My Name Is Cree

by T. K. Richardson

  I hoped so.

  We slipped inside the tipi, our clothes damp from the mist, my eyes as heavy as the feeling inside my chest. A fire had been started, a large tray of fruit and meat, of flatbread and eggs, lay over the grate, warming. “Who did this?” I asked. He looked over the array, pulled a slice of bear meat from the tray and said, “It is tradition. The women make the food for the men before they leave for… uncertain endeavors.”

  I looked at him. “You mean before they go to war, right?” He ate the meat and reached for more. “Something like that.”

  He reached for the meat and I enjoyed some, too. He ate what looked like two pounds of bear slices, a dozen eggs, and some flatbread. He avoided the fruit. “What’s with the fruit?” I asked. He laughed and said, “I need the protein for an easier shift,” he flicked his eyes at me, unsure, but I kept eating, unphased, so he said, “and sometimes there’s just not room for more.” He sighed, heavy, full.

  “Will you know who I am after you shift? Will you remember… everything?” I meant everything about us, about this, whatever this was, or might be.

  “I’m still me up here,” he said, pointing to his head, “but it’s different, it’s part animal, too. That’s why it’s important for you to stay clear of the younger warriors, those not easily able to control themselves,” he warned, and moved over on the bear skins next to me.

  “And you can?” I asked.

  He winced and his eyes revealed a touch of pain.

  “I don’t mean like that, like in a bad way. But, say you wanted to…I don’t know…” I blushed and glanced away.

  “Well, Little Foot, I’m not sure. I might not be able to stop myself,” he said, a slight smile turning up at the corner of his mouth, his eyes showing amusement. My face burned with embarrassment, and he leaned over, whispering in my ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll only be close to you when you give your permission. And besides, you’ll never see me like that anyway.”

  I looked down, the orange slice staring up at me. Heat ran up my spine and tickled my ears. “Why won’t I?” I asked.

  “I want you to know me like this, not like that.”

  I understood his position, but I wanted to know all of him, not just one part of him. “Well, I’ll know it’s you regardless. I’ll see this and know.” I looked at the bear tooth resting on his chest.

  “I have to go, it’s almost time,” he said and looked in my eyes. The playful notes vanished and he stood to his feet. “If you need anything or need to be with people go to Red Hawk’s tent. Willow will be waiting for you.” He turned to the side of the bed and made sure my bow was there. “There’s a handgun in the trunk just in case,” he said, his face now filled with worry. “And Birch’s rifle.”

  “I won’t need it,” I said and felt confident I’d be fine. I wanted to display reassurance so he could focus on what needed to be done. I planned on sleeping while he was gone, so I doubted I’d need anything but some firewood and water. “How long will you be away?” I asked, and suddenly worried it might be days instead of an overnight venture.

  “Until we find them.”

  My heart sank, I thought it would be easy, quick. Now I was faced with the thought of a longer separation. And what equally concerned me, was that I now felt strange being alone. I had been by myself for a long time, relied on no one else, waited for nobody to walk through the door. But now everything felt different, unsure, dependent on so many factors out of my control.

  He placed his finger under my chin and lifted my head slightly. “Don’t worry,” his voice was calm, even, “it won’t be long.” I forced a smile, however slight it was, but I did worry.

  He slipped out of the tipi and into the twilight, when the sky was orange and blurred between light and dark. I felt like that sunset, like there were shades of emotions and degrees of light and dark edging closer to me.

  I lay back on the bear skins and watched the sliver of light through the very top, smoke swirling up through it mixing with the sunset. I pulled the blanket over me. Concerned about having another nightmare, I thought about what the elder said. Be brave enough to forgive the attacker, breathe in forgiveness and breath out relief for me and for him. I wondered why he wanted revenge on Three Scars? What happened to cause such anger, hurt, unforgiveness on his part? There must be something, but I knew better than to ask anyone. They were good at not telling other people’s stories. I admired that. I closed my eyes, as the thoughts jumped around in my mind, questions, images, the Forest People, yellow daffodils, and Three Scars running through the night to find them.

