…Sam stood on the bank of the pond, staring into the water. On the other side, a family of loons searched for food among the reeds. A beaver swam toward its lodge carrying a branch. The young loons, some of them paddling in the water, some on the backs of the parents, seemed, to Sam, to be content: a feeling that was far from him at that moment.
He reached down and scratched Wolf’s ear. The animal was watching the birds and the rodent.
“You leave them be,” Sam said. “You got no cause to be hunting them. I feed you well enough.”
Wolf looked up and whined, shifting his weight from paw to paw, as if to say, “Yeah, but the wolf part of me wants to hunt.”
Wolf turned his head away from the pond. Sam followed his gaze. He heard a noise. Garrett was approaching from the direction of the thicket where, apparently, Todd still lay sleeping. He turned back to the pond. Garrett walked up behind him, encircling Sam’s waist with his strong arms, burying his face in his neck, caressing him. Sam leaned back into the embrace with a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett’s deep voice resonated throughout Sam’s body.
Sam sighed again. He turned without breaking the hold in which Garrett held him. He looked deeply up into the eyes of the man he could no longer deny he had feelings for.
“I love you,” Sam said simply. When he said these words, however, he felt turmoil inside…
THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK
BY
TERRY O’REILLY
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC
http://www.AmberQuill.com AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2009 by Terry O’Reilly ISBN 978-1-60272-610-9 Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Drew Hunt, whose constant encouragement, friendship and love make my life all the richer.
CHAPTER 1
SMALL HAWK
“See! You believe me now that you see with your own eyes?” Fox Cub whispered to his friend, Small Hawk.
Small Hawk’s breath caught in his throat. Astonished, he looked into the clearing from his hiding place among the bushes. There he saw three men from the village—-men he knew, all naked.
“I’m ready,” said White Wolf as he pushed Lean Bear, who turned, bent over and put his arms around a small tree.
White Wolf stepped forward and rubbed the tip of his erect penis, hood retracted, against the crevice of the bending man’s butt.
Small Hawk shivered.
“Hurry up,” called Short Bull, who stood a bit apart, watching and stroking himself. Small Hawk saw a glint of silver as a strand of fluid that had emerged from Short Bull’s hard cock, stretched and descended to the ground. “If you don’t, I’ll finish before I get my turn.”
“Patience, brother,” White Wolf retorted with a laugh. “Put your hands on your head and stop pleasuring yourself. You’ll get your chance.”
Small Hawk felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was embarrassed. He glanced at his friend. Both boys were breathing hard.
Small Hawk turned back to the scene before him, just in time to see White Wolf thrust forward and impale Lean Bear on his turgid shaft. Lean Bear let out a gasp and then a low growl. The boy watched, fascinated, as the man thrust himself backward against the invading pole.
“Yes, White Wolf, yes.” His voice was a growl. Short Bull whooped as White Wolf grabbed Lean Bear by the hips and roughly thrust himself in and out of the man. Occasionally he would slap the sides of the man’s butt and laugh. When he did this, Lean Bear made sounds that let the boy know he was receiving immense pleasure from the actions of the brave penetrating him.
After several minutes, White Wolf yelled, “I-I-I” and slammed himself against Lean Bear. Stout Bull grunted as if encouraging him. White Wolf then began a frantic undulation, rocking his partner almost off his feet. He then collapsed onto Lean Bear’s back; Small Hawk thought both men would fall to the ground.
White Wolf steadied himself against the tree, then backed away. Lean Bear had barely stood up, when Short Bull charged forward and pushed the brave’s head down and thrust himself inside with a deep growl. After only a few strokes, however, he pulled himself out and turned Lean Bear around, pushing him to his knees. Lean Bear grabbed hold of the brave’s thighs and engulfed his manhood in his mouth.
Small Hawk’s eyes widened in amazement. Fox Cub let out a gasp. As the boys watched, Lean Bear sucked and licked the thick erection. Short Bull pulled out of Lean Bear’s mouth and began to stroke himself, causing the foreskin to slide back and forth, exposing its glistening head. He let out a roar of pleasure and began to spurt milky white liquid into the open mouth and onto the face of the man kneeling before him. Small Hawk watched in disbelief.
“His seed,” Fox Cub whispered.
The two standing men pulled Lean Bear to his feet. They cuffed the man on the head. Then they picked up their breechclouts, put them on and walked off into the forest, laughing, without a backward glance at the man they had just used for their pleasure.
Small Hawk felt a wave of sorrow for the man who was now left standing alone and naked in the clearing. As he watched, Lean Bear walked to the tree to which he had clung only a few minutes before. Leaning against the trunk, he began to stroke his now flaccid penis back to hardness. He accomplished this in a few strokes, and in a few more, he raised his head, closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. Strings of the white fluid, which Fox Cub had identified as seed, flew from the tip, coated his hands and landed on the ground.
