Authors: Chad Oliver
Mark
looked
at
the
man,
and
the
man
looked
at Mark.
Both
seemed
equally
surprised,
and
uncertain of
how
to
proceed.
Neither
dared
to
lower
his
guard, yet
neither
seemed
ready
to
kill
without
cause.
Mark realized
that
the
man
could
have
killed
him
at
any time,
and
that
he
even
now
considered
Mark
unarmed. The
man
was
evidently
not
a
killer
unless
he
was prompted,
but
one
glance
into
his
cold
black
eyes convinced
Mark
that
death
would
be
swift
and
sudden if
he
made
a
wrong
move.
The
scene
held,
a
moment
frozen
in
time.
Mark did
not
want
to
shoot,
but
on
the
other
hand
he
could not
know
when
the
stranger
would
take
a
notion
to release
that
arrow.
He
waited.
The
man
waited.
The sun
seemed
to
stop
in
the
blue
afternoon
sky,
watching.
Mark
noted
that
he
was
sweating,
and
not
with heat.
“Orn?”
said
the
man
suddenly,
his
voice
deep
and steady.
It
sounded
like
a
question.
Mark
felt
keenly
the
language
barrier
that
stood between
them.
The
man
had
asked
him
something, and
waited
for
an
answer.
But
what
could
he
say?
“Friend,”
Mark
said,
feeling
that
it
was
best
to
say something,
even
if
it
could
not
be
understood.
He spoke
slowly
and
as
calmly
as
he
could.
“I
am
your friend.”
The
man
looked
at
him,
unmoving.
His
black
eyes were
unreadable.
The
arrow
did
not
waver.
Mark wondered
at
the
strength
that
held
that
taut
bow
as steadily
as
a
rock.
“Orn?”
the
man
asked
again.
Mark
hesitated
and
then
very
slowly
he
got
to
his feet.
The
man
stepped
back
instantly,
and
the
bow tensed
still
more.
Mark
managed
a
smile.
Should
he shoot?
“I
am
your
friend,”
he
said
again.
Cautiously,
so as
not
to
alarm
the
man,
he
raised
his
left
hand,
palm outward,
in
a
sign
of
peace.
With
his
right,
he
held the
.45
at
the
ready.
The
man
watched
with
intelligent
eyes,
but
it
was
at
once
obvious
that
the
sign meant
nothing
to
him.
Mark
lowered
his
hand
and smiled
again.
The
man
did
not
move,
nor
did
the bow
relax
in
any
way.
“Orn?”
the
man
asked
once
more,
his
voice
hard. This
time
it
sounded
like
an
ultimatum.
Mark’s
finger
tensed
on
the
trigger,
but
he
could not
forget
that
this
man
had
spared
his
life
when
he might
have
killed
him
in
cold
blood.
The
man
was an
unknown
factor.
What
was
he
like?
Mark
had
to know
before
he
could
come
to
any
understanding
with him.
If
only
he
could
make
him
understand
that
he was
not
an
enemy!
With
sudden
inspiration,
Mark
moved
very
slowly over
to
the
ashes
of
the
fire.
The
man’s
eyes
followed him,
but
he
made
no
move.
Mark
reached
over
and picked
up
one
of
the
reindeer
steaks
that
he
had
cut but
not
cooked.
He
held
it
out
to
the
man
with
his left
hand,
still
holding
the
.45
in
his
right,
ready
for instant
action.
The
man
looked
at
the
meat,
and
his grip
on
the
bow
relaxed
just
a
trifle.
Mark
started toward
him,
holding
out
the
meat.
At
once,
the
man backed
away
again
and
the
bow
tensed
in
his
hands.