  When my eyes opened to the early morning light, I realized the attacker had not returned in my dreams, nor had Three Scars returned to the tipi. It was bittersweet, but my concern for him sprouted roots and grew. I got dressed, pulled on my boots and cape and pushed open the tipi flap wondering if anyone else was awake. I hoped to see someone in the big tent with coffee ready, or Willow outside of her tent, or anyone moving around. Anyone with news of Three Scars, Red Hawk, and the other warriors.

  The camp was still, empty.

  I sighed and reached back inside to get my bow.

  I slipped into the woods on the outskirts of camp opposite the river, morning mist and shadows folding over me. Slow methodical steps moved me deeper into the forest and I scanned my surroundings while surveying the ground. Avoiding leaves and branches and stepping carefully on dry ground I looked for tracks. My senses hyperaware of every noise, every twig snapping, the birds chirping, and the thick mist clinging to me. The ground, damp with dew, held just enough moisture to find animal tracks, if there were any at all. Finding tracks on dry ground is even harder, so I was grateful for the current conditions. Many times, I hunted and hoped to find meat, but left empty handed and hungry at the end of the day. The appearance of game, small or great, is never guaranteed. I stepped once more and crouched down, changing my line of sight to gain a better perspective. Slowing my breathing to match the stillness around me, I surveyed the area and waited.

  Movement flicked to my right and I held steady. I looked toward the area but didn’t move my head, not wanting to bring any attention to my position. I breathed out slow, easy, and waited. Another flick in a thick of trees and my heart sped up. A deer, its ears just visible through the branches of a young oak. I watched as it passed through the underbrush. A doe with two fawn. I exhaled and stood to my feet. I didn’t hunt doe, only bucks, and those with at least five points on their rack. A mature buck who had likely mated and already produced offspring already.

  I stepped forward, deeper into the trees, careful of where I placed each foot, and constantly scanned my surroundings. A slight indentation in the ground directly in front of me stopped me quick. I bent down to see two small impressions side by side, and about four inches behind them were two longer and larger tracks pressed clear and firm in the dirt. I stepped to the side and searched for the rabbit hole, or a shelter in the underbrush nearby. More tracks. I retraced my steps, sidled up next to an oak and bent low. I drew my arrow, pulled my bow free, and readied for movement.

  In one swift motion I pulled back taut, held my breath, aimed, and released my two-finger hold. The arrow sliced through the air, and met its target, swift and clean. The rabbit fell to the side, its white belly facing me. A nice kill, and another hide to use.

  I waited for movement, any sign there may be another rabbit. The tracks hinted at multiple animals in the vicinity. I pulled another arrow and readied my bow, leaving the first kill where it lay, and waiting for the next. A smidge to my left another two furry feet appeared. I drew back, held my breath and watched as the arrow met its target. I exhaled, waited, and watched.

  I continued my hunt through the morning hours only stopping when I felt sure I had enough meat for the whole camp. It was an unusual catch in one day – eight rabbits in about four hours. Enough for everyone, and enough hides for another set of gloves and a hat.

  I retrieved the animals, skinned and cleaned them, and inspected the
meat as I went. I bound them together by their feet, hung the bundle over my shoulder and folded the pelts for cleaning later.

  I walked to camp, the midmorning sun peeking up over the mountains, high enough to light the entire path. I went to the meeting tent and peeked inside. A few women appeared to be cleaning up from the morning meal. I lay my kill on a table and they looked over, surprised. “I hope there’s enough for everyone,” I said.

  Dipping back outside I circled the tent and started toward the tipi. “Little Foot,” a low voice said from somewhere behind me. I turned, searching for the origin. She was tall and thin, her hair dark and wild. “I have news of the warriors,” she motioned for me to come. I tried not to run, tried to control my pace, but I quickly reached where she stood. “I am Songbird, I saw Running Bear return not long ago. He went to the elders. Someone has been hurt. I don’t know who,” she said, eyes wide. I drew in a quick breath.

