A rustling in the trees tore me from my thoughts. I held my breath, training my eyes on the exact spot it came from. Three Scars stepped to the edge of the treeline, his face half hidden in the shadows. The firelight pushed back the black waves and lit his face as he approached.
I looked down.
“Can I sit with you?” he asked.
I nodded.
He sat down and held his hands to the heat. The silence between us, thick and awkward. He looked at me through the flames, and those same dark eyes that riveted me that first night now stole my attention and pushed my previous thoughts aside.
I remained quiet.
He kept watching me.
“There is a story about a young woman who fought bears and lions in this cave,” he offered. I leaned back on the rock and gazed up at the sky. The air was cooling quick and snow would fall through the night, but right now it was clear and cold. Just like me. I spotted the Milky Way, and Orion’s belt.
“She fought hard, but had no one to help her,” he continued.
I blinked and searched for Venus way beyond this world, past the moon’s brilliance, and somewhere out in that dark vast expanse above me.
“Then someone arrived, saw her and helped her kill the lion and the bear. It had been a long winter and they were both hungry, both fighting for the girl, for their next meal,” he said, his voice low, even.
I spotted Venus and started searching for Saturn. I squinted my eyes slightly looking for its rings, wishing I could see them at least once.
“Little Foot,” he said and stood to his feet.
I flicked my eyes at him and then back to the stars. He walked over and stood directly above me blocking my view. His eyes danced and he held out his hand. “Let’s go. It’s going to snow soon.”
I closed my eyes and made a wish.
“Have it your way,” he said and lifted me into his arms.
“Really?” I said, shocked. “You think this is a way to apologize?”
“I am not sorry,” he said. “I would watch over you again and again to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“It’s who we are, Little Foot. It’s not about you being weak or whatever you’re thinking. It’s about us as warriors, about protecting others from the threat of the Forest People.”
“But Birch…”
“He loved you. And he knew how stubborn you are and how…”
“What?” I said slipping from his arms, standing up straight.
“Fearless is what he said of you,” Three Scars said. “And he was right. He couldn’t have been more correct about you.”
I stood firm, leveling my eyes on him.
“He said you reminded him of the stubborn woman who went to live with them. He was worried. Don’t hold it against him, Little Foot.”
I breathed out and shook my head. Lifting my eyes to his, he held out his hand. “Ready to go?” he asked. I exhaled and retrieved my near dry moccasins, covered the fire, and turned to go.
Chapter 20
He turned and brought in more wood, four wide wedges, and placed them near the flap. I spotted my pelts stacked on the bed. Two plates of meat, vegetables, and thick bread sat warming near the fire, too. We missed the evening meal and someone left the trays in the tipi for us. He handed me a white piece of paper, folded over twice.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It was slid in your door, remember?”
I unfolded it and read the letter. My heart sank. “Did you read it?” I asked and handed him the note. He nodded and placed it on his trunk. I lay back on the bear skin bed. “I have to do something,” I said, my mind searching for answers. “I just don’t know what.”
A series of light thuds landed on the canvas, their progression rapidly increasing. He put another log on the fire, and I sat up moving the plates, placing one next to me, the other in my lap. “How much snow do you think we’ll get?” I asked, as he sat down, lifting the plate. Resting it on his leg, he looked up through the opening above. “Maybe a few feet,” he said, and looked down at the food.
We ate in silence. My thoughts on the letter, my memories on my cabin and my forest.
“People are talking,” he said, revealing what was on his mind.
“About what?” I asked and took another bite of meat.
His eyes narrowed, suppressing a smile. He chewed and swallowed, taking his time, making me wonder. He took another bite, and I nudged his arm. “What?” I asked. He swallowed, and said, “About you.” I shot him a quick glance. “Why?” I asked, thinking of a number of reasons for talk, hoping it was nothing important. He set his plate aside and looked at me. “About today,” he said. I furrowed my brows. “Which part of today?” I asked. “They’re amazed you had no fear of me. No fear of any of us,” he said.
I took another bite and shrugged.
“What did the elders say?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t want to talk about me, but rather about him. Curious how the elders wanted the situation with the attacker handled.
His smirk faded and he continued eating, avoiding my question. I glanced at him and then to the fire, and still he said nothing. The continual soft thud on the tipi created a rhythm in the silence, one that sang out a soothing melody.
We finished our meal and he added another wedge onto the fire. I sat our plates to one side and lay back on the rugs. He blew out the lamp and I pulled the blanket over my shoulder, the one side still aching.
“You should talk to him tomorrow,” I said. “It would be good.”
“Go to sleep, Little Foot.” He lay down on his pile of rugs, exhaling.
“Three Scars?”
“Hmmm?”
“That was a terrible story you told at the cave.”
He was silent.
“I know you had a point behind it, but it was a story about a girl who needed help because of a bear and mountain lion. If you think about it, she could have drawn her bow twice and taken care of the threats pretty quick.”
“But she had no bow, like you had no bow tonight,” he said.
His words hung in the air swollen with meaning.
“Go to sleep, Three Scars.”
He rolled over facing me, the smirk on his face returning.
