The Princess and the Wolf

by Karen Kay

  “Fascinating.”

  “Now, the air, the trees, the grass, the wind; all these things react in a similar way as this water does with a stone. In nature, movement and certain noises make up a constant backdrop. One must become aware of the background of nature. If something happens that is sudden or different, this disturbs the flow of nature. This, too, creates vibrating ripples that, like the circles, expand and spread out in all directions. But these ripples in nature are felt, not seen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Now, a scout knows how to detect these disturbances, and being able to do so, his awareness can extend far beyond his body’s vision. This is the beginning of how he makes himself invisible. He learns how to walk so that he walks in the natural flow around him, so that he is often outside most people’s awareness. Thus he becomes hidden to others.”

  “This is incredible,” she said. “I always knew that you had ways of perceiving things differently than I did, but until now, I never understood it.”

  He nodded. “And now you know a little.”

  “Yes, but, High Wolf, if this is so, why do we need to disguise ourselves as we travel?”

  “Because even if you can walk as a scout does, a man must still blend in with the environment, if he is to be secure in it. There is another reason, as well. All tribes have their scouts, and a scout can more easily spot you.”

  “Ah,” she said, “I begin to understand. This is why we will have to disguise ourselves, wear this mud.”

  “Haa’he, that is true. However, for you, I have a surprise.”

  “A surprise?”

  He nodded, giving her a wink. “I always carry my wolf skin in my parfleche.”

  “Your what?”

  “My wolf skin. If one is going to be a wolf, one should look like a wolf, and this skin, when thrown over you, will help your disguise.”

  “A wolf skin?”

  And to her look of utter disgust, he smiled and, taking her hand, said, “Come, I will show you.”

  “Twirl around,” High Wolf instructed her, as he held a handful of softened earth in one hand and a piece of charcoal in the other.

  And Sierra complied, having become used to these daily inspections of her camouflage.

  At present, she and High Wolf were standing next to a small creek, heavily shaded, and rich in a predominance of mud. True to form, High Wolf missed not a spot in her disguise, and looking down at herself, she bit her lip: Her once white drawers and corset were hopelessly colored by the soot and charcoal. They would never be the same again.

  But…complete with mud ears on the top of her head and a wolf skin over her body, she had managed to roam over the prairie safely and without detection. So perhaps one corset and a pair of drawers was a small price to pay, if it meant her life. Of course, the wolf skin had helped, but it didn’t completely eliminate the need for the mud…unfortunately. And so it was that the two of them, often on all fours, had traversed over the territory of the dangerous Riccaree.

  However, they weren’t out of peril yet. Indeed, they would not be able to relax completely until they at last came to the Mandan village, those people who had been friendly to whites.

  At present, the sun was beginning its descent over the western sky. Funny how she was coming to enjoy this time of day—the period when she had High Wolf to herself, if only to paint and scrutinize her camouflage.

  Odd, too, how the early evening scents of the grass and prairie flowers, all mixed up with the smell of the muck, the greenery and the creek water, brought on a feeling of joy. It was hard to remember that at one time, these smells had been most disagreeable.

  How she had changed.

  And it was all because of this man.

  There was nothing for it: Sierra had long ago admitted to herself that she was still very much in love with him.

  Ah, what a wonderful feeling this was, too. And she sighed contentedly.

  Was it because of him, she wondered, that the air seemed fuller, crisper; the grasses greener, softer; the fragrance of the wildflowers more exotic? And why did everything, even the air she breathed, give her such pleasure, such happiness?

  Had the world always held this rosy glow? Or was it because of the change in her?

  Whatever it was, Sierra was certain she wanted it to remain this way forever, although of course that could never be.

  And the thought saddened her.

  Try though she might to forget, there were some things that she could never put completely from her mind: things in the past that needed to be set right; reputations that had to be upheld, duties she must perform, countries to save.

  Ah, yes, countries to save.

  She gazed skyward and moaned. Perhaps High Wolf was right. Perhaps she should grab hold of this moment and keep it close to her, for it might be all the happiness she would ever know—and for the rest of her life.

  It was not a pleasant thought, and it certainly didn’t deserve any of her attention on this fine, summer evening.

