Running Wolf

He stopped very close. She had to tilt her head to look at him. He frightened her, this wolf of a man. But she also wondered if her fate would be better with this man than with any other among his warriors. Certainly it would be better than with the one who tried to strike her. The one she had knocked to the ground.

She smiled in satisfaction at the memory and heard his intake of breath.

She knew the possible fates that awaited her at his village. She knew that her test of endurance had only just begun. She lifted her bound hands between them, but kept herself from laying them on his chest.

“How are you called?” he asked.

His voice resonated in her, rumbling through her chest like a roll of thunder. She pressed her clasped hands to her chest, squeezing tight to hold on to her courage.

“Snow Raven.”

“That is not a name for a woman.” He frowned as he swept her with his gaze. “But it suits you, for you are not like any woman that I have ever met. You are causing trouble, you know. No one knows what to do with you. Some say you will steal a horse and run, but then we would catch you and you would die. Some say they would like to ride you as you rode that gray mare.”

That prospect frightened her more than death. She did not want to be debased and used in such a manner. She squeezed her eyes shut at the images now assaulting her mind.

“Ah,” he said. “So you do feel fear. For a time I thought you were immune to such emotions.”

She looked at him now. “A warrior does not admit to fear.”

“But a woman does. She cries and uses her tears to gather sympathy. Yet you do not.”

“Would that work?”

“It would make you less interesting. And you are very interesting.”

“I do not want your interest.”

He laughed. “Then, you should not have unseated one of my warriors. Who was the old woman?”

“My grandmother, Truthful Woman.”

“She will not be happy at your sacrifice.”

“She raised me and I love her. I could do no less.”

“Apparently you are alone in that, because none of the other women even slowed down. They ran like rabbits.”

“That is what they are expected to do. To flee, so the men can fight.”

“Yet you did not do so. So you are brave but not wise.”

Raven made no reply.

“You can ride and you carry a bow. Can you shoot?”

“I do not think I should tell you what I can do.”

“Hunt?”

She found herself nodding.

He smiled and her stomach twisted. His smile was dazzling, bright and beautiful, making him suddenly seem approachable and even more handsome. She gritted her teeth against the attraction. He was a Sioux snake, enemy to the Large-Beaked Bird people.

“I like to hunt,” he said. “I once brought down an elk with seven points.”

“Nine,” she said, and then pressed her joined hands before her mouth. Why had she told him that?

“Nine? I have never even seen an elk with nine points.”

“Because you stay in the grasses instead of venturing into the mountains.”

He nodded. “That is true, because this is Sioux land.” His smile was gone. “You left your mountains and ventured into our territory. We cannot allow that, Snow Raven. Your chief knew this and still he put your people in harm’s way.”

“My...chief is wise and brave.” Had she almost said her father? She must stop and think before she spoke. It was a skill all warriors cultivated. Yet she went blathering about with the first thing that popped into her head.

“Brave, yes. Just as you are. And you must continue to be brave when the women in my village welcome you.”

She looked at her bound hands. “Will you cut my bonds so I can defend myself?”

“No.”

Why had she thought he would?

“Because if you harm any of them, they will kill you.”

“So I am to let them beat me?”

“What choice do you have?”

She was about to say that he could prevent it. But she could not bring herself to ask his help.

“When?”

“Tomorrow by sunrise. I will put you on your horse but I will have to tie you to the saddle. Do not fall asleep.”

“I will not.”

He smiled again. “Very good, Snow Raven. Eat this.” He passed her a long piece of jerked meat. “Then go to the spring and drink all you can. We ride all night.”

He leaned down and untied the binding that held her feet together. She considered kicking him and running, but a glance told her that the other warriors watched the proceedings. They could not see their war chief now as he disappeared from their view into the tall grasses. But she had no chance of escape. The men had all the horses and running about like a prairie chicken was a waste of energy.

She did as he bid her, eating and then drinking. She even walked past the men on her return. Her horse nickered a greeting. She mounted unassisted and waited as Running Wolf tied her bound hands to the pommel of her saddle. She would not be able to drop to the ground and vanish in the darkness. At least the saddle was comfortable.

Her brother had made the wooden shell specifically to fit this horse and Snow Raven’s smaller frame. It had a high pommel and high cantle so she could hook her leg over the back of the saddle and hold the front while hanging on the side of her mount. This position was ideal for creeping up on deer. Her brother had taught her and said he used the same position to make it harder for the Sioux to shoot him from his horse. She and her grandmother had made the buckskin covering. She was especially proud of the series of brass tacks decorating the front pommel. Raven realized with some sorrow that this saddle, the buffalo-skin saddle blanket and the horse were no longer hers. She, herself, was no longer hers. From this day forward until the day she died or was rescued, she belonged to the enemy.

Running Wolf finished tying her, giving her enough lead that she could move her hands midway to her face. It was a boon that she did not deserve. She recalled her brother speaking of the capture of Sioux women. They ran behind the horses or were tied like meat behind the saddle. They were given no food and water. Until this moment she had seen nothing wrong with such treatment of enemies.

The party set out through the long grass. Raven already missed the forest they had left behind. She paid close attention to the path of the sun. She did not know how the warriors knew the way to their tribe, for the grass looked much the same in every direction. All about them was high buffalo grass and scrub brush and more grass. Rolling hills that stretched out to the setting sun.