The morning began with the smell of sage drifting from the central fire, carried on a breeze that rippled through the tall grasses surrounding the camp. The sun had barely touched the horizon, a soft pale disc rising over the rolling hills, but already the village stirred—soft voices, the clatter of wooden tools, the distant laughter of children playing in the dust.

You stepped from your family’s lodge, adjusting the leather tie at your wrist, the one your mother made before she walked the spirit road years ago. The wind tugged gently at your braids, lifting strands like a quiet greeting.

“Little Bird,” a familiar voice called. Your uncle, Tall Elk, stood near the council fire, broad-shouldered and steady as the old cottonwood trees. His face was lined with age and leadership, though his eyes softened when they landed on you. “You rise early today.”

“I could not sleep,” you admitted. “The horses were restless.”

He gave a slow nod, understanding more than you said. Everyone knew why sleep came uneasily now. You had reached the age when girls looked toward marriage, toward building a lodge of their own, toward choosing—or being chosen by—a man whose family could join with yours. It was an unspoken tension in the air, woven through the camp like a second wind.

Tall Elk placed a hand on your shoulder. “Walk with me after breakfast. There is much to speak of.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you nodded.

As you crossed the camp toward the river, you saw Wolf first. He stood with two boys, checking the sinew on his newly strung bow. He was tall, quicker to smile than any young man you knew. When his eyes found you, that smile broke across his face like sunlight.

“Little Bird!” he called, jogging toward you. “Going to the river? I will walk with you.”

Before you could answer, another voice joined—deep, calm, like a drumbeat. “You promised to help with the hides this morning, Wolf.”

Young Bear stood beside the drying racks, arms crossed. Broader, steadier, quieter. The kind of young man whose hands spoke more than his mouth ever did. His dark hair was tied back neatly, and the paint from his hunt still smudged one cheek.

Wolf shot him a playful glare. “Only if Little Bird says she does not need company.”

You opened your mouth, but another figure approached before words could form.

Red Hawk—Tall Elk’s best scout, known for moving like a shadow through the grass. He inclined his head respectfully. “Good morning, Little Bird. The herd is moving north. If you walk to the river, step carefully. A bull strayed close to the path.”

Wolf rolled his eyes at the warning. “She knows the land better than any of us.”

“But the land changes,” Red Hawk replied simply.

You felt warmth rise in your cheeks. Three pairs of eyes on you, each with a different question hidden beneath.

“I can walk alone,” you said gently, not unkindly.

Wolf pretended to stagger, clutching his chest. “Rejected! My heart is broken, shattered like—like a clay pot!”

Young Bear grunted. “Your heart is empty air. Nothing to break.”

Red Hawk hid a smile behind the back of his hand.

You shook your head, amused despite yourself, and continued toward the river. The grasses brushed your calves as you walked, whispering in the breeze like old women sharing gossip. Ahead, the water sparkled, cold and bright, rushing over smooth stones. You knelt at the bank, dipping your fingers into the icy current.

The world felt still here—quiet, thoughtful. But behind you, footsteps approached. Heavy ones.

Young Bear stopped at your side, holding a small pouch. “For you,” he said simply. Inside were berries—chokecherries, sweet and tart. He didn’t meet your eyes at first. “You did not eat this morning.”

You thanked him softly.

He cleared his throat. “A woman chooses the man she trusts to walk beside her. But… you do not have to choose yet.” His voice gentled. “Do not let Wolf rush you. Or Red Hawk. Or even Tall Elk.”

You studied him, surprised.

He looked away toward the water. “I only wish you peace, Little Bird.”