What she saw locked her in place.
Spotted Dog.
The name struck her like a blow. Jake had spoken it just yesterday, voice low and certain: “You see Spotted Dog, you turn tail,” he told her. “He’s a highland moccasin if ever there was one — quiet till he’s close enough to bite. He takes what he wants, and there ain’t no mercy in him.”
Now the Catawba warrior stood in the clearing like something rooted there, his feet planted wide, his shoulders square, paint streaked across his face in black bars. He wore a hunting shirt of tanned hide, the fringe stiff with use, and his hair was bound back with a strip of red cloth. In one hand he gripped a long, curved knife, the blade bright where the light struck it.
And in his other hand — the Cherokee girl.
Her arm was wrenched high in his grip, but she didn’t hang limp. She fought him with every breath, her braids lashing, her bare feet digging into the earth as she twisted, trying to break free.
Spotted Dog didn’t move except to tighten his hold, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breath. He looked like a man entirely certain the outcome was his to decide.
Mattie’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her feet wanted to root to the ground, but she forced herself forward until she stood at the edge of the clearing.
The girl spat a word that cracked the air — sharp and guttural. Spotted Dog jerked her close, his jaw tightening, the paint across his face making his expression unreadable.
Mattie’s hand found a fallen limb — thick pine, heavy enough to swing. She barely felt its weight.
“Let her go!”
Her voice broke on the last word, but it carried.
Spotted Dog turned his head, slow as turning a wheel, and fixed her with black, unreadable eyes.
“You run back,” he said. His voice was low and flat, each word spaced like a measured step. “This not for you.”
Mattie’s hands shook so badly the limb rattled against her skirts, but she lifted it higher. “You’ll let her go,” she said. The words came raw, not shouted but ground out of her throat.
A slow smile spread under the paint — not kind, not warm. “She mine,” he said. “Not yours.”
Mattie felt the world closing in — the trees, the clearing, the frozen air between them — but she didn’t back down. “I’ll not stand and watch you take her.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes — surprise, maybe, or amusement.
Mattie moved first. She hurled the branch with all the strength her arms could give. It spun wide, striking nothing, but the sudden motion cracked the moment open like ice.
The girl dropped low, twisted hard, and tore free with a cry that tore through the clearing. Spotted Dog’s fingers clutched empty air.
“Run!” Mattie shouted, her voice ragged.
The girl bolted toward her. For one heartbeat their eyes met — a wordless exchange — then Mattie seized her hand, and together they plunged into the trees.
Behind them Spotted Dog roared — a sound that shook the clearing and sent the birds shrieking from the trees. Then came the crash of brush and the soft, rapid thud of moccasined feet, swift and closing fast.
They ran harder, the forest grabbing at them — branches whipping their faces, briars tearing their skirts, roots catching at their boots. Mattie’s lungs burned like fire, each breath sharp enough to cut.
“Run,” the girl hissed, pulling her onward. “Do not stop.”
The ground dropped into a gully carpeted with slick pine needles, the scent of resin sharp as Mattie skidded down. She went down hard to one knee, her palms biting against the frozen earth as she caught herself.
Behind them came the hiss of parting brush, the drumbeat of moccasined feet — closer now, close enough she could almost feel his breath at her back.
They scrambled up the far side, breath tearing out of them.
“He will not stop,” the girl said, low and fierce. Her dark eyes flashed. “Go on. Keep to the path.”
Mattie shook her head, gasping. “I can’t hold on—” she gasped.
“You can,” the girl snapped, shoving her toward the path. “Run!”
Before Mattie could answer, the girl veered off the path and vanished into the shadows, stooping low as she ran. She caught up a length of fallen oak, thick as her arm, and melted behind a tangle of laurel, waiting.
Mattie stumbled onward, branches whipping her face, the path a blur beneath her boots. Her lungs burned as though the cold air were tearing them raw. She risked a glance over her shoulder — the trees shuddered with motion.
