LITMIR.BIZ

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curves.

      Raven knew that more than one woman objected to her hunting, but they never said so to her face and they did not turn down the meat. As for the men, her position as the chief’s daughter insured that she had no shortage of suitors, just a shortage of suitors who interested her. Hunting and riding were more appealing.

      Now she sought to catch her older brother, Bright Arrow, who had somehow managed to leave camp without her knowing. His stealth was only one of the qualities that she admired. Up ahead the party of warriors turned at the sound of her approach. There was Little Badger, Turns Too Slowly and her brother. Little Badger grinned with pleasure at her appearance, but her brother did not. In fact, he did not even slow his big blue roan stallion, Hail. It was only now, when she drew close, that she saw her brother did not carry his bow, but his lance. Were they raiding already?

      “I could have shot you,” said Turns Too Slowly, realizing belatedly that he had not even reached for his bow.

      “What are you doing, Raven?” Bright Arrow asked, his voice so stern he reminded her of their father, Six Elks.

      “I thought you were hunting elk,” she said, already aware of her mistake.

      Her offer was met with silence. Finally Turns Too Slowly spoke.

      “This is no hunt.”

      “We are scouting for Sioux,” said Little Badger.

      Her eyes widened and excitement and fear rolled in her belly until they were blended like berry juice in water. She had not seen a Sioux snake since the attack when she was only seven.

      “Have you seen any?”

      Her brother raised his hand, halting Little Badger, who was about to answer.

      Her brother’s scowl deepened. “This is their territory. It is wise to be certain we are alone. If they are here we must prepare to fight.”

      Was that a yes or a no?

      “Did Father send you?”

      “Go home, Little Warrior.” Her brother now made her childhood name sound like an insult.

      She stayed where she was, toying with the leather fringe on the pommel she had made with the help of her grandmother, Truthful Woman. “I will help you scout.”

      “You will not.”

      Since word had come of the raids against their people by the Sioux, he was not so forgiving of her insistence to leave the camp.

      “I can track game better than Little Badger and hear better than Turns Too Slowly,” she said, unable to keep the belligerence from her voice.

      “And ride better than all three of us, I suppose,” said Turns Too Slowly.

      “Yes.”

      Turns Too Slowly gestured toward camp. “So prove it by riding that way.”

      Her brother was more to the point. “Do you know what they do to female captives?” he asked. His voice held a note of irritation. She knew. The enemy would disgrace her, take her freedom, give her all the hardest work and worst food. Still, she lifted her chin. “I am not afraid of the snake people. I would kill them first.”

      “Brave words, but better still, ride home where you are safe,” he said. His tone changed, now quiet, respectful with just a note of desperation. “If you are here, I have to worry over your safety.”

      She wished they could stay in their mountains instead of moving east into the territory of the Sioux with the endless grass. But the whites had built a fort and then sickness had taken so many. Her father, their chief, had moved them here, thinking it better to face an enemy they could see.

      She looked over her shoulder at the way she had come. Back there she knew the women were tending cooking fires, gathering wood and gutting fish caught on the trawl lines. She looked forward at the blue lake glimmering through the trees and the forest thick with brush.

      Her heart tugged, whispering for her to ride.

      “We will take you back,” he said, turning his horse.

      She did not want to be escorted to camp like some wandering child. She could take care of herself. Hadn’t she killed a deer, elk and pronghorn? Hadn’t she skinned them and dressed them and carried them home over her horse’s withers?

      Bright Arrow did not wait for her to reply but pressed his horse forward.

      As he passed her, he said, “You’ll be safe there.”

      She did not want to be safe. She wanted to be a warrior like her brother. His hands were tough and smelled of leather, instead of stinking of fish.

      “I’ll take her,” said Little Badger.

      Bright Arrow eyed his fellow. “And leave us one weaker?”

      She suspected that this was not the only reason her brother said no. Ever since Bright Arrow had caught Little Badger trying to put his hand up her dress, he had not left any of his friends alone with her. It was just as well. She liked the sensation of a warrior’s touch, but would not let anyone lift her dress. She was a woman of virtue, not some Sioux captive to be used by anyone.

      Still, her stubbornness had limits. She would not leave her brother with one less warrior on her account, especially if the Sioux were near. But with the sun streaming through the yellow leaves and the wind still blowing warm as summer, it was hard to think of danger.

      “Have you seen any Sioux?” she asked.

      Her brother shook his head.

      “Then, I will find my own way home.”

      Before he could object, she wheeled about, urging her horse to rear before bounding off the way she had come.

      She heard the sound of hooves beating the ground behind her. A glance back showed Bright Arrow in fast pursuit with his comrades close behind. He was an impressive sight at full gallop, with his long hair streaming out behind him and the fringe of his saddle, sleeves and leggings all fluttering in the wind. His breastplate, made of a series of cylindrical white beads, beat against his chest with the rhythm of his horse’s hooves.

      In his hair were tied the two notched eagle feathers he had earned stealing horses and facing the Sioux in battle. She wished women could earn such honors, but although she could ride and shoot and throw a lance, she would never have the chance to earn a feather with an act of courage—kill an enemy, sustain a wound, steal a horse. Women did not do such things.

      A woman’s courage was quiet and went unsung. There were no feathers for bearing a child or making a lodge. Yet she still dreamed of the ceremony where her father, the chief, presented her with a coup feather.

      Behind her, Bright Arrow leaned low over his horse’s neck trying to catch up. They never would. Song was too fast. There were no two better riders in the entire Low River tribe than her and her brother.

      It seemed that all the warriors would accompany her home, which was very bad, because it meant that Bright Arrow planned to speak to their father. She needed to get there first. She needed to explain that she loved the scent of the wind and hated the stench of fish. He would listen. Since her mother’s passing, he always listened.

      Raven lowered herself flat to her horse’s neck and gave Song her head. They fairly flew over the ground.

      As she tore over the animal trail, she noticed a tan-colored lump lying in the path. A fawn, she thought as Song snorted and jumped the tiny obstacle. Raven gaped when she saw that the carcass was a village dog with one arrow sticking from its ribs. At a glance she recognized that the fletching on the shaft was not like the ones of her people.

      The hairs on her neck rose.

      Raven opened her mouth to scream a warning to her brother, but another scream filled the air, farther away, one coming from their fishing camp. Her brother straightened in his saddle and then did something she had never seen him do. He slapped his open hand on his horse’s broad

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