  “How do we find out?” I asked.

  “We wait for the elders,” she glanced down. “I heard them say your name. They will call for you soon,” she said, and looked up, a hint of sorrow tugging at the corners of her eyes. She walked with me back to the tipi, slipping inside after me. I sat down on the rugs and she built a fire. We both looked at each other, the concern in her eyes mirroring mine. “They will see the smoke and know you are here,” she said and added some green leaves so it would smoke even more. I shuffled my hands underneath my legs, shifting from one side to the other. We sat in silence and waited. A few minutes passed and we heard footsteps. Her eyes widened. My heart sank. “Little Foot,” Running Bear’s voice pushed through the canvas. Her eyes lit up, and I motioned for her to open the flap. She lifted the opening and Running Bear stepped back, surprised. Songbird turned a little and he spotted me on the rugs. I stood up and looked him in the eyes, no emotion on my face.

  “The elders need to see you.”

  I nodded and brushed passed him, through the opening and into the light. I walked to the elder’s tipi. Songbird followed, then disappeared into the camp. Running Bear motioned for me to enter first, so I went inside. A light flickered on a table, the fire warmed the space, and the elder nodded as we came in. He motioned for us to sit down, and we did, though I purposely waited for Running Bear to sit first and then sat several feet away, an act not lost in the elder’s eyes.

  He glanced at Running Bear, his eyes appraising.

  “Little Foot, Running Bear has brought us news of great importance. This development was not planned for.” He reached for his cup, took a slow drink, the steam rising above his cloud white hair. “When the warriors left, they broke into two hunting groups. Three Scars, the eldest son of mine, lead the first group of warriors east. The other group went south toward your land. The first group found tracks, and those tracks lead them to a large group of Forest People. Red Hawk spoke to them, explained to them the danger, but the Forest People were untrusting, unsure of our warrior’s intent. They have requested to see you, to know that we speak truth to them,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “They want to see me and talk to me?” I asked, surprised.

  He dipped his head, his eyes solemn.

  “Three Scars has requested that this not happen. I understand his concern, but the choice is yours, Little Foot.”

  Torn between Three Scars’ request, and the desire to speak to the Forest People, another concern was just as important – I didn’t want to disrespect him in front of the Tore people by going against his request. Running Bears’ eyes seemed to weigh on me, my answer more important by the second.

  “I respect Three Scars’ wishes because they are for my protection and I believe I will be most safe here with Tore people on Tore land. If the Forest People agree and if the elders agree, I will meet them here – they stay on one side of the river on their land, and I will be here on Tore land. Will this be okay?” I asked.

  His eyes closed slightly, an expression of approval on his face. “You have chosen wisely, Little Foot. I agree this is a good way to proceed.” He looked at Running Bear and nodded for him to go, to carry the message to Three Scars.

  He stood up.

  “Running Bear,” I said, stopping him. Surprised, he looked at me, glancing once to the elder. “I heard there was an injury. Can you tell me if this is true?” I asked.

  He looked to the elder for approval and then turned back to me.

  “There was an injury, but it is not life threatening,” he said. “It is a minor wound.”

  “Who is injured?” I asked, noticing his vague reply.

  “It is Three Scars, but he will be okay. His shoulder is injured from a fall.”

  “A fall? How can that be? You run in the dark with ease, you skim over creeks and rivers, you glide over every obstacle. How could he just fall?” I questioned.

  “This will be dealt with at the proper time,” the elder interrupted, raising a hand. “Running Bear, tell the warriors what must take place and where it must take place. Today when the sun is lower in the trees, have them come to the river. We will be waiting.”

  Running Bear exited the tent and a few seconds later I felt the ground rumble slightly under my feet. He was running back to them, shifted from this form to the next, the weight of his new form beating the ground beneath him.

