Wasula knew this man, just as she knew all white men. He thought himself better than her, with or without meanness in his spirit. He had been taught that he was more civilized, more educated, simply more than her. Yet he couldn't find horses that had been raided, nor perhaps even survive against all the harshness that the bare lands provided without his small house (tent), his band of companions or his large sticking out cooking fire.

He thought he knew her. She lifted a brow at him and smiled slowly. Knowingly, sharp and wise. He was fair, for one of his people, but he was too different from her and taught he knew so much, like children often did before coming adults. And adults before becoming elders. Bound by what he thought he knew, she should not judge him too harshly for his ignorance. Perhaps she could teach him something more, the truth of her people, how they lived, worked, played. How free they were.

Of course, he could be too full already of what he thought he knew. A cup too full could not be added too for it would only spill out anything added to it. The native woman let out a small amused noise. And dry was that amusement. But she said nothing further, for she had already agreed to help him and had already made her distaste for ill treatment known to him. He gave her a half a smile and she returned it, still uncertain of how to take him. 

"Six and twenty is young," she snorted, but smiled, teasing him, "Or perhaps he wishes me call him 'Old Man'? Yes, yes, Ju-li-an Kirk-land, lead way. This woman will follow." She brushed her hand through the air and as he turned spoke once more. "Old Man go forward, Wasula will follow." A mischievous grin, rather proud of herself, she laughed softly. But he turned again and looked at her. He gave her an odd look, as if he were looking deeper and through to her spirit, reading her but confused by the foreign language.  

"As long as there is no rain, Wasula will see their trail," she gave him a tilting up of her chin, "Young men are often clumsy in hiding their trail from White Men, since White Men are blind and do not see like The People." Clearly she spoke as this were just fact and did not mean to be harsh. Even if it sounded harsh. But it was true. Only One of the People could find a path of one of their own. Tilting her dark head, long hair falling over her shoulder like a raven lowering its wing. Her depthless eyes looked back at him like midnight pools reflecting all and showing no secrets. 

"Leaving soon is good," she lifted the basket in her hands up a little higher, trying to balance its weight once more, "But I do not see how a trail can become 'cold' as you say. Only rain and time wash and wear away at trails..." She shook her head a bit, as if putting to bed his curious use of language. "The camp of my brother and I is outside this village," she nodded down to her basket, "I will place these things and take any necessary things from there." She gave him a cautious look. Her brother wouldn't be happy for her to take him there but... "You will come too." Anything she needed, she already had at the camp. And it would do him some good seeing her life.