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Savage Illusions

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"But you can't help se­e­ing my mot­her when you lo­ok at me," Jole­na sa­id, her vo­ice bre­aking. "I want to be lo­ved for myself, not be­ca­use I am the mir­ror ima­ge of so­me­one el­se."

"It is true that at first, when I lo­oked at you, my fe­elings we­re the sa­me as that yo­ung boy who­se he­art ac­hed for an ol­der wo­man," Spot­ted Eag­le tri­ed to ex­p­la­in. "But as I grew to know you, so­me­one dif­fe­rent from yo­ur mot­her in so many ways, it was you who mo­ved me in­to a man's fe­elings. Yo­ur mot­her is now a ple­asant me­mory. You are he­re, qu­ite re­al, and won­der­ful."

"When we ha­ve be­en ma­king lo­ve, ha­ve you ever wis­hed it we­re my mot­her in­s­te­ad of me?" Jole­na co­uld not re­sist as­king. "Ha­ve you ever pre­ten­ded I was she?"

Spotted Eag­le's jaw tig­h­te­ned and his eyes fla­red with a sud­den an­ger. "I ha­ve not lo­ved a me­mory whi­le I held you in my arms," he sa­id ter­sely. "Ne­ver will I. I lo­ve you. Fo­re­ver and ever, I shall lo­ve only you."

"It wo­uld bre­ak my he­art if it we­re ot­her­wi­se," Jole­na sa­id, flin­ging her­self in­to his arms. As she la­id her che­ek aga­inst his po­wer­ful chest, she be­gan her own con­fes­si­ons. "Dar­ling, I knew you be­fo­re we met, al­so."

"And how is that pos­sib­le?" he as­ked, stro­king her thick, long ha­ir.

"I do not un­der­s­tand how that co­uld be pos­sib­le," she mur­mu­red. "But it is true that when I saw you I was stun­ned be­ca­use I had se­en yo­ur fa­ce be­fo­re­in dre­ams."

He pla­ced his fin­gers to her sho­ul­ders and eased her back from him so that the­ir eyes met and held. "You say you dre­amed of me?" he sa­id won­de­ringly. "You sa

w my exact fa­ci­al fe­atu­res in yo­ur dre­ams?"

"Yes, many ti­mes," she mur­mu­red. "And yet I still do not see how that can be so."

Spotted Eag­le smi­led softly down at her. "The­re are ways," he sa­id, nod­ding. "You are Blac­k­fo­ot. Many things are fo­re­told in the dre­ams of the Blac­k­fo­ot!"

"Truly?" she as­ked, her eyes wi­de. "Ple­ase tell me how. I ha­ve had many dre­ams, fo­re­tel­ling many things. So­me­ti­mes it has frig­h­te­ned me to ha­ve such… such abi­li­ti­es."

"You sho­uld not be frig­h­te­ned by a gift that has be­en han­ded down from ge­ne­ra­ti­on to ge­ne­ra­ti­on of Blac­k­fo­ot," he sa­id, dra­wing her in­to his em­b­ra­ce on­ce aga­in. He held her clo­se, bre­at­hing in the swe­et frag­ran­ce of her ha­ir as he pla­ced his che­ek aga­inst it. "Our pe­op­le, the Blac­k­fo­ot, are firm be­li­evers in dre­ams. The­se, it is sa­id, are sent by the Sun to enab­le us to lo­ok ahe­ad, to tell what is go­ing to hap­pen. A dre­am, es­pe­ci­al­ly if it is a strong onet­hat is, if the dre­am is very cle­ar and vi­vi­dis al­most al­ways obe­yed."

He pa­used, then con­ti­nu­ed, "An ani­mal or obj­ect which ap­pe­ars to a boy or man who is trying to dre­am for po­wer is, it has be­en sa­id, re­gar­ded the­re­af­ter as his sec­ret hel­per, his me­di­ci­ne, and is usu­al­ly cal­led his vi­si­on dre­am Nits-o-kan."

