Warm light from the campfire gives Wipakoa’s face an amber glow. "So, Lost Mammoth Valley," the head scout says with a smile, testing the words as if trying on a new cloak. "The name is a mystery to me. But I know, wherever we go, we will be in good hands with you leading the way."
Absentmindedly rubbing the head of the newborn strapped across her chest, Wipakoa continues, "Along the way, we’d do well to disguise our route as best we can. Yes, hiding the tracks of an entire following is like shearing a mammoth, but the effort might be worth it. By fording rivers or planting false tracks, we might be able to delay them for a few days. Even if it seems like we’re already far ahead of them, we do not know this land. A single wrong move could cause our luck to turn."
"I encourage you to devise ways to delay the Burning Mammoths. But if I may I have a few suggestions," she says with a smile. "We can ford rivers to obscure our tracks, you can lay traps for the Burning Mammoths to stumble into, or plant false tracks to throw off their trail completely."
"I think we can afford a couple of days here before we continue our journey."
She reaches behind her and pulls forward a intricately carved shortbow. "I offer you this. I think it will be more help to you than it will be to me in the coming weeks."