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It didn’t take long for the Lakota warrior to reach the lone tipi, and after dismounting his horse, Dancing Wolf walked forward. On reaching his father’s dwelling he pulled back the door flap, then entered the lodge and offered a greeting.
“Hello, father.” Nodding lightly, he saw the older man sipping a beverage, which was held in a buffalo horn cup.
“You are here,” his father said, eyeing his son with a focused gaze.
“Have I not always come whenever you call?”
Sitting across from his dad, the Lakota warrior caught the scent of chokecherry tea, which was a favorite of his father’s.
“You have,” his father agreed. “But this woman I have seen in your mind, has your heart in a way that makes it hard for you to part from her.”
“You are my father and I will always come,” he replied. “Your call will never go unanswered.”
The nod his father gave, told Dancing Wolf he appreciated his son’s loyalty. Then nodding towards a clay pot over the fire pit, he let his son know he was welcome to share.
“Tea is good and hot, if you want it.”
Dancing Wolf did, so he served a portion, sipping it from a buffalo horn of his own.
“How are you, father?” He asked. “Do you still cry for mother, or is your heart finally healing?”
“The crying remains,” his dad said. “But everyday is a little easier to handle.”
Pleased to hear, Dancing Wolf nodded. “We all want very much for you to return, but I have told the people you have a year to mourn, before coming back to live in the village.”
“And I will not be back before then,” his father affirmed. “This time on my own is good, as mourning around others is too hard for me.”
“I understand.”
Both sipped their tea for a few moments, allowing a comfortable and contented silence to grow. But as Dancing Wolf’s gaze came to rest on a bow and arrow beside his father, he couldn’t help noticing it was impeccably made. Having always constructed them with the upmost skill, he immediately knew that his father had been busy at fashioning the weapon.
“It is yours.” Knowing exactly where his son’s gaze had landed, the older man reached for the handcrafted item, then held it out for his son to take.
Placing aside the buffalo horn which held his tea, Dancing Wolf accepted the gift. Made from beautifully smooth wood that had been stripped from dogwood shoot, the shaft was incredibly sturdy, with a razor- sharp arrow head. Firmly secured with a stand of deer leg sinew, the arrow gleamed proudly and was ready for use. Eagle wing feathers made up the fletch, which was a fin-shaped part of the shaft, that would aerodynamically stabilize its flight.
The amount of work that it took to create the weapon was considerable, so Dancing Wolf could only humbly hold it in his hands. Uncertain of what he had done to even deserve it, he lifted his gaze to his father’s face. Clearly enjoying his son’s expression, the older male gently smiled.
“You will hunt on your way back to the village,” his father said. “And you will bring back a deer that is nice and fat.”
It was customary for his dad to sometimes see ahead in a spiritual way, so the Lakota warrior wasn’t surprised at all by this declaration.
“I did bring an arrow with me,” he said. “So I will not use this gift, until my old one wears out.”
“You will use this arrow that I have given you,” he firmly stated. “And when you return to the camp with the deer I told you about, the woman your heart beats for, will see how well you can provide.”
Smiling softly at this, Dancing Wolf dipped his head, as he knew that his father was well aware of the strong feelings he had for his lady.
“I have named her Wanahca,” he told his dad. “The old way that we called her, was made by a white man who called himself master.
“I know her name,” he told his son. “But I will not speak it, until she sits right across from me.”
“So you wish to meet her…” Tone filled with hope, Dancing Wolf looked excitedly at his dad.
“The time is not right yet, but one day, yes.” He gently nodded.
Both taking a moment to sip their chokecherry tea, they took in the taste of the health-giving fruit. The flavor wasn’t exactly Dancing Wolf’s favorite, but along with purifying the blood, it also provided lots of energy. Canpa-hu was the name for the berry in his language, and translated to, bitter wood stem. It wasn’t long before Dancing Wolf felt his father’s eyes watching him closely, and meeting his gaze, Dancing Wolf looked back.
“You want her as your wife,” his father began in a matter-of-fact tone. “But will you not take a second one, as well?”
“I won’t.” He quickly replied. “Wanahca is beautiful, with the gentleness of a deer. And she will be more than able to take care of my every need.”
“There was a time when you desired to have Ten Beaver Woman, too,” the older man inquired.
