She shivered. The cold rain was coming down so hard she could not see most of the camp. A lump blocked her throat. "Come inside," she said. She had to raise her voice to hear it over the drumming of the rain. White Bear neither spoke nor moved. "Come in. It is raining. It is cold. You will die out here." She realized she was screaming at him. "Oh!" she cried helplessly. She sat on the ground, looking into the rain-slick, light-complexioned face with the strong nose and the long jaw that she had loved long ago, the face she had thought about so many times and had seen so often in dreams. A black crust of blood had dried over the place where her rock had gashed his cheek. On the same cheek a raised white line ran from just under his eye to the corner of his mouth. To try to wake a man on a spirit journey could be dangerous for him. But her hands seemed to have a will of their own. She had to touch him. She reached out, clutching his shoulders through the sopping blanket, heedless of the rain pouring down her own face, running under the collar of her doeskin shirt down her back and chest. She shook him. "Get up! Come in out of the rain!" His body felt lifeless when she shook him. But did she see a flicker in his eyes? "Please, White Bear, please!" He blinked. She threw her arms around him. "Oh, White Bear! I do want you back." She crawled closer to him, pushing her body against his rigid form. She felt pressure against her back, pulling her closer to him. His hand. Then his other hand. She felt his chest rising and falling against hers. Strong arms were holding her. She looked up into his face, and color had come into the pale cheeks. The brown eyes were looking down at her, warm with love. She forgot the rain and the cold, and nestled in his arms. She saw tears spill out of his eyes, mingling with the rain on his face. She, too, was crying. She had been crying ever since she sat down with him. She held him tight. Looking past him, she saw in the doorway of the wickiup the small form of Eagle Feather, staring at them. 12 The War Whoop Owl Carver held the watch up by its chain; his smile of approval showed he'd lost a tooth in front since White Bear left with Star Arrow. "A handsome gift. I thank you for it. But what do you mean by saying it tells us the time? Do we not _know_ the time?" White Bear scoured his brain for a way to explain. Sitting close to the old shaman, White Bear saw that age had bent him a bit more and carved deeper lines in his brown face. Besides the megis-shell necklace White Bear remembered, Owl Carver wore a new necklace made of tiny beads forming a red, yellow, blue and white floral design, from which hung a sunburst pendant.