A strange look came into Spirit of the Big Water’s eyes. “Soaring Hawk? You not white man?”
“No. Well, yes. My mother is white; my father is an Indian.”
“Mmmm,” Spirit of the Big Water said nodding, the smile on his face broadening. “Welcome to land of Tillamook, Land of Many Waters. Come, we take Kamooks to house.”
Soaring Hawk gathered his things together. With the man’s help, he placed Wolf on the buffalo robe. With Spirit of the Big Water in front and Soaring Hawk behind, the men lifted the robe and carried the dog. As they walked along a trail that led into the forest, Soaring Hawk studied the man who had saved Wolf. He was of small stature, slender, but with a defined musculature. He seemed to be younger than himself. He wore almost no clothing and was barefoot. Soaring Hawk wondered at the way he had revived Wolf. He also wondered about the mysterious manner in which he had responded to learning Soaring Hawk’s name.
After a short time, they came to a clearing. There was a house made of wood, decorated with paintings and carvings. Before the dwelling stood a totem pole. They carried Wolf into the house.
Laying the dog on the floor, Spirit of the Big Water probed the fire in the center of the house. It burst into flame as he placed a log on the embers. As the firelight illuminated the walls, Soaring Hawk saw more paintings.
The man offered the dog water. He ran his hands over the animal’s body once more. He patted his head and accepted the licks of gratitude for his kindness.
“He be well soon. Just need rest. Sit,” he said to Soaring Hawk.
The men sat on the floor.
“You live here alone?” Soaring Hawk asked. “You don’t have a village?”
“Yes, but I live apart. I am osabu…a healer. In Tillamook people, man who is osabu live alone, apart. People come for healing, for counsel.”
Here was the explanation of Wolf’s apparent healing at the touch of Spirit of the Big Water’s hands. This young man was one of the wise ones. It surprised Soaring Hawk that one so young could hold such high office in the tribe. All the healers he had known were older, some much older.
Soaring Hawk looked around, taking in more of his surroundings. He looked again at the young man seated across the fire from him. As the firelight played on his dark skin, Soaring Hawk could see he was handsome in a youthful way. He returned Soaring Hawk’s gaze with a warm smile, causing something to stir within the brave. The face he had tried to discern in the fire on the beach belonged to the man who now smiled at him through the flames.
* * * In the moonlight, Wolf gamboled through the breakers and ran along the shore of the ocean. Soaring Hawk and Spirit of the Big Water walked along the beach, arms around each other’s waists.
“It twelve moons since Wolf bring you to me,” said Spirit of the Big Water. In the semi-darkness of the moon’s reflection on the ocean, Soaring Hawk smiled as he watched the dog romping in the waves.
“Yes,” he said and leaned down to kiss his lover on the top of his head.
Spirit of the Big Water looked up at him. “You happy live among Tillamook?”
Soaring Hawk stopped and pulled Spirit of the Big Water into an embrace. “Yes, how could I not be happy?”
He knew his words were as if he’d spoken of a small puddle, whereas his love and the contentment he felt were as vast as the ocean. He had been welcomed by a people who respected and honored men who found love with other men, where they were not degraded as they were in his own village, or reviled and persecuted as in the white man’s world. But most importantly, he had found and fallen in love with the man with whom he would live out the rest of his days. Yes, his happiness was complete.
Soaring Hawk tightened his embrace, tilted the face of the man he held in his arms, and kissed Spirit of the Big Water tenderly. He felt his partner reacting to the kiss. He also responded, his manhood pressing against his mate’s abdomen.
“Let’s go home,” Soaring Hawk said. “I want to share my happiness with you. Wolf! Come!” he called to the dog.
The three climbed the bluff to where the house they now shared stood. As they strolled into the clearing, the moonlight shone on the totem pole standing before the entrance to the dwelling. On the day he and Wolf had arrived, he had not paid it much attention, but now, every time he passed it, his heart swelled and he filled with joy. For the pole had but four carvings—a black bear, a golden wolf, the waves of the sea and on the top, with wings spread as if in flight, a hawk. He reached up and took the pouch that hung around his neck and squeezed it gently.
The search, for Soaring Hawk, was over.
TERRY O’REILLY
Terry O’Reilly, a retired schoolteacher, lives in the Midwest. He began writing after retirement upon the encouragement of a friend. He has published several e-books and now embarks on a career with Amber Quill. When he is not writing, he takes care of his three dogs, works with animal rescue and successfully shows his American Quarter Horse.
To find out more about Terry and his writing, visit his website at: http://www.terry-oreilly.com
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