Savage Courage

Except for two things, both sons, age two and three, were the exact image of their father. Panther Eyes, the younger, had much lighter skin, and his hair was light brown, which seemed to reflect that part of Storm that had been white, taken after his white mother’s side of the family.

But in all other respects, this son had his father’s noble-featured face, flashing dark eyes, and a frame that proved that one day he would be as muscled as his father.

As Shoshana waited for Storm to return home, she again thought about the past winter, how the ground had been transformed into huge carpets of white, and how, during the first fierce blizzard, the snow had piled up in the coulees and built strange mounds around any obstruction of brush or rock that stood in its path.

Inside their lodges, the people had relaxed and waited for spring. She had soon discovered that winter and blizzards were as much a part of the Apache people’s life as the pleasant days of summer.

At times like this, a man could visit with friends, tell stories, and reminisce about the past.

A woman could finish some intricate quillwork on a pair of moccasins, repair her husband’s leather shirt, or teach their children songs of their people’s past.

When the Apache people of the village ran short of firewood, the younger girls hunted and collected buffalo chips, which burned hot and quick—too quickly, but if their mother hung a bit of fat, suspended above the fire so that it slowly dripped on the dung, it made it last longer and created a better heat.

At night, when the fire burned low and then went out, everyone wrapped themselves snugly in their buffalo robes and stayed there until the morning fire cast its tongues of heat into every part of the lodge.

Shoshana had been amazed that first time, when even though on the coldest mornings, her husband, along with the other men, insisted on stripping to their breechclouts to go outside to rub snow on their bodies.

Trim, fat, and hardened by life in the outdoors, they had adjusted to the cold so they could more easily withstand the rigors of the hunt.

“My wife is so deep in thought she does not even realize that her husband has returned home for those special moments we spoke of before he went into council with his warriors?” Storm said, drawing Shoshana’s eyes quickly up at him as he stood over her, his eyes twinkling.

Seeing him there, knowing what he meant when he spoke of “special moments,” Shoshana placed her sewing aside and rose to her feet and twined her arms around his neck.

“I was thinking of how cold it has been this past winter,” she murmured. She giggled softly. “I was getting to the part in my thoughts that would have snuggled us together in our blankets after the children were asleep in their own.”

“I should have waited longer before coming to you, so that thinking about our private moments in our blankets, when the children were not aware of what we were doing, could heat up your insides like the flame on the wick of our lamps, so that you would be better prepared for our lovemaking today,” Storm said huskily, his arms sweeping around Shoshana’s tiny waist.

He was still amazed to see how tiny she was after bearing two children, whereas so many women remained thick in the middle.

“Do you truly believe that I need thoughts to ‘prepare’ me?” Shoshana teased. “My love, all I need is you, your hands, your mouth, your lips—”

“All are yours,” Storm said, softly interrupting her.

“Now?” Shoshana teased again, her eyes dancing into his.

“Yes, now, except first I wish to show you something very special,” he said. He reached a hand out for her. “Come. I want you to share the magic of the moment.”

Anxious to see what he was talking about, she moved eagerly to her feet and took his hand.

She went outside with him and walked to a slight hill beyond the village, where they had a good look at the river in the distance.

“They are still here,” Storm said, sliding an arm around her waist. “Now do you see why I call it magic?”

She gasped with delight as she looked and saw what Storm was so in awe of. Now, in early spring, along the river, migratory sandhill cranes poured in, attracted by the shallow rivers’ abundant roosting

sites and meadows.

Looking like legions of gray ghosts from a distance, the birds covered the meadows and water from one end to the other.

Now more were flying low over the river, their voices rising and falling as they approached, then passed overhead and disappeared.

Storm whisked Shoshana up into his arms, carrying her back home and to their bedroom.

Standing beside their bed of blankets and rich pelts, Storm undressed Shoshana. Then she stood before him nude and unclothed him.

And when the fire cast its golden light on their copper skins, Storm again swept Shoshana into his arms, then lay her on their bed, and soon stretched out atop her, their bodies already straining hungrily against each other’s.

“My love, will it always be this way?” Shoshana murmured breathlessly as Storm brushed kisses from one breast to another. “Will our love always be this strong, this magical?”