Page 65 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Do not scream.”

“B-but you look…”

“Like a piece of the earth?”

“Yes.”

He grinned at her. “And so will you.”

Gazing intently at him, Marietta wasn’t certain she would allow herself to be painted in mud. Grey Coyote looked rather scary.

He was coated in clay mixed with tufts of dry grass that stuck out at odd angles all over his body, and he resembled a sort of monster—a monster who did appear as though it were a bit of moving earth.

Grey Coyote gave her no chance to contemplate her fate, for he was saying, “Ito, we will save your friend. But first, as I do, so must you too look like the earth.”

Marietta grimaced and spoke without thinking first. “If I do this to myself—make myself into a sort of earth monster—will you still love me?”

No sooner had the words been spoken than Marietta grew warm as a flush of emotion stole over her face.

Grinning at her inanely, Grey Coyote uttered, “I will never stop.”

For a moment, Marietta stood as though thunderstruck. Did he love her? Did she love him?

No. Impossible. To be in love with this man would be to invite heartache, since love would create its own problems. Were she in love, she would eventually desire to remain here; she knew she would. Her own dreams would be for naught, and might she not forever be haunted by might have beens?

Indeed, to her way of thinking, to love this man was a problem.

But she had made beautiful love with Grey Coyote. Could it be she had feelings for him, deeper feelings than she had at first believed possible? Perhaps.

But not love.

Still her thoughts were clouded, and Marietta gazed up at Grey Coyote, to query him on the matter. She saw at once this had been a mistake.

Darn the man. She shook her head. In addition to the clay covering his body, he wore a brazen smile over his countenance, a look which screamed at her, an expression that said he was aware of each and every one of her considerations.

However, he uttered not a single word. Instead, he turned away from her and stepped toward the water.

Marietta didn’t follow him. She stood like one frozen, incapable of making even the smallest of motions. After a time, Grey Coyote glanced over his shoulder, and as though aware of her predicament, he retraced his steps.

Still, he said nothing. Taking her hand in his, he gently led her to the stream.

“How did you manage to leave our shelter under the rose bushes without my knowledge of it?” Marietta asked a while later.

Even now, she was avoiding staring directly at Grey Coyote. Mostly, because so profound were her thoughts, it had taken a moment to regain her equilibrium. She resolved to put her attention on more important matters, such as how they were going to survive, for one, and how they were going to rescue Yellow Swan, for another.

Marietta was squatting on the ground, reposing next to Grey Coyote, who had settled in a position by the stream. He answered her question, saying, “I believe I was able to leave without you knowing it because you sleep soundly.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then perhaps I am skilled in getting in and out of tricky situations.”

“It would appear to me that this would be more likely the case.” She watched Grey Coyote as he mixed together clay, along with dry, golden grass. Carefully, she avoided looking at his hands as he worked. Still, and quite involuntarily, images of what other sort of niceties those hands could do, and had done, to and with her, came vividly to mind.

She shivered, but it wasn’t due to her thoughts. It was because the muck he was concocting would be going on her skin soon, and there didn’t seem to be any initiative she could take to stop it from happening.

This thought brought another concern to mind, a question which was more to the point. “How am I to assist you with Yellow Swan’s rescue?”

“You will watch the enemy camp for movement or for any sign that they might have become aware of me. While I am in their camp, you are to observe closely, and if you see motion, particularly toward me, you are to inform me of it by giving me a signal.”