Savage Illusions

Smelling the aro­ma of fo­od be­ing co­oked in the ot­her dwel­lings of the vil­la­ge, she only hal­f­he­ar­tedly re­ali­zed that she was hungry. Su­rely if she tri­ed to eat an­y­t­hing be­fo­re this ter­rib­le or­de­al that lay ahe­ad of her, she wo­uld not be ab­le to hold it down.

Warm arms en­cir­c­ling her wa­ist mo­men­ta­rily was­hed away Jole­na's tro­ub­led tho­ughts, and when Spot­ted Eag­le tur­ned her aro­und to fa­ce him, she was on­ce aga­in ma­de awa­re of what was most im­por­tant to her in li­fe.

Spotted Eag­le.

She knew that not­hing wo­uld ca­use her to le­ave him­not even cus­toms that we­re fo­re­ign and ugly to her!

"It will so­on be to­mor­row and all of this will be be­hind you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id softly. He lif­ted her chin with a fin­ger, di­rec­ting her eyes to his. "To­mor­row you will fo­cus tho­ughts on the brot­her you ha­ve known as a brot­her all the win­ters and sum­mers of yo­ur li­fe. Not a brot­her who is bu­ri­ed to­day."

Tears of gra­ti­tu­de flo­oded Jole­na's eyes to know that Spot­ted Eag­le was so con­s­ci­o­us of her fe­elings.

She le­aned in­to his em­b­ra­ce and hug­ged him tightly, then tur­ned and fled from the te­pee, her knee-high moc­ca­sins warm aga­inst her flesh as the early mor­ning's dam­p­ness en­ve­lo­ped her in a cold em­b­ra­ce.

With that first step out­si­de the te­pee, Jole­na stop­ped and sta­red in dis­be­li­ef at Mo­on Flo­wer. Her eyes wi­de­ned and she gas­ped as her ga­ze mo­ved slowly over Mo­on Flo­wer, se­e­ing the lengths to which she had go­ne in her mo­ur­ning for Two Rid­ges. La­te last night, Mo­on Flo­wer had left the camp and go­ne to a ri­se of gro­und ne­ar the vil­la­ge on which to re­le­ase her sor­rows for Two Rid­ges. The­re she had cri­ed and la­men­ted, cal­ling Two Rid­ges' na­me over and over aga­in.

Jolena had la­in stiffly at Spot­ted Eag­le's si­de, lis­te­ning, unab­le to dis­tin­gu­ish whet­her or not the way in which Mo­on Flo­wer had spo­ken Two Rid­ges' na­me was a chant or a song. The­re was a cer­ta­in tu­ne to it, sung in a mi­nor key and very do­le­ful.

Jolena had so­on sur­mi­sed that this was a mo­ur­ning song, the ut­te­ran­ce of one in de­ep dis­t­ress. It had be­en the so­und of so­me­one who­se he­art was bro­ken.

Today Jole­na saw just how much Mo­on Flo­wer was dis­t­res­sed over Two Rid­ges' de­ath! Her be­a­uti­ful ha­ir had be­en cut qu­ite short, and she wo­re no moc­ca­sins to­day, stan­ding ba­re­fo­ot and ex­po­sing the ter­ribly scar­red cal­ves of her

legs, on which blo­od had dri­ed to the wo­unds.

"Let us go now, Jole­na, and re­ady my be­lo­ved for his tra­vels alo­ne on the ro­ad to the Sand Hills," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, her vo­ice bre­aking. "We must gi­ve Two Rid­ges up to the Sun to­day."

Jolena wan­ted to cry out to Mo­on Flo­wer that Two Rid­ges was not worthy of her un­d­ying de­vo­ti­on and lo­ve! To her­self, she was cur­sing Two Rid­ges, thin­king he de­ser­ved not a war­ri­or's bu­ri­al but that of a co­ward!

It was go­ing to be har­der than she had ear­li­er tho­ught to get thro­ugh this day, for she was go­ing to find it hard to stand by and watch Two Rid­ges be­ing pra­ised in­s­te­ad of con­dem­ned!

