the words. The gestures conveyed the message. The Saginaw wanted to meet him back here in three days. He nodded and flipped the dregs of his tea aside, re-nesting the cup into the cover and redonning his gloves. The Indian drew back with alarm when he surged to his feet, but there wasn’t another way to do it without using hands, which he wasn’t going to do.

Standing, he took up the grounded spear in his left hand and once again tapped it against his chest. “Friend Saginaw,” he said this time, and bowed slightly and from the shoulders, although he had no idea if this was a custom the natives employed. After a moment of hesitation, the Saginaw mimicked the motion.

Sam turned his back, every hair on it standing at the perceived risk, and reentered the forest at roughly the same point he’d left it. He traveled straight east, or as straight as he was able, moving steadily until nightfall, after which he turned south, slipping the bump helmet over his head and sliding the NVGs down.

The loop he swung was wide and slow, and it was near morning before he once more came in view of his camp. He crouched just inside the edge of the clearing for awhile, examining everything closely, looking to see had any of it moved.

Dawn was pearling the sky when he finally moved in and examined the door. Both door and frame were intact and undamaged, and the lock remained in place and locked. He barred it behind him and hit the rack.