by Roberta Jean Mountjoy
Night Wind raised the deerskin blanket and crawled in beside Marcus Opalgate.
She gave a surprised gasp, and raised herself to look down at his eyes, at the fire that had not been there before, when the fever had been on him. Now she was the one with the fever, inflamed by his new desire.
Her shadow danced on the cave wall. She reached for him and, gently, she lowered herself.