“I am . . . I was a warrior of the People of the Flint.” Again there was that strangeness of his words not matching up. It was kind of getting annoying. “Are you the reason I woke? What have you done to me?” he demanded.
Dakota stepped back towards the trees, instinctively seeking camouflage from a threat. “I don't know anything about you, and you are in my turf. Either start talking sense or get the hell out of here.”
The last thing she expected was for him to start laughing.
“Make sense? Nothing is sense, everything is mad. I was sent to sleep a madman, and cursed, and wake to find my tongue and ears are mad, speaking words I do not know, and understanding you, who speaks no tongue I have ever heard. This cave is like nothing I have ever seen, and you surely are a spirit, for you are surely none of the People of the Longhouse, nor any other tribe I have ever heard of.”
She was surprised to see, even as he laughed, tears rolling down his cheeks. And she remembered a morning, ten years gone, when she woke up, surrounded by strangers, to find her whole world destroyed. Maybe his words didn't make much sense, but she understood him anyway.
Girl this is just plain stupid, and you know it. High-tail it out of here and let's get some breakfast.
She ignored the voice of caution, listened instead to the instinct of the wolf. Strange smell, truth smell, pain smell. Honest and broken man. Like we were. Good man.
“I've got some food a short walk from here.” She couldn't help smirking as he stopped laughing to stare at her. “Come on, you look like you could use a meal or three.”
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