My Name Is Cree

by T. K. Richardson

  They opened their packs, each pulling some jerky free.

  I stretched, walked in circles, forced blood to flow through my legs, jogged to one side, and turned to go back again, continually panning the flashlight in front of me and sweeping it to each side looking for reflective eyes, for predators, for danger. The Tore land was about 20 air miles from my area, and I wasn’t sure how far we still had to go, nor was I certain how much longer it would take. We were making great time without me slowing us up. I glanced at Three Scars and wondered if he was tired of carrying me. Normally I don’t take the easy way out, I take care of myself. Putting aside my independence though, was paramount to a successful recovery of evidence of Forest People, so I tossed any ounce of pride that may have lingered inside of me and accepted his help. It was better this way, and I tried not to feel bad about my limitations. I was not 6 foot 4 inches tall, nor was I adept at running long distances in the dark, as they were. Still, a little part of me felt like dead weight.

  I sighed and walked back to them. Three Scars lifted a piece of jerky, offering it to me. I wasn’t hungry, but didn’t want to turn it down, so I smiled and accepted it. “Thank you,” I said, and bit off a piece.

  I paced back and forth, the path ahead on my mind. “We’ll walk for a while,” Three Scars said and stood up. “We’ll go through this valley and should come up on your area before dawn,” he said nodding due south. We covered remarkable distance, and I wasn’t sure how that happened. Unless, of course, the time passed quicker since I wasn’t actually walking it or running it myself.

  I relied on my light and they relied on their skill. Together we angled through the rocks, and brush and stayed close to the river separating us from this side of the forest and my side. I kept swinging the light to one side looking for the narrow spot at White River where the tall cedar fell a few years back, bridging the two. Moss climbed up and over it, its bright green hairy vines unmistakable. “Here, it is,” I said and walked to the end of the tree. The root ball fell with the tree exposing its rotted core, and at this elevation nothing decomposed quickly. I jumped up on the tree and walked across the river, my footing sure, my self-confidence returning with each step.

  We crossed the river, and found the path leading up behind my cabin. Dawn was still an hour or so away, and if this went well, we’d be gone before the sun came up. If it didn’t, I had a backup plan.

  “Look for cameras, and small beams of red lights,” I whispered, and scanned the trees as we went. We stepped onto the path leading to the back of my cabin and I turned off the light, knowing the way in the dark. Pinecones had fallen, but I stepped over them and stopped before we neared the cabin.

  “Wait here,” I said. I needed to go alone, to see if anything had been moved, if any tracks were around my property, or if a slight disturbance was evident. It would tell me who had been here, and when. Three Scars took my arm and tugged me back. “Together,” he said, his voice firm. “Okay, I just need to see the area to be sure no one’s been here.” I moved forward, up the path. With each step the outline of my home came in to view. A pitched roof, logs stacked twelve high forming a rectangular shape, a small sloped back porch. I stopped, listened for sound, looked to see if any light shown through the cracks in the shudders I closed before I left. I proceeded forward, flicked on the flashlight, scanned the path, the area near the back door, and the dirt under the kitchen window. Nothing was turned over, nothing different than before. I slowly walked to the front porch, and stopped to listen, peeking around slowly to see if the door was still barred and locked, and the metal bucket on the shelf next to the door undisturbed.

  I turned off the light, climbed over the log railing and went toward the door. Three Scars didn’t make a sound, his steps were light, easy, and right behind me only inches away. I turned, looked out over my meadow, everything appeared normal, untouched by prying eyes, or hands. I reached the door, lifted my hands to pull down the metal bucket on the shelf, and felt the weight of the skull inside.

  “Open my pack,” I said and lifted the thick mass from the bucket, handed it to Three Scars, and turned while he slipped it inside. He cinched it up, and we turned to go.

  Something white caught my eye. I turned and saw an envelope wedged inside the door and the frame. I creaked the screen door open and pulled it free. I noticed a U.S. Forest Service symbol in the upper left corner.

  “What’s the letter?” he asked. I shrugged just as I saw a red flash over his shoulder.

