Black Crow hit Josiah like a runaway wagon.
There was no testing punch.
No cautious beginning.
He drove one shoulder into Josiah’s chest and carried him backward through the frozen mud.
Josiah’s bad knee buckled immediately.
They crashed to the ground.
Air tore from his lungs.
Black Crow was on him before he could breathe again.
A fist came down.
Josiah rolled.
Knuckles struck frozen earth beside his ear.
He drove his elbow upward and caught Black Crow under the ribs.
The warrior barely reacted.
“That all you got?” Josiah muttered.
Black Crow did not understand the words.
The tone was enough.
His next punch caught Josiah across the cheek.
White light burst behind Josiah’s eyes.
Ayanna shouted something.
He could not tell whether she was warning him or cursing both men.
Black Crow seized Josiah’s shirt and hauled him upright.
Josiah saw the opening.
He slammed his forehead into Black Crow’s face.
The younger man staggered.
Blood appeared beneath his nose.
The watching warriors murmured.
Josiah stepped backward, breathing hard.
His knee throbbed.
Black Crow wiped the blood with his thumb.
Then smiled.
“Wonderful,” Josiah whispered.
Black Crow came again.
This time Josiah did not meet him directly.
War had taught him a truth that young men often learned too late: strength mattered, but timing mattered more.
At Chickamauga he had watched smaller men survive by refusing to stand where stronger men expected them to stand.
So when Black Crow lunged, Josiah pivoted.
His bad leg screamed.
But he shifted enough.
Black Crow passed his shoulder.
Josiah grabbed the warrior’s arm and used his momentum to throw him.
Black Crow hit the ground, rolled, and came up almost instantly.
Fast.
Too fast.
Josiah barely blocked the next strike.
Then another.
Black Crow drove him toward the edge of the circle.
A boot struck Josiah’s thigh.
His damaged leg nearly collapsed.
Ayanna stepped forward.
One of the warriors blocked her.
She glared at him.
Josiah noticed.
That distraction cost him.
Black Crow’s fist struck his ribs.
A second caught his jaw.
Josiah stumbled outside the circle with one boot.
A sharp cry rose from the spectators.
Black Crow stopped.
Josiah froze.
“Does that count?” he asked, wiping blood from his lip.
Nobody answered.
Ayanna spoke quickly.
An older warrior among the group shook his head.
“One foot,” she translated. “Both feet must leave the circle.”
Josiah nodded.
“Good to know.”
Black Crow attacked again.
Josiah absorbed three blows before managing to trap one arm.
They grappled.
Mud smeared their clothes.
Their breath became clouds in the cold air.
Black Crow drove a knee toward Josiah’s stomach.
Josiah twisted.
The strike glanced off his hip.
He answered with a short punch beneath the ribs.
Then another.
Black Crow shoved him away.
For several seconds the two men simply stood.
Josiah heard his heartbeat.
He looked at the warrior across from him and suddenly remembered another field.
Georgia.
1863.
Smoke so thick men appeared and disappeared inside it like ghosts.
His friend Samuel Pike yelling for him to fall back.
A boy in gray charging with a bayonet.
Josiah firing.
The boy dropping.
He had never learned the boy’s name.
For years he had told himself Black Crow represented everything he had escaped.
Violence.
Men demanding honor through blood.
But standing in that circle, Josiah realized something uncomfortable.
Black Crow was not a memory.
He was a man.
Dangerous.
Possessive.
Proud.
But alive.
Which meant Josiah had a choice.
He did not have to kill him.
Black Crow shouted and rushed forward.
Josiah waited.
Closer.
Closer.
At the last instant Josiah dropped his weight and caught Black Crow’s arm.
The warrior tried to reverse.
Josiah twisted behind him.
They fell.
Josiah wrapped one arm around Black Crow’s neck and braced his wrist with the other.
Black Crow strained.
Josiah held.
The younger man reached backward, clawing for leverage.
Josiah tightened his grip.
“Enough.”
Black Crow continued fighting.
“Enough!”
Ayanna shouted the translation.
Black Crow ignored her.
Josiah felt the warrior weakening.
A few more seconds and unconsciousness would come.
A few more after that and death.
He remembered the boy in Georgia.
He loosened his grip.