“Ten Beaver Woman is easy to look at, but would not make a good wife for me.”
A questioning look came into his father’s gaze, causing Dancing görükle escort Wolf to elaborate.
“Her eyes are not faithful. They go from warrior to warrior, and that makes me feel very unspecial.”
And this one that you captured, she is different?”
“Yes.” He said it firmly, without the slightest hesitation. “Her eyes watch me only, and I have felt that her heart beats for me in way, that it does not for other men in the camp.”
“This is good.” His father nodded. “But do you think she will bear you healthy children?”
The Lakota warrior nodded. “And when I claimed her womb, I immediately knew that it was fruitful.”
“You have claimed it already?” His father looked surprised.
“Should I have waited, so that another could do it instead? She is beautiful to look at, works hard at her womanly duties, and is learning out culture well. Why wait, when I am already certain that I want her as mine?”
Not having an answer to counter his son’s, the older male could only nod, while thoughtfully gazing into the distance.
“Then you are right to have done it,” he stated. “I just know there are several women in the camp, who have been hoping you will court them.”
“They hope no more, as they have seen me with Wanahca. We are happy together, and learning more of each other every day.”
“It makes my heart glad to hear this,” said his father. “You need a good woman to take care of you and your lodge, as your sister has a family of her own, and is very busy.”
Thinking on this for a few moments, Dancing Wolf came to realize that she was always busy doing some sort of task. But having always been selfless with an incredibly nurturing spirit, she would never let him know if it became too much.
Looking back down at his bow and arrow, the young Lakota warrior smoothed a palm over the wood, admiring how nice and smooth it was. Then glancing back up, he regarded his father.
“I would like to go hunting with you.”
“Then we will go tomorrow, just after sunrise.”
Liking that idea very much, he grew eager for the morning to come. He couldn’t wait to try out his brand new bow and arrow, as he already knew without a doubt that it would yield him some very good kills. His father’s skill in bow making was unparalleled to any others in their village, and his ability to take down a target was nothing short of masterful. Dancing Wolf had barely been old enough to stand, when his first bow and arrow had been put into his palms. But even now, after all these years, he still couldn’t surpass the grace and finesse that his father had with the weapon.
Possessing a deep respect for his father, Dancing Wolf knew better than to even try and compete, as the older man had put him to shame on many hunting trips. But he would sharpen his skill with continued practice, and it was a fond desire of his, to one day be as sharply skilled as his father.
Still gazing in admiration at the bow and arrow in his hand, the Lakota warrior could feel a spiritual power which lingered within it. Not wanting to let the weapon go, he continued to hold it, then spoke some words in a tone that was hopeful and eager.
“I would like to hear the story…” he began. “The one of grandfather when he was a boy, and how the bear spoke to him while he was out hunting.”
Having told the story to his son since he was a young boy, Dancing Wolf’s father could only smile, then began the tale which would be passed down forever.
Listening intently as if hearing it for the very first time, Dancing Wolf listened with open and eager ears. Bonding as father and son, they engaged in a rich oral tradition that would never die off.
* * * *
The rain came down lightly as the horse cantered along, moving at a pace slower than a gallop, yet fast enough to close the distance ahead. Lightly misting the foliage surrounding them in the forest, the drops of water gave off a clean, natural scent. Riding bareback on Kills Many Enemies, Dancing Wolf held onto the animal’s silky mane. It wasn’t a tight grip yet loose and relaxed, as he was an experienced rider who had a horse that he completely trusted.
Skill, balance, and coordination were key in riding without a saddle, all of which Dancing Wolf possessed in spades. Enjoying the fresh, earthy scent of the rains which came down, he tuned into the sights and sounds which were all around him. The rustle of animals could be heard as they took cover in the underbrush, and the scent of pine trees hung heavy in the air. The feel of rain kissing his skin was incredibly gratifying, a soft, gentle touch that came straight from The Great Spirit.
The visit with his father had been very good, and after sleeping over for three nights, he’d taken off and back towards the village. He’d only been riding a couple of minutes when his spirit told him to take a detour, and noticing an area just ahead where the trees were less thickly packed in, he gave the signal for Kills Many Enemies to go quicker.