I lay awake. My shoulder felt like pins and needles, my thoughts jumping from the attacker, to the fight this afternoon, and to the revelation of the Tore people watching over me. I wanted to brush it aside, pretend it didn’t matter, but it made me wonder what else they hid from me. I blinked and rolled over.
A faint tick-tick sounded outside, and I held my breath, listening. It sounded again, tick-tick. I sat up, scooted off the rugs, trying not to wake him. Tick-tick. I tiptoed to the opening, and reached for the edge of the flap, held my breath, and a large hand lay over my arm. I caught my breath and glanced over my shoulder. Three Scars pulled me away from the entrance, positioning himself in front. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes, shaking his head once.
He pulled the flap open. “What is wrong, Red Hawk?” his voice low.
“We need you to come. The plan has changed. We have to go tonight before the roads close,” Red Hawk said.
Silence.
“I will come now,” Three Scars said. The flap dropped closed and he reached for his moccasins, sliding them over his feet, swift and fluid, lacing them tight. He pulled his coat on, and moved a backpack from beside the trunk, placing it by the tipi flap.
“Is anyone hurt?” I asked, watching him gather his things.
Silence.
He stood up and walked back to the opening. Turning to me, he started to speak but stopped, shook his head slightly. He looked in my eyes, a pained expression, and cleared his throat. I hurried to his side, put my hand on his arm. “Be safe,” I whispered, afraid of what might come. He turned slightly, ready to leave, but halted, torn by some internal fight. He let out a breath and turned to me. “I may be a while,” he said, his eyes washing over me, worried.
“I’ll be okay,” I said and swallowed, not sure if I was lying to him or to myself.
“Little Foot,” he said, the hurt or fear in his eyes seeming to surface. He exhaled, like he was giving up or giving in, and he pulled me close, his arms gently pressing me to chest, his heart beating so fast I felt it pulse under my skin. He leaned in, and softly touched his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer. His kiss deepened, my own heart beating as fast as his.
“I’ll be back,” he said, his arms still holding me close. So much was said in that look, that I couldn’t comprehend most of it. I nodded, and whispered, “I’ll be waiting.”
Something inside me felt pressed down, a foreboding I couldn’t understand. I wanted to ask him not to leave, to stay with me, but I didn’t. Whatever pulled him from my arms tonight was enough to make even Three Scars look worried, and I hadn’t witnessed anything like it before.
He left in the night when the moon was high and a blanket of snow lay on the ground.
Chapter 21
Seven days passed and he did not return.
Camp was quiet. Four of the warriors left in the night, but the rest remained. Red Hawk, Running Bear, and another warrior named Wind in His Face, along with Three Scars left a gaping hole in the community. Their absence changed the atmosphere, where once it was active and vibrant all around, now it was somber, vigilant. No word was spoken about where they went or how long they would be gone. Even after asking several times.
I walked to the meeting tent and peeked in the side. Needing company, or a distraction, I scanned the near empty space. I spotter her kneading bread near the back table. I walked over and stood near her, silently asking Willow if she needed help. She smiled and nodded for me to come. Standing near her I watched her fold the dough over and push it down in the center. Sprinkling a dusting of flour over the top, she folded again, repeating the process, a quick dance. She set it aside and started on the next risen batch. Fold, push, sprinkle, repeat.
“Can I help?” I asked.
She plopped a dough ball in front of me and smiled.
“The moccasins fit perfect. Thank you,” I said.
“I’m glad,” she smiled, and glanced at me.
“You like it here?” she asked.
“I do,” I said and copied her movement. Fold, push down, sprinkle with flour.
“We have heard of your stories,” she offered.
I glanced at her and looked down at the bread dough.
“One morning when they returned form your forest they told of you,” she started, a quick smile on her face, a spark in her eyes, “and how after dark one night you stepped outside to see a bear not thirty feet from you. You did not run. You did not raise your bow. You yelled and stomped your feet and told it to leave.” She glanced at me again. “And it did leave.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that bear came back the next night. And the night after that.”
“But not the third night,” she finished.
I turned to her.
“Three Scars took the bear,” she explained.
I remembered that night. It was autumn, the night air was cold but not freezing. I stepped outside in my nightgown, a light cotton, warm but cool enough to sleep in next to the fire without getting too warm. I yelled at that bear, stomped my feet, waved my arms. He took off across the meadow at a dead run, his steps so heavy a loud thud-thud-thud shook the ground. He was afraid I could harm him.
“At the time some of our people questioned the story the warriors told us of you, but now we don’t question it,” she said, and pushed down in the center of the dough ball.
“They told us of the basket of fruit, too,” she said, her eyes narrowing into a question.
My heart sped up and I looked down watching her hands. She pulled the dough ball apart, formed a smaller ball and started pressing it into a flat round.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s true, too.” I pulled the dough apart like she did, rolled it in my hands, pressing it flat. Her silence urged me on. “After the big fire, there wasn’t much food to forage. The deer went to lower elevations, and I was concerned they’d have nothing to eat. I hung a basket high up in a cedar, too high for a bear or a deer to reach. Just some apples and oranges,” I said.