  I left the tipi and noticed movement around the camp, people flowing into the big tent, the aroma of coffee percolating over an open fire. I walked toward the coffee, and wondered how bad he was hurt, why the secrecy, and most of all how it happened? It didn’t make any sense. I glanced around. Several rows of blue and white speckled mugs lined the table beside the fire. I walked over and reached for the tongs, pulled the pot from the flames and poured a cup. I put the metal percolator to the edge of the fire grate to keep warm and sat down at a nearby table. Songbird appeared out of nowhere and sat next to me, her eyes imploring.

  “Three Scars,” I half-whispered his name. I looked to her, my eyes misted, and blinked back tears. She touched my shoulder. Silent comfort. “He said his shoulder is hurt from a fall,” I continued and stared down at my coffee. I glanced up, her brow knit together, questioning. “I know, right? They don’t just fall. I’ve seen how accurate he is, how all of them are,” I said.

  She breathed out a slight burst of air, and said, “The elders will find the truth. It is important for us, for you, to trust that.” She nodded once as though it were that simple, that easy. I tilted my head, trying to comprehend what she meant. “Trust,” she said, and touched my shoulder again. “Trust them,” she said.

  I sipped the coffee, and imagined Three Scars in pain, and I could do nothing to help him. When would he come back? How long would it take for Running Bear to reach him? She placed two plates of food on the table and sat down beside me. I smiled out of habit and looked at the food she brought. I lifted the cup again, and sipped more of the hot brew, and felt the heaviness of the situation. I would meet with the Forest People, and seek the truth about Three Scars’ injury, and I’d try my best to trust the elders like Songbird so easily did. I couldn’t understand that sort of reliance. It intrigued me, but I didn’t understand it.

  We ate in silence. Fresh eggs, hot coffee, and toast. I needed to know more about what happened. Even Songbird seemed perplexed about it. I shook my head and tried to focus on what I needed to do. Organize my thoughts, be ready for the meeting with the Forest People. I took a deep breath and pushed the plate away. I finished the coffee and stood up. “Thanks,” I said. “I might see you later.” I smiled and turned to go.

  I walked back through the camp to the tipi and tried to focus my thoughts and emotions. He would be okay. It wasn’t life threatening. I repeated those facts over and over. I felt the earth simmer under my feet, the slight rumble of shifting, moving. I looked up and turned toward the river hoping to see him, hoping to see anyone with news, and though I didn’t see them coming I knew they were almost home.

  I hurried inside the tipi and paced back and forth. The rumbling bene
ath me stopped and I held my breath. Turning to the opening and anticipating his entry, it dawned on me they would first see the elders, explain in detail what happened and discuss the plans for meeting them later today. After that I’d see him. I pictured him pushing aside the tipi flap, seeing him face to face, asking my questions, assessing his injury, making sure he was okay.

  Time slowed to a stop. I strained to hear his footsteps outside, and yet those footsteps never sounded. I built a fire, looked in his trunk and pulled out a clean shirt and placed it on the bed he slept on, and sat down on the rugs next to it. I let out a deep breath, glanced around the tipi for signs of him, but the interior was sparse, bare, void of any personal belongings. Did he live here full time, or just sometimes? Did they move the camp often? I busied myself with trivial questions, anything to pass the time.

  Thirty minutes passed and I could wait no longer. I stood up just as Three Scars dipped inside. I stepped back, startled. His hair draped over his shoulder, a dressing under his shirt outlined the injury I couldn’t see. I searched his eyes, glancing to his shoulder and stepped forward until I was only inches from him. I moved his hair, and looked at the bandage, and then up to him. My heart beating, thumping in my ears.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing, just a few stitches.”

  “No, it’s more than a few stitches. It’s two. Two scars for me…” I couldn’t look in his eyes. I wished I called him something else, wished I knew how powerful those words were when I spoke them. I shook my head. The weight of responsibility rested squarely on my shoulders.

  “Who told you they were because of you?” he questioned, his voice guarded.

  “I know they’re because of me,” I said. “Running Bear said…”

  “What did he say?” he asked, and placed his finger under my chin, tilting my head to see him.

  “I heard there was an injury, and I asked him who was hurt. He told me.”

  “He was here in this tent with you?”