  “What is that?” I said and handed him the letter, moving around him, zeroing in on the red beam. It flashed and something inside me flashed white hot with anger. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, and hopped over the railing and ran to a tree about twenty feet away. A camera. I pulled the knife from my boot, slit the strap holding the trail cam to the tree, and spun around. I ran back over, handed it to Red Hawk. “Break it apart,” I said and walked over to Three Scars. “Hand me that envelope, but keep the letter,” I said. Clutching it in my hand I ran back to the tree, pulled my knife and stabbed it through the envelope. “How dare they trespass on my land.” I walked out into the meadow, looking for more cameras, turned and went down the other side of the cabin, looking for flashing red lights.

  “Little Foot,” his voice was stern, deep, reproving. “Let’s go.” It was a command, and I knew he was right, but indignation and anger still ruled my thoughts. I let out a deep breath and sucked in a cool gust of air. I scanned the area one more time and ran back over to him. I spotted Red Hawk with my knife. “It’s not worth leaving it here,” he said, handing it to me.

  “We go now,” Three Scars said. He took my hand, and we circled back around the cabin, to the trail and dropped down the path. My anger simmered. It was my land. I worked this land, cleared the brush, cut down dead trees, planted gardens, raised animals and lost animals to the bears and lions, but I would not lose anything to these people who had no right to step foot on my property without my consent.

  And they would never get my consent.

  I trailed behind them now, they took the lead and I let them. I was leaving my world and going back to theirs. I glanced over my shoulder and realized it may be a long time before I came home.

  Chapter 10

  The light from the bonfire was visible a mile away. I guessed it to be around 8:00 P.M. when we reached the safety of camp, which meant our trip took just over twenty-four hours. What I thought would take days, took a fraction of the time. I tried to wrap my mind around that, but my thoughts still focused on my home. We stopped only once on our way back, and little was said among us.

  Three Scars, Red Hawk, Stands Tall, and Running Bear circled and exchanged words. I stayed back, my focus shifting to Three Scars. They shook hands, and parted ways. Red Hawk looked tired, Running Bear and Stands Tall disappeared into the dark, and Three Scars turned to me. His mouth made a thin line across his face, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  He opened the tipi flap allowing me inside, lit the fire and pulled his damp shirt over his head. I glanced at his chiseled chest, and looked away, waiting in silent anticipation of his reproach. The fire warmed the space and as I reached for my clean clothes he said, “You put all of us in danger, Little Foot.”

  I stopped and let the shirt in my hand fall to the bed. “There was no one there to see us, but you’re right.” I turned back and leveled my eyes on him. “It’s my home,” I said and looked down at my hands. “I work that land.” I lifted my gaze to him, the fire within me subsiding, cooling to ash. “You’re right, though. I was selfish in my anger.” I sat down on the bed and bent over, my face resting in my hands. My body ached, my thoughts in disarray like each of the past few days and all the devastating changes they held were scattered photographs in my memories. “I’ll tell them I’m sorry, and I apologize to you, too. You went so far, carried me all the way, and I could have jeopardized all of us.” I lifted the hem of my shirt and rolled it over on my fingertips. He remained silent and reached for his clean clothe
s.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and nodded to my shirt on the bed. We walked to the showers. He was silent, and I felt the weight of his disappointment fully. “I forgot my soap, I’ll catch up,” I said, and ran back to the tipi. Grabbing my stuff, I turned and ran back, but stopped short. Three Scars and Running Bear exchanged words, and from the way Running Bear growled something low and fierce standing only inches from Three Scars’ face, I waited. I had a strong suspicion he was angry about my actions and the danger I put the group in. “You have to tell her now,” Running Bear said, walking away.

  “Running Bear,” I called, and raised my hand to catch his attention. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, anger in his eyes. He shot me a questioning glare. I jogged over. “Hey, I’m sorry for the way I acted out there. I should have been more careful,” I said. “It won’t happen again.” He nodded to me and then shot a sinister glance to his brother.