“You feed the Forest People,” she mused.
I shrugged my shoulders and glanced at her expression, a mix of confusion and admiration.
“How long have you heard stories about me?”
She drew in a deep breath, her eyes lifted, gazing through the tent opening, like she was trying to remember. “Before the big fire… Maybe three years now.”
I looked down at the flat bread. A lot happens in that amount of time. I wondered what else they knew of me. She remained pensive, thoughtful, quiet.
“Which warriors?” I asked and stole a glance.
A small smile hinted at her eyes. “Three Scars would normally go, and sometimes Running Bear, Red Hawk,” she glanced at me and smiled. “Wind in His Face, and a few others. It depended on the hunt,” she said.
“The hunt?”
She nodded.
“They hunt at night, keeping our whole land free from the Forest People. If the hunt was long or difficult, the warriors took turns going to see you. Three Scars tried to keep Running Bear from going alone, though. He’s young and you’re pretty, so he was worried.”
I glanced at her and then reached for more dough, not sure what to think about Running Bear looking in on me. He’s dangerous, trust me…
“They tried to help you,” she continued. “If a tree fell on your path, they moved it. If bears got too close, they removed them, too. And if…” she stopped and cast a worried glance my way, not sure if she should continue. I turned to face her, waiting. “And when you went into the forest to hunt or hike and you stayed for many days, they stayed with you.” I pictured all of this, the hidden forms following me, the times I felt so free and alone weren’t true – I wasn’t alone at all. “And when you were sick and had no one to care for you, they left medicinal tea leaves and food at your door.”
“I thought that was Birch,” I said, remembering last year when I was sick with a fever. “Why did they do all of this? It doesn’t make sense. That’s a lot of work for someone they don’t know.”
“Birch requested it,” she answered.
“There’s got to be more to it.” I shook my head, not understanding Birch’s relationship with the Tore Nation.
Willow finished the dough and stacked them in a round woven basket. “Time for me to cook them. Thanks for the help,” she said.
“I’d like more rabbit pelts and need to hunt. Do you think one of the men would go along? I promised Three Scars I’d stay out of the forest, but I’m sure it’s okay as long as I have someone with me.” It felt foreign asking to hunt, and even more difficult requesting help.
“I’ll ask Runs With Wind,” she said and turned to go.
I retrieved my bow from the tipi and walked to the edge of the camp, staying visible for him to see me, though I wasn’t sure who to expect. I scanned the open area, and all was still. Leaning against a spindly oak, I waited. Within a few minutes, I spotted a tall, lean warrior heading toward me. His hair was close cropped on the sides, long and pulled back into a single braid, with a crow’s feather hanging at the end. He wore tall moccasins, a leather poncho, and took long purposeful strides. He appeared to be in his early 40’s, and not a new to shifting like Three Scars had concerns about. He locked eyes on me and nodded. “We hunt,” he said and walked past me.
I followed behind him, and wished I was alone.
Deeper into the forest, we slowed our pace, and I scouted for signs of rabbit tracks. I veered off one way and he swayed the other, together making a wide V formation. I crouched down, gaining a different perspective, and scoured the area looking for any sign of them. Glancing to the area I last saw him, and then back to my immediate vicinity, I saw nothing. Neither him over on my left nor any tracks wh
ere I stood. I slowly backed up, listening for any sound, either his approach or a rabbit’s movements in the brush.
Nothing moved.
I crouched by a fir tree and slowed my breathing, diminishing the sound of my own breath, so it didn’t impede my senses. A faint wind moved behind me. I drew my bow and silently turned on my heels. I locked eyes on him. He stopped midstride. I lowered my aim and he continued his advance toward me.
“Glad you’re not quick on the fly,” he said as I stood up.
“I’m not finding any tracks. Maybe tomorrow,” I offered, a signal we could leave.
“Tomorrow,” he said, and waited for me to lead the way.
I looked up through the trees to the sun’s angle and followed the shadows back toward the path. We walked for several minutes in silence. “How is it that you have no fear of us, Little Foot?” It was the first real bit of conversation, as he appeared to be a man who walked with purpose and spoke with purpose.
“Because you have a soul,” I said, and stepped over a fallen branch, angling my other foot the same direction so I didn’t make any noise. “And those who have a soul usually have a conscience.”
“I think that is a brave assumption,” he said.
“Seems to be the verdict about me, doesn’t it? Brave, fearless, some say crazy.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Truth is, I do get afraid sometimes – but not of Tore warriors. I just don’t let fear stop me, otherwise nothing would get accomplished.”
“You’re not afraid of them. This is strange,” he said.
“I’m cautious but not afraid.”
“Do you think they have a soul, too?”’ he questioned.
“Maybe,” I said and stopped. I turned around to look at him. “But if they don’t and they’re mostly instinct, then all I can go on is how they’ve been toward me in the past. A bear has a bear’s ways, and a mountain lion has its own ways – each their own instinct that’s pretty distinct and predictable. But they… they seem far more advanced, so maybe.”
My Name Is Cree Page 14