With immediacy the horse did, bursa escort bayan going into a gallop that was steady and controlled. Exhilarated by the speed at which his favorite horse moved, the Hunkpapa warrior enjoyed the ride. Fully misted by raindrops, both man and animal were at one, adrenaline moving through their systems as they zipped along.
Completely in his element, Dancing Wolf scouted the land just ahead, and after determining the exact spot, let Kills Many Enemies reduce his pace. Going from gallop to trot, the horse continued to the area where the Lakota warrior told him, then finally came to a stop once they had reached it. After dismounting the animal, Dancing Wolf gazed off into the foliage, until fixing his sight on movement between the trees.
Locking right in on a white-tailed deer, he knew it was offering itself up as food. Returning to the village empty handed was not something Dancing Wolf ever did, as it would tell others he was unable to provide, and therefore of no value as a Lakota man. Along with wanting to give provision to the entire tribe, he very much needed Wanahca to know of his ability to go on a hunt all alone.
This would remind her that he was not only a high-value man, but fearless and perfectly competent in providing the nourishment of food, as well as the hides which kept them warm in cold weather. Hunting alone was a skill he was proud of, and it also kept up his proficiency in big-game hunting.
Withdrawing bow and arrow from the animal hide case slung over his shoulder, Dancing Wolf zeroed in on his target. Moving stealthily and in a way so as to not alert the animal, he positioned himself at just the right angle, then went totally still in preparation of the shot.
Barely breathing and frozen in place, he patiently waited, aligning with the environment which surrounded him. With left hand gripping the arrow shaft that his own father had crafted, Dancing Wolf could feel the lightning shaped grooves which had been carved into its surface. Lightning served as a symbol of power, so the arrow would fly farther and straighter, ensuring the take down of the animal in his sights.
A full minute passed before he felt in his spirit that it was time, and on releasing the arrow, it whizzed through the air and straight into the deer. Hurrying over to see his kill, Dancing Wolf saw it was taking the last few breaths, and after sprinkling a pinch of tobacco over it, said a prayer in thanks of its self-sacrifice.
Lifting the animal with a deep respect and tenderness, Dancing Wolf slung it over his shoulder, then headed for Kills Many Enemies, who patiently waited for his return. Nice and fat just like his father had told him, the doe was carefully loaded onto the horse’s back, and after ensuring it would stay put, Dancing Wolf was ready to head off and back towards camp.
But before he did, he desired a run, and gaze shifting to a particular hill, he felt a warmth spread through his heart. The hill had a special significance to him, as he’d raced up and down it many times with his brother, who was now in spirit. Always wanting to keep up his speed and endurance, the steep incline allowed him to build more muscle and increase his fortitude. It also couldn’t hurt to keep up his great physique, as he knew Wanahca admired his body, and loved touching the hard contours of bone and sinew which made up his tall frame.
Rather than run in human form he preferred to do it in wolf, as there was something particularly exhilarating about racing the hill in his canine body. The breechcloth he wore was quickly untied and tossed to the ground, followed by his moccasins, which he kicked off. Immediately shifting, he morphed, transforming into the structure of his wolf. Smooth reddish-tan skin became thick grey-white fur, and once all limbs and strong muzzle were fully formed too, he quickly dashed off.
Heading for the steep bluff which would work his muscles, Dancing Wolf ran with impressive speed, his enormous paws hardly touching the sodden ground. Heart strong and healthy, his webbed feet gave him traction and grip, so that the slippery leaves and moss beneath him were effortless to run on. Wind whistled in his ears as an adrenaline rush sped through him, and completely elated and fully in the moment, he began to take on the incline.
Suddenly and without any warning something snapped over his left paw, and the jubilation he felt was quickly replaced with one of great dread. Pain slammed through his body with incredible force, and a loud yip of pain came from his muzzle. Brought to a violent halt he flipped over, tumbling onto his back with an audible thump.
Muscles rigid with stress and heart hammering from shock, Dancing Wolf knew immediately that he had been caught. But by what, he just didn’t understand. Spots clouded his vision, making it blurry and hard to see, as the pain was so immense that his eyes had started to water.
Gaze shifting toward the paw which had been captured, he saw it was enclosed in a steel-jawed bursa escort trap. Not even able to move it an inch, Dancing Wolf was confined to that immediate spot.