After leaning against the tree for a few more seconds, Lean Bear stood. He wiped his face with his seed-coated hand, collecting that which Short Bull had issued and mixed it with his own. He then set about cleaning his hand with his tongue.
How can he do that? Small Hawk thought.
The man then retrieved his garments and followed the same path the others had taken back to the village.
Fox Cub and Small Hawk crept out of the bushes. Fox Cub trotted to the base of the tree and kneeled down. He hesitantly bent to smell the issue that lay on the ground. He wrinkled his nose and spit.
“Ugh!” he said in disgust.
The boy then picked up a stick and poked the end of it into the pool of seed. He pointed the stick at Small Hawk.
“You want to try some?” he asked, laughing.
“No,” Small Hawk shouted.
Fox Cub laughed and threw the stick away. “You want to try what White Wolf did?” he said in a teasing voice, pulling his loincloth aside and thrusting his hips.
For a moment, the desire to assent to the suggestion surged through his body. But once again, Small Hawk refused. “No, you’re crazy. Of course I don’t.”
Fox Cub laughed and adjusted his garment. “Well, now you see. I told you Lean Bear was a squaw inside a man.”
“Yes, I see,” said Small Hawk, shaking his head. “I feel sorry for him.”
“Sorry?” Fox Cub echoed. “Why? My father says some men are born that way and it is how they get their pleasure—by giving pleasure to other men in need.”
“Will he ever marry? Have a fam
ily? Find love?”
“Why would he want that? He’s different. This is the life he wants. He does not need love. Love is for a man with a woman, not a man with a man.”
The boys walked back to the village. Fox Cub continued to talk about what they had seen that day. Small Hawk only grunted in response. He was lost in thought.
What he had witnessed had excited him. He had wanted to pleasure himself as he did at times when he thought of his mother and father making love in the lodge. Many nights he lay awake listening and watching the silhouettes in the dying firelight. How different that act was from what he had just seen: the gentle tenderness, the whispered endearments, satisfied sighs after the act was over. Was Lean Bear never to have this? Small Hawk shook his head. He did feel sorry for the man. Being a squaw inside a man was not something good.
When they returned to the village, the boys parted company. Small Hawk hesitated at the turn that would take him to his lodge. Instead of turning toward his home, he took the way that lead to Lean Bear’s dwelling. When his destination came into view, he slowed down. Why had he come this way? Why did he want to see Lean Bear again? He stopped a short distance away from the man’s home. Lean Bear was just coming out of the lodge. He carried a bowl Small Hawk knew was filled with his evening meal. Lean Bear squatted next to his cooking fire and began to hang strips of meat on the spit.
Small Hawk dropped his eyes. Lean Bear had no wife to prepare his meal. He had to do women’s work. Small Hawk knew that only on long hunts would a man prepare his own meal. His feelings of sadness for this man increased.
He walked on past the lodge. As he did, Lean Bear looked up and saw him. He waved.
Embarrassed he had been caught staring at the man, Small Hawk lowered his eyes and raised his hand to return the greeting. Lean Bear rose from the fire to return to his lodge. Small Hawk looked back over his shoulder. What he saw caused him to stop and look once more. Lean Bear wore a breechclout that left most of his butt exposed. The boy had never noticed this before. He turned and continued on his way home.
* * * Small Hawk sat by the side of the lodge watching his mother and sisters preparing the evening meal for the family. Sky Eyes, as the tribe called his mother, was a white woman. Her Indian name, as the boy knew, was attributed to the deep vivid blue of her eyes. She had shared her story with Small Hawk and his sisters. Her white man’s name was Martha Hawkins. She had been brought here as a prisoner of Chief Kikusgowlowa. The chief and his people had passed through this village as they moved beyond the big river from their home in the east to escape the encroachment of the whites.
Small Hawk’s father, River Runs Deep, had told the boy how he had been attracted to her the moment he first saw her. Since he was the son of the chief of Small Hawk’s people, an exchange was readily arranged and the white woman, along with two horses, had been traded for fox and beaver furs, deerskins and a large number of finely made bows and arrows.
River Runs Deep took her as his wife immediately. Small Hawk was glad his father had made no objection to her teaching him and his sisters English, making them aware of their white heritage, and reading to them from her God’s book. He found the stories of the white man’s life interesting. Small Hawk often teased his mother about her being part of a bargain that included two horses.
“Mother?” Small Hawk asked in English when his sisters had entered the lodge.
“Yes, Samuel?” she replied using the white man’s name she had given him.
He did not reply at once. She stopped her meal preparations and looked to where he was sitting.
“What is it, Samuel? Is something troubling you?”
Small Hawk hesitated. He did not know how to bring up the disturbing thoughts of what he had witnessed earlier that day. Finally he said, “Lean Bear wears a garment which allows everyone to see him from behind. Why does he do this?”
Sky Eyes seemed surprised. “Why do you ask me this?” she said.
Small Hawk was fearful. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it is all right,” his mother reassured him. “I did not expect a question like this from you so soon.”