  But, though she loved High Wolf with every bit of her heart, she could never quite lose sight of the fact that this would all end—perhaps sooner than she might like.

  She rocked back on her feet as she exhaled.

  And immediately, High Wolf asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” she said at first. Then she smiled. “Actually something is very wrong. Do you see this?” She pointed to a spot underneath one of her breasts, which was heavily caked with gook, and reeking of a dull, gray color.

  He gazed at it closely.

  “Tsk, tsk. There is not nearly enough mud there. Do you see how the white of my corset shows?”

  He grinned. “How unobservant of me to have missed it. I shall have to fix it at once.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Please.”

  “Of course,” he observed, “there are other spots that are much worse.” As he spoke, his fingers trailed down her stomach to that spot most tender between her legs. “I think I have failed you here, too.”

  “Oh, no,” disagreed Sierra. “You have far from failed me there, my wolf prince.”

  He laughed; the sound was like music to her ears. Oh, that she might never forget, that she might hold on to this moment.

  But alas, the world insisted on beating out time, and when High Wolf said, “Shall we dally here a little longer, and repaint ourselves later? Or shall we set out upon an early start this evening?”

  “Oh.” She let out a deep wail. “I say we dally, my dearest, dearest wolf.”

  How utterly beloved was his grin, she thought. And when he said, “Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” she thought she might likely burst with delight.

  And she said, “Yes, my love. I would very much like to have my wishes granted.”

  “I will try,” he promised, as he slowly bent to her. “I swear that I will try.”

  And Sierra moaned with pleasure, knowing that High Wolf was, indeed, a very honorable man, one who always kept his promises…

  By the misty light of morning—that time before the sun first rises—the dark shadow hung over the Indian village, as though seeking someone, or something.

  But the hour was early and the shadow went unnoticed by medicine man and mystic alike…except for one…

  “There is the Mandan summer village.”

  High Wolf had raised up from all fours, onto his haunches, and was pointing to a high, western peninsula that overlooked the Missouri River. Directly atop this were situated fifty or more of the Mandan earth lodges. Sierra, throwing back the wolf skin that had become a second nature to her, looked out upon the view before her. A more beautiful—indeed, a more radiant sight—she had rarely seen.

  Situated on the western side of the river atop sheer bluffs, the Mandan village looked to be a well-chosen spot, since its location alone would make it easy to defend. With a backdrop of blue skies, whimsical clouds and a gentle wind, the village basked under a morning sun.

  It was a happy moment. For the village wou
ld afford her and High Wolf the opportunity to discover more about the prince’s whereabouts. However, being here also marked the completion of this part of their trek. And Sierra was sorry to have it end. Alas, thinking back on it, she was certain she could not recall a happier time in her life than the past couple of days.

  She caught her breath, and High Wolf immediately sent her a fleeting glance. He asked, “Are you not happy to see the village?”

  “I’m very happy to see it. And yet,” she said, “if I could, I would keep you with me a little longer.”

  “It will not set us back if we take a few moments to linger here. Your servants should be awaiting you at the Mandan village. And I will have to make inquiries about the prince there, as well.”

  “Really? Does that mean that—”

  He nodded. “One more night spent together should not make a difference. In Indian country, I am afraid there are some things that cannot be rushed, and making inquiries is one of them. A man must show proper respect.”

  “Good,” she said. “I am glad. Although…”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Although in some ways, I wish I could put the world off forever—to put it away from me and stop worrying about my home. After these past few days, I must admit that the prospect of staying here is…well, it is appealing.” She sent him a surreptitious glance. “Here I would be. Here you would be.”

  “Yes.” He reached out and took hold of her hand. “You could do it.”

  “Could I? Somehow I don’t think so. Would I ever be happy if the demons that haunt me aren’t put to rest? Always I would remember my obligations, I think. And I fear that if I do not act in a manner befitting my station, I would think ill of myself. No.” She let out her breath. “It is an impossible situation for me, for us.”

  “No, it is not impossible,” said High Wolf. “It only appears that way now. Together, we will find a way.”

  “Yes,” she said, though little believing it.

  “Come,” commanded High Wolf, and with her hand held firmly with his own, he began to lead her away from the village.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the water,” he replied. “I promised to teach you to swim, I will do so now.”