Leaves and dirt clung to him, bits of mud caking his beautiful coat. But then he felt blood pooling around his paw, and staring hard at the monstrous contraption which held him captive, he let out a growl and began to struggle. Mustering all the strength that he had, he did his best to force the thing off him. But as the teeth of the trap slid even deeper into his flesh, he immediately halted his movement, then let out a howl of utter distress.
No fear was felt but there was incredibly intense anger, and knowing he was locked in from all corners, caused a heat to flush throughout his body. How could it have happened that he had not seen this coming? And why had he not smelled those who made this trap? He should have felt them, caught a scent, or seen some kind of sign that would have tipped him off. Yet instead here he was, taken down and held prisoner when he should have been free.
Feeling weak and like a failure, Dancing Wolf felt a shame that he couldn’t shake off. He was a warrior not a captive, and knowing he’d been enslaved so easily by something he should have evaded, caused his body to tense with anger. Shifting wouldn’t be easy to do while under stress of this immensity, and the blinding pain that he felt made it hard to do anything beyond fight for his life.
Then suddenly he saw them, coming out from between the trees which had hidden them well. The scent they carried was like the nature around them, which fully explained why he had not known they were there. The first man was a short European, dressed fully in animal hides which had fringes along the hem.
The second one, who was a pale face as well, had on canvas pants with a pullover hunting shirt. Also in attendance was a third male, who looked similar to Dancing Wolf, with a skin tone that nearly matched the one of his very own people.
Shocked to see that one of his apprehenders was a man of Native descent, Dancing Wolf locked eyes with the warrior. Taking note of his features, he knew that this man was not a Lakota, but of another tribe. And from what he could tell, most likely Crow.
All three of the men held rifles on the wolf, barrels pointed directly at the rage-filled animal. Snarling fiercely, Dancing Wolf bared his teeth, showing off the razor-sharp edges. But the men only smirked at him, emboldened by the weapons in their hands which gave them protection.
“That beeswax and blood we covered the traps with sure did the trick.” The one who said this was the man who wore canvas pants, and Dancing Wolf saw there was a scar along the length of his cheek.
“Covers human scent,” the Native man told him.
“Magnificent looking bastard, isn’t he?” The one who was short in stature admired the wolf.
“He’s a big one,” said the man with a scar along his cheek. “Impressive beast.”
“He’ll make a nice coat,” the Crow man said. “Should fetch a high price, how thick it is.”
“Glossy, too,” the short man stated.
Not able to understand English, Dancing Wolf could only guess at what the mountain men were saying, but the expressions on their faces and tones they used towards him, told him everything he needed to know. They feared, yet admired him all at the same time. And the way they were eyeing the fur which covered his body, told him they had trapped him in order to harvest it.
“I’ll take the shot.” Lifting his rifle to get Dancing Wolf right in his sights, the mountain man with the scar on his cheek was fully ready.
“Don’t,” the Crow warrior said, who now focused in hard on Dancing Wolf.
“Why?” Brows furrowing, the white man gazed at the Indigenous man, who seemed fixated on the canine in an unusual way.
Stepping nearer, the Crow warrior got good and close, staring into the highly slanted, almond shaped eyes of the wild animal. Glaring right back, Dancing Wolf gave him a look of fiery hatred, then growled threateningly from deep in his throat. But the Crow man only tipped his head, gazing with so much focus, he seemed to look deep into the wolf’s very soul.
He knew what the wolf was, it was apparent in his eyes, and as Dancing Wolf realized that the man had sensed he was a shifter, his feeling of being on edge increased even further. Outfitted in an animal hide top, leggings with a belt, and pair of moccasins, the Native hunter definitely had the features of one who belonged to the Crow.
Fierce enemies of one another, the Crow and Lakota would never be friends, as the previous winter had been a time when thirty Lakota had been massacred by the Crow. The deaths had been quickly avenged, with Dancing Wolf leading a war party into a Crow camp with fifty tipis. Thirty young warriors had been taken from the Lakota, so it was only fair that their retaliation took the very same number from the Crow. And ever since then, both sides had known they could never come together as allies.
The Crow man knew he was a shifter. Dancing Wolf saw this. And as the Crow man’s gaze pierced hard into the wolf’s, his lips curled into a nasty, hateful sneer. He knew. Dancing Wolf could tell. And then quietly, just below his breath, the Crow man spoke some words.
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