She knew one thing for cer­ta­in. Even tho­ugh they we­re of blo­od kin, she wo­uld ne­ver lo­ok on him as a brot­her!

She wo­uld not mo­urn him as a sis­ter wo­uld mo­urn a de­ad brot­her!

She wo­uld pro­udly pre­sent her­self to her Blac­k­fo­ot pe­op­le with her ha­ir long and flo­wing, in­s­te­ad of cut off short, as one who mo­urns cuts one's ha­ir.

She most cer­ta­inly wo­uld not pla­ce a kni­fe to her cal­ves and scar her­self!

She was cer­ta­in no one wo­uld qu­es­ti­on this cho­ice of hers. To ever­yo­ne but Spot­ted Eag­le, she was still a stran­ger who wo­uld not be ex­pec­ted to fol­low the set ru­les of her el­ders.

"I will do what I can," Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice drawn. "But you must know that I will ne­ed to be shown."

"I will be at yo­ur si­de at all ti­mes, di­rec­ting you," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, ta­king Jole­na by the el­bow and us­he­ring her away from Spot­ted Eag­le's dwel­ling. "It is sad that you did not know Two Rid­ges as a sis­ter knows a brot­her. It is sad that he did not know you as a brot­her knows a sis­ter. His he­art was warm and big. He wo­uld ha­ve drawn you in­to lo­ving him, as he did ever­yo­ne who knew him."

"I'm su­re he wo­uld ha­ve," Jole­na sa­id, no­ting now the ut­ter si­len­ce of the vil­la­ge. No chil­d­ren we­re run­ning aro­und pla­ying. No el­derly men we­re sit­ting out­si­de, sha­ring smo­kes and gos­sip. No wo­men we­re car­rying wo­od from the ri­ver.

It was as tho­ugh ti­me had sto­od still in the Blac­k­fo­ot vil­la­ge, per­haps wa­iting to re­su­me on­ce the bu­ri­al ri­tu­als we­re over.

When Jole­na and Mo­on Flo­wer ca­me to Two Rid­ges' te­pee, Jole­na he­si­ta­ted, then wal­ked in­si­de with the be­a­uti­ful, slight Blac­k­fo­ot wo­man. The fi­re in the fi­re­pit had be­en al­lo­wed to die down to cold, gray as­hes. Jole­na shi­ve­red and hug­ged her­self, fe­eling as tho­ugh she had en­te­red a tomb. As her eyes adj­us­ted to the dar­k­ness, she fo­cu­sed them on a body that was lying on a co­uch of be­ar pelts.

Again she shi­ve­red, stun­ned to find that Two Rid­ges was lying the­re wit­ho­ut clot­hes or any blan­kets to co­ver his nu­dity. When her ga­ze stop­ped at his fa­ce and saw how whi­te and chalky it was, a fe­eling of lig­ht-he­aded­ness swept thro­ugh Jole­na. She grab­bed at Mo­on Flo­wer to ste­ady her­self.

"You ha­ve not se­en many de­ad pe­op­le be­fo­re?" Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, ga­zing at Jole­na with sor­row­ful eyes. "You are fin­ding it hard to lo­ok at yo­ur brot­her as he li­es the­re with only his de­ath mask?''

"No, I ha­ven't ex­pe­ri­en­ced many de­aths," Jole­na whis­pe­red, fe­aring dis­tur­bing the de­ad if she spo­ke alo­ud. "But I ha­ve ex­pe­ri­en­ced one very pa­in­ful loss. My mot­her."

She pa­used and glan­ced qu­ickly at Mo­on Flo­wer, fe­eling a ne­ed to ex­p­la­in which mot­her she was re­fer­ring to, but she saw that was not ne­ces­sary. Mo­on Flo­wer's eyes, and it se­emed her tho­ughts, we­re now so­lely on Two Rid­ges.

Jolena fol­lo­wed Mo­on Flo­wer to Two Rid­ges' bed. She wat­c­hed as Mo­on Flo­wer went to one si­de of the te­pee and gat­he­red se­ve­ral ro­bes up in­to her arms, then car­ri­ed them back to Jole­na.