  I approached Three Scars, his brow furrowed, his stance firm. I touched his arm, and he flinched, drawing back. I was suddenly unsure about more than my actions at my cabin. I questioned if Three Scars decided against having me around.

  “You surprised me,” he said and reached his hand to my arm. “Much has happened through the night, and none of it could be known before we left,” he said.

  “So you’re not tired of me?” I asked before thinking about it. He looked down at me, puzzled. His eyes morphed into apologetic. “That won’t happen, Little Foot.” His hand brushed my arm.

  “I hope not,” I said.

  He turned to go, his hand falling to his side, and I whispered to myself, “You’re all I’ve got now.” He stopped for a split second, almost like he heard me, and put his head down. I clutched my belongings and walked toward the wooden lean-to shower stalls.

  After a shower and dinner in the large tent, we met with the elders. I gave them the skull for safe keeping and they examined it carefully. “How did you come to be in its possession? It is rare to have this,” the elder asked, holding it carefully in his hands.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Just scouting for deer and came across it. I had nothing to do with how it died. Just so you know,” I clarified. I glanced at Three Scars, the corner of his mouth slightly turned into a smile.

  “You were wise to keep it,” the white haired elder said. Then all three elders cast a questioning glance to Three Scars and he responded by shaking his head no. Disapproval was evident in their eyes. “It is time,” they said. Three Scars nodded, resigned to something I did not understand. “I will take care of it,” he said. He glanced at me and motioned for us retreated from their presence.

  “There’s a lot going on isn’t there?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, but kept a steady, quick pace. I stopped and watched him. His tense muscles, and rigid posture answered my question. I hurried to reach him, I had to know what was wrong, what was happening all around me. I was the only person who didn’t know. He reached the tent and lifted the flap, pausing at the entrance. I ducked inside, and he followed.

  “Hey,” I said, and reached for his arm. “Please tell me, what’s going on?”

  “You don’t know the danger,” he said and moved my hand from his arm.

  “Tell me,” I pleaded.

  His troubled eyes, flashed with anger, and I reached for him again.

  “Little Foot,” he growled and spun around, his hands on my waist pulling me close, so close, his face hovered inches from mine. I gasped. “I am the danger,” he breathed out, a low growl-like rumble emanating from somewhere deep inside his chest.

  “No, you’re not,” I said, placing my hands on each side of his face, pressing my face even closer, our lips almost touching. “You’re not dangerous to me.” I inched my lips to his and held still. His breathing heavy, his eyes flashed with anger and then softened, his grip on my waist loosened, and he stepped back. “You don’t know what I am. What we are,” he said, anguished.

  “I know who you are. You’re honorable, a warrior,” I whispered, confused.

  He dropped his hands and stepped back again. “I am bound not to hurt you,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t hurt me even if you weren’t,” I said.

  He stepped away, his eyes leveling on mine. He reached for my hand, pressed it against his chest. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who we are. If I didn’t feel like this” he said, pressing my hand harder against his flesh. I looked at my hand against him, pale and slight against his dark, broad chest. I looked back up at him, stepping closer. He held his breath, and I moved closer still. He shook his head, and I closed the gap between us.

  “The legends of our people are true,” he said, stepping back once. I stepped forward. “You won’t hurt me,” I said, and rested my forehead to his chest. “You won’t,” I affirmed.

  “We shift, Little Foot, from this,” he pointed to himself and then pointed across the river, “to them, from human to monster, from ourselves to creatures bound by duty to protect our people and our land,” he said, an edge to his voice.

  I absorbed his words, their meaning seeping deep inside, my eyes rested on my hand against his chest, the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips. The light thud of his heart pulsing beneath my touch. I lifted my gaze inch by inch over his bronzed flesh, to the three scars on his neck, all of it making sense. A sense of sorrow hit me and I lifted my eyes to meet his.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  He caught his breath, and stared at me, a strange flicker in his eyes.

  “I mean when you shift,” I tried to clarify, not moving my hand.