"I ha­ve obe­yed the com­mands of my mid­night dre­am," Jole­na sa­id, clin­ging to him. "I ha­ve fol­lo­wed its bid­ding and ha­ve fo­und you, my dar­ling."

Then a si­lent pa­nic se­ized her, re­cal­ling the dre­am in which Spot­ted Eag­le di­ed, fe­aring that it might co­me true al­so. She le­aned in­to his arms and held him much mo­re tightly, wan­ting ne­ver to let him go.

The night was wrap­ped in sha­dows, with shreds of mist clin­ging to the tre­es over­he­ad, as Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le be­gan wal­king back to­ward the­ir cam­p­si­te. Spot­ted Eag­le stop­ped when the mo­on­light re­ve­aled so­met­hing that lay in the­ir path. Jole­na fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le's eyes to a fe­at­her that had su­rely fal­len from the wing of an eag­le. It was per­haps the lar­gest one that she had ever se­en, and its co­lors we­re a be­a­uti­ful soft gray, to­uc­hed by stre­aks of whi­te.

Spotted Eag­le stop­ped and pic­ked up the fe­at­her, then han­ded it to Jole­na. "Ha­ve I told you be­fo­re that the wing of a bird is a symbol of tho­ughts that fly very high?" he sa­id softly.

"Whether or not you ha­ve, I co­uld he­ar it over and over aga­in," Jole­na sa­id softly. "That's a be­a­uti­ful sa­ying." She held the fe­at­her to her he­art and wal­ked le­isu­rely along with Spot­ted Eag­le aga­in, the cam­p­fi­re thro­wing its gol­den light thro­ugh a bre­ak in the tre­es a short dis­tan­ce away.

Jolena le­aned clo­ser to Spot­ted Eag­le, not wan­ting the­se spe­ci­al mo­ments to end.

Chapter Seventeen

The next day, the wa­gons con­ti­nu­ed on­ward. Jole­na was fil­led with an an­ti­ci­pa­ti­on she had ne­ver known be­fo­re.

And why sho­uldn't she be fe­eling this way? she ar­gu­ed to her­self. She was per­haps only days away from me­eting her true fat­her.

Oh, but how sim­p­le it wo­uld be to aban­don this ex­pe­di­ti­on and hurry on­ward with the rest of her li­fe in­s­te­ad of wa­iting un­til she com­p­le­ted her mis­si­on for her ailing whi­te fat­her.

It was hard to sit on the wa­gon be­si­de Kirk as tho­ugh not­hing had hap­pe­ned, whi­le at the sa­me mo­ment her he­art was be­ating out each and every mi­nu­te of the day, brin­ging her clo­ser to that ti­me when she wo­uld say an aw­k­ward fa­re­well to him.

He wo­uld not le­ave her all that easily, she knew. He wo­uld try to fill her mind with do­ubts abo­ut the li­fe that lay ahe­ad of her in an In­di­an vil­la­ge.

And she knew that most of his ar­gu­ments wo­uld be va­lid ones. In her li­fe­ti­me, she had known only lu­xu­ri­es. She knew that li­ving in a te­pee had to be far from lu­xu­ri­o­us and com­for­tab­le.

Being with Spot­ted Eag­le wo­uld ma­ke up for ever­y­t­hing el­se, but she dre­aded trying to con­vin­ce her brot­her of this. Of­ten he was even mo­re stub­born than she…

''You're mo­re qu­i­et than usu­al," Kirk sa­id, al­lo­wing the re­ins to go so­mew­hat slack in his hands as he ga­ve Jole­na a stu­di­o­us sta­re. "Why is that? What's on yo­ur mind?"

His lips cur­ved in­to an angry po­ut when she smi­led we­akly at him, of­fe­ring him no ex­p­la­na­ti­on. "How fo­olish of me to ha­ve as­ked," he sa­id he­atedly. "I al­re­ady know the an­s­wer, don't I?"



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