Black Crow sucked in air.
Then, unexpectedly, drove his head backward.
It smashed Josiah’s mouth.
Josiah released him.
Black Crow spun.
His forearm caught Josiah across the face.
Josiah collapsed.
Ayanna cried out.
Black Crow climbed on top of him.
One fist rose.
Josiah saw it.
Could not stop it.
Then Black Crow hesitated.
Only for a heartbeat.
But that heartbeat changed everything.
Josiah saw doubt.
Not mercy.
Doubt.
He kicked hard with his good leg.
Black Crow rolled sideways.
Josiah forced himself up.
The world tilted.
Black Crow stood too.
They faced each other again.
Neither looked impressive now.
Blood ran from Black Crow’s nose.
Josiah’s lower lip was split.
Mud covered both men.
One of Josiah’s shirt sleeves had torn.
Ayanna stared at them with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
Black Crow spoke.
“What?” Josiah asked.
Ayanna translated.
“He asks why you did not finish him.”
Josiah wiped his mouth.
“Tell him I’m tired of burying men.”
Ayanna did.
Black Crow’s expression altered.
A shadow passed through his eyes.
Then he charged again.
This time the fight was shorter.
Josiah stepped inside the attack rather than away from it.
He caught Black Crow around the middle.
Used the younger man’s weight.
Turned.
Both crashed down.
But Josiah landed on top.
Black Crow tried to roll him.
Josiah trapped one arm, pressed a knee against the warrior’s chest, and raised his fist.
Black Crow stared up at him.
Josiah could hit him.
Again.
Again.
Until pride or bone broke.
Instead, Josiah opened his hand.
He stood.
Then stepped backward.
Black Crow remained on the ground.
Silence.
The older warrior spoke.
Black Crow sat up.
Ayanna did not translate immediately.
Josiah looked at her.
“Well?”
“The fight is over.”
“Who won?”
She looked almost amused.
“You are standing.”
“So?”
“He is not.”
Josiah exhaled.
“Good enough.”
Black Crow rose slowly.
Humiliation burned in his expression.
For one terrifying instant Josiah thought he might ignore the rules and reach for a weapon.
Instead, Black Crow walked toward him.
They stood inches apart.
Black Crow spoke quietly.
Ayanna translated.
“He says this changes nothing inside his heart.”
“I wasn’t fighting his heart.”
“He says I still belong with my people.”
Josiah’s eyes hardened.
“Tell him you belong to yourself.”
Ayanna looked at him.
Then turned to Black Crow.
She did not translate Josiah’s exact words.
She said something longer.
Stronger.
Black Crow’s jaw tightened.
The older warrior intervened.
He spoke sharply.
The others listened.
Ayanna’s expression shifted.
“What is it?” Josiah asked.
“He says the promise was witnessed. Black Crow challenged you. You accepted. Black Crow lost. The matter is finished.”
Black Crow glared at the older man.
The warrior did not move.
For several seconds the clearing seemed balanced on the edge of another fight.
Then Black Crow retrieved his weapons.
He looked at Ayanna.
Whatever he said next was too quiet for Josiah to hear.
Ayanna went pale.
Black Crow mounted his horse.
The others followed.
Within minutes, they disappeared among the trees.
Josiah watched until the last hoofbeat faded.
Then his knee gave out.
He sat hard in the mud.
Ayanna hurried over.
“You are hurt.”
“I’ve been hurt since Tennessee.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Then yes.”
She knelt.
Blood coated his lip.
A bruise was already swelling beside one eye.
She reached toward him.
Josiah flinched.
Ayanna’s hand stopped.
“Sorry.”
The word came out harsher than he intended.
She lowered her hand.
“I will warm water.”
“No need.”
“You are bleeding.”
“I’ve bled before.”
“That is an idiotic argument.”
Josiah looked at her.
She stared back.
He almost laughed.
“Cabin’s unlocked.”
Ayanna helped him to his feet despite his protests.
Inside, the cabin was warmer than she expected.
Simple.
Clean.
A stone fireplace occupied one wall. A rough table stood near two windows. One bed rested in an alcove behind a hanging wool blanket.
Books sat on a shelf.
Ayanna noticed them.
“You read.”
“Sometimes.”
“I thought you drank whiskey after dark.”