  “What?” He blinked, and recoiled slightly, “you ask about what it feels like, and not what we look like?” He was offended, but I waited for an answer. My hand still rested against his skin and I glanced at his chest as it rose and descended with each breath, his heart pulsing faster beneath my fingertips.

  I looked into his eyes.

  “It’s not pain like you know.” He turned slightly, avoiding my stare.

  I waited. The silence urged him on.

  “It’s a pain of losing part of yourself, even for just a while.”

  “Is that how you got the scars and lived to tell about it? From wild animals?” I asked.

  “You have questions that surprise me. Instead of being horrified, you’re curious, thoughtful…” he shook his head again and lowered his gaze to me. “Yes, and from some of the other warriors,” he answered.

  “Other warriors?”

  “Some are young and new to shifting. They need correction.”

  “Like Running Bear?”

  He nodded.

  “And that’s why you stepped forward and welcomed me, so he wouldn’t…”

  “He does not have the self-control, yet,” he answered.

  “Self-control?”

  “Everything we do and think must be controlled, or things could get out of control quickly.” He glanced down at my small frame, and then to my hair. I think I understood…

  “And is that what Running Bear and the elders were talking about? That you needed to tell me all of this?”

  “Yes, this is what they wanted of me – to inform you of the truth.”

  “Can you shift at will, or is it at night, or – “ he held up his hand, stopping me from peppering too many question too fast.

  “At will, day or night. Doesn’t matter.” He looked back at me, lowering his head a bit. “But there’s always this concern, this worry,” he paused, “that we won’t shift back.”

  I tried to imagine that, to picture what it must be like. To shift from me to something or someone else, to transform my small frame to someone big, strong, fearsome. I glanced up at his already tall form and wondered how much taller he became. A small part of me wished I knew what it was like. I thought of the tracks by my cabin, the guttural noises, the blur on the path in the mist, the deep warning growls.

  “Can you talk to the Forest People? Do you know their language?”

  That question was too much for
him – he laughed and looked at me as though he were in awe of me. “In a way,” he finally answered. “You are remarkable, Little Foot.” He appraised me closer. “You are brave, too.” A hint of pride in his eyes.

  “Was that you I saw in the mist?” I asked, remembering how hard I tried to see him clearly. He nodded. “And that’s why you can run so fast and so far, and you can see in the dark?” I said, more to myself than to him.

  “We can sense fear,” he added.

  I glanced up.

  “You don’t have any fear of us,” he stated.

  “Not really,” I affirmed.

  His eyes looked troubled now, small lines creased below them, tightening at the corners. “The others can see that, too.”

  I sat down and reached for the mug still steaming by the fire.

  “How long have you lived there, Cree?” he asked, his question seeming to want to lead somewhere else.

  “Since I was little.”

  He looked at the fire and then at me. “And how long have you been alone?” he went on.

  “Almost five years. Since I was fifteen,” I answered, already knowing where he was going. I leaned back slightly and thought about all he revealed to me and felt it only right I answer his questions.

  “And why are you alone? Where are your parents?” he finally asked, landing on the exact question that he seemed most concerned about.

  I inadvertently reached for the blanket and pulled it over my lap, just like when I was little. I looked over at the tipi flap, then to the wood chest with his belongings inside, and finally I lifted my gaze to meet his. “They left one day to go hunting. Said they’d be back by evening. But they didn’t come back. I waited ‘til dark and watched for them through the night. The next day I went looking for them. All I found were one of her shoes, and his rifle.” I looked down, memories flooding my thoughts, my heart hurting at their absence, and the loneliness that followed that day. “Not long after that, maybe a day or two, Birch showed up. Said he was just passing by and noticed my wood pile was low. But I think he heard what happened. After that he came by a lot. Taught me to hunt, trap. Just about everything.” I glanced at my bow and back to him. “And now that Birch is gone, it’s just…” I let out a breath and shrugged. “He saved me then, and I’m pretty sure he saved me from those trackers. He sent me here. That’s why I’m not afraid of you. Birch wouldn’t send me to danger,” I finished.