Rthan

Rthan’s canoe was a bark boat shaped like folded hands, light enough for a warrior to carry on his back during portage, long enough to hold three while rowing. Or, in this case, Rthan, his prisoner, and two packs of supplies.

They’d been paddling downstream without stopping for meals, but they’d come to the first of several cataracts soon, and Rthan knew they needed to eat before they portaged. Past the cataract, they’d be in Yellow Bear territory.

Rthan signaled the others and the seven canoes pulled into a still pool in the river, guarded from sight by drooping willows. None of the warriors left their boats, only anchored their paddles through the handle of the canoe post-down in the mud.

The captive tried to lift his head over the edge of the kayak to see where they were. Rthan slapped him back down to the bottom of the boat. The boy endured the latest bruise without speaking, though his wary gaze locked on Rthan.