“I am nearly thirteen summers,” the boy said, standing as if to emphasize the point.
She came around the cooking fire and laid an arm on his shoulder. “Yes, I forget sometimes how old you are. You will soon be a man and go on your vision quest. It is time for you to know some things a grown man should.”
Small Hawk smiled at her. He was almost as tall as she was. This pleased him.
“But,” she said, “I would rather your father explain about Lean Bear. His people look upon such as him differently than do the people from which I came.”
“How is that, my mother?”
She bit her lower lip, as if not sure she should speak of these matters. “According to the book of my God—”
“The Bible?” the boy interrupted.
“Yes, the Bible,” she continued. “People such as Lean Bear were called an abomination in the sight of God and were to be put to death.”
Small Hawk was taken aback. “Do you believe this?”
“I am of your people now. I accept many things I never would have when I lived among white men. Although, I must confess, sometimes it is still difficult for me.”
“So, you do not think Lean Bear is an abom… abom…”
“Abomination.”
“Yes, an abomination?”
“I do not know. I only know my God’s Bible says he is, and the God of this people does not seem to think so. And, as I said, I am now of this people. You must talk of this with your father.”
* * * For two days, Small Hawk vacillated between ignoring his desire to know more about the life of Lean Bear and seeking out his father to ask of it. During that time, he found excuses to walk past the lodge of the man who was now the center of his curiosity. Several times, he had seen Lean Bear. One time he was talking with White Wolf. They were laughing and joking with one another. Small Hawk wondered how they could do this so normally when they had done what he had witnessed in the forest.
On another occasion, he saw Spirit of the Tree and Lean Bear leave the village together in the direction of the clearing where he and Fox Cub had hidden and watched Lean Bear and the braves. His small penis grew hard at the memory. He was tempted to follow them, but he resisted.
On the third day, River Runs Deep called to him as he was leaving the lodge. “Small Hawk.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Get two spears and the fish basket. Today we go to the river to find our dinner.”
The boy ran to the side of the lodge and procured the requested items. He always felt proud when his father asked him to accompany him on man’s work. The younger boys stayed behind to help their mothers, but as a boy grew, his father began to take over his instruction. Today was such a day.
The path to the river came very close to the place where Small Hawk had watched the men have their way with Lean Bear. It reminded the boy of his intent to talk to his father about the man with whom he had become fascinated. He would wait until his instruction in fishing was done.
Father and son hid in the rushes and watched a heron as it stood majestically in the shallows. It looked to Small Hawk more like a statue than a living thing. Every so often it would lift one leg, balance for a time, and then take a slow, careful measured step.
“See how still Brother Heron stands, Small Hawk?” his father whispered. “Observe him carefully. He will teach you to fish.”
The boy watched. The bird’s head moved slightly to one side, then, with lightning speed, his beak darted into the water and came up with a wriggling silver fish.
Swallowing his prey, the bird resumed his statue-like stance to await his next victim.
“You see?” said his father. “Brother Heron waits with patience until his quarry is near, then strikes with speed.”
Small Hawk nodded.
“Now we will try.”
Wading out of the ru
shes, the two startled their teacher, who took flight. River Runs Deep held up his hand for his son to stop. The man took two more steps and stood still, with the spear raised to his shoulder. After several minutes, the thrust of his father’s arm startled Small Hawk. The man pulled the spear up out of the river and their first catch of the day was secured. Small Hawk was proud.
After spearing several more fish, River Runs Deep motioned for the boy to come forward. It was his turn to try. His first attempts failed. His father told him he must aim below where he thought the fish might be, as the water spirit played tricks on the eyes and made one think the fish was where it was not. Small Hawk tried again and whooped with delight when he pulled a small bass from the water. He turned to look at his father, who beamed with pride.
At the end of the morning of fishing, they pulled their basket of fresh fish from the water and strolled back to the village. Small Hawk decided it was time to ask River Runs Deep about Lean Bear. He also decided it was better not to let his father know he had observed the man with White Wolf and Stout Bull.
“Father, there is a brave in the village named Lean Bear. He does not dress as the other braves. Why is this?”
River Runs Deep did not respond right away. He walked silently beside his son for some time before stopping near a fallen tree. He motioned to the boy to come and sit with him on the trunk. “Lean Bear is not a brave.”
“Not a brave?” repeated the boy. He had not expected this. Weren’t all grown men braves?
“No, he is ikoueta, a squaw inside a man. He will never be a brave.”
Never be a brave? Small Hawk thought. That is awful. A man who can never be a brave. “Why is that, my father? He seems to be a man of strength and power.”
“He looks like other men on the outside, but inside he has the soul of a woman. He is of two spirits.”
Small Hawk did not speak. He tried to think of what it must be like to be both man and woman. He could not fathom it.
Finally he asked, “Why does he wear his breechclout as he does, so his butt shows like a small child’s?”
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