“I can do two things.”
She found a basin.
Josiah sank into a chair.
When she returned with warm water and cloth, he let her clean the blood from his face.
Her touch was gentle.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Finally Josiah asked, “What did Black Crow say before he left?”
Ayanna stopped.
“Nothing important.”
“That means it was important.”
She resumed wiping his cheek.
“He said the circle decides only what men can see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He believes he lost because the rules favored you.”
Josiah laughed painfully.
“My knee would be delighted to hear that.”
“He also said winter has many ways to kill a man.”
Josiah’s smile disappeared.
“You think he’ll come back?”
“I do not know.”
“You do.”
Ayanna looked at him.
“Yes.”
Josiah leaned back.
“Then tell me everything.”
She did.
Black Crow had wanted Ayanna for nearly a year.
At first he had approached her grandmother with gifts—blankets, horses, dried meat.
Ayanna refused.
He returned with more gifts.
She refused again.
Then pressure began.
Not directly.
A hunting horse promised to her cousin suddenly went elsewhere.
A winter food agreement disappeared.
Men who had traded with her grandmother stopped coming.
Black Crow never admitted responsibility.
He did not need to.
“He wants obedience more than he wants a wife,” Ayanna said.
“And the three women already married to him?”
Her face hardened.
“One has a scar above her eye.”
Josiah said nothing.
“Another lost a tooth.”
“That enough for your leaders?”
“Some oppose him. Some fear division more than they fear him. Some believe what happens between a man and his wife belongs inside their lodge.”
Josiah looked into the fire.
“Cowards exist everywhere.”
Ayanna studied him.
“Yes.”
Outside, night settled over the valley.
Josiah poured two cups of coffee.
Ayanna looked disappointed.
“What?”
“You have whiskey.”
“I’m trying to impress you.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Your face looks like a kicked pumpkin.”
“Working?”
“A little.”
They ate beans and venison.
For the first time in years, Josiah’s cabin contained another person’s voice after sunset.
It felt strange.
Too intimate.
He kept catching himself listening for Ayanna’s breathing.
After supper, he spread blankets near the fireplace.
“You take the bed.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It is your bed.”
“And you spent part of today hanging upside down.”
“That does not make me fragile.”
“No, but it makes me stubbornly unwilling to argue.”
Ayanna folded her arms.
“You fought Black Crow with an injured knee.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Josiah considered.
“I was already stupid before you got here.”
She laughed.
It startled him.
The sound warmed the cabin more effectively than the fire.
Later, Ayanna slept behind the curtain.
Josiah lay near the hearth.
Sleep would not come.
He kept thinking about Black Crow’s final warning.
Winter has many ways to kill a man.
Near midnight, Josiah heard Gideon whinny outside.
His eyes opened.
The second sound was softer.
Wood scraping.
He reached for the revolver beneath his blanket.
“Ayanna.”
She appeared from behind the curtain immediately.
She had not been asleep either.
“What?”
“Stay low.”
Josiah moved to the window.
Moonlight silvered the snow.
Nothing.
Then he smelled it.
Smoke.
Not from the fireplace.
From outside.
Josiah rushed to the door.
Flames were climbing one wall of the barn.
“Damn it!”
He ran.
Ayanna followed.
They threw open the barn doors and freed the horses.
Josiah grabbed a bucket.
Then another.
They fought the fire together.
By the time they contained it, half the roof was blackened.
Josiah stood panting in the snow.
Ayanna crouched near the barn wall.
“What?” he asked.
She picked something from the ground.
An arrow.
Wrapped beneath the arrowhead was a narrow strip of red cloth.
Ayanna stared at it.
“Black Crow?”
She slowly shook her head.
“No.”
Josiah frowned.
“Then who?”
Her face changed.
Fear returned.
Not the fear she had shown when Black Crow arrived.
Something deeper.
“This cloth does not belong to my people.”
She looked toward Widow’s Canyon.
“The smoke was not only meant to bring you to me.”
Josiah’s stomach tightened.
“What was it?”
“A warning.”
“About what?”
Ayanna held the arrow beneath the moonlight.
“Someone else has been watching your valley.”
And far beyond the burned barn, hidden among the pines, a rifle barrel slowly disappeared into the darkness.
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