  Her lips curved upward in a smile. “I would like that very much. Do you know of a private place?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Although their scouts must know of it, as well. But perhaps, since it is still early, we will have the spot to ourselves.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Perhaps.”

  The swimming lesson had ended in the only possible way it could with two people so much in love…in each other’s arms. And naked, they lay together, lingering by a shady lagoon, as though each were unwilling to be the one to end the embrace. At length, however, the sun climbed high in the sky, and even Sierra knew it was time to move on.

  “Don’t make me go back to St. Louis,” she said. “I don’t think I could bear to have come this far, learned so much, done so much, only to return empty-handed.”

  “I understand,” he said, “And I won’t. Those were conditions I had set for you in my ignorance. I am no longer unaware of your plight. However”—he trailed an eager finger from her breast to her stomach—“I will insist on painting you again as a wolf before we approach the village.”

  “Must you?”

  “I must.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is safer. Because, although the Cheyenne and Mandan often trade, we are also often at war, and the Mandans may not understand that I am coming in peace. Therefore…”

  “Ah,” she said by way of acknowledgement. Then, glancing skyward, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, as though by doing so, she could catch her breath. “Well,” she said after a time, “I suppose I ought to rise, then, and begin the lengthy process of becoming a female wolf.”

  “Yes,” he said, winking at her. “And such a lady wolf you are…”

  Chapter 19

  …and it becomes my duty to say it; a better, more honest, hospitable and kind people, as a community, are not to be found in the world. No set of men that ever I associated with have better hearts than the Mandans, and none are quicker to embrace and welcome a white man than they are—none will press him closer to his bosom, that the pulsation of his heart may be felt, than a Mandan; and no man in any country will keep his word and guard his honour more closely.

  George Catlin, Letters and Notes on the

  Manners, Customs, and Conditions

  of North American Indians

  What an odd sight, she thought, giving the Mandan village a closer look, though her view of it was marred by several full-grown trees.

  Their lodges—or perhaps what she saw might be more accurately described as huts—looked like many round pots turned upside down. Somehow, she had expected something different.

  And glancing up toward High Wolf, as he finger-painted her with charcoal and earth, she said, “I thought Indians lived in tents made of the skins of buffalo.”

  High Wolf inclined his head in agreement, saying, “Many do. But the Mandans, along with the Minatarrees and Riccarees, have made their homes on the Missouri River since”—he frowned—“since time out of mind. The Mandans do not live solely for the chase of buffalo and never have, but dwell in what the white man might call permanent villages. Here these people plant corn and squash and pumpkins which they trade with many of our roaming tribes.”

  “Indeed.” Sierra quirked up an eyebrow. “I had no idea such Indians existed. I thought all the Indians were strictly hunters.”

  “Humph,” he said. “There are many different kinds of American Indians. All are not the same.” Bending, he picked up another piece of charcoal. “In faith,” he continued, “it is said that the Mandans have been here, living along the Missouri, much longer than any other tribe. I have always known their village as a place of much Indian commerce.”

  “Have you?” She sent him a speculative look. “Then, if that is so, this must be a place where you have been many times before?”

  Again High Wolf inclined his head, going on to say, “That I have. Now, look there, next to the village and situated farther away from the water. That is Fort Clark. Do you see it?” He pointed.

  “Yes.”

  “That is the place where the Indians trade for things that only the white man offers. This is also where you will stay.”

  “Will I?” she said. “And you? You make that statement as if you will not be remaining there.”

  He shrugged. “I would not be welcome in the fort.”

  “Is that so? And why not?”

  “Because I am Indian. Besides, outside of visiting it to see you, I have no wish to seek lodging there. The Mandan lodges are quite comfortable, and since I have some friends there, I will be happy to solicit my lodging with them.”

  What was this? Sierra cut High Wolf a severe glance. Surely he did not intend to become separated from her. Not now. Not after they had come so far, become close…again. And she said, “Then perhaps I shall stay there, as well.”

  “No,” he replied at once. “You will be more comfortable at the white man’s fort, where I believe you will also find your servants.”

  “Oh, yes,” she remarked before falling silent. Although after a while she commented, “But I thought we would remain together once we reached the Mandan village. I mean, after all, are we not still pretending to be married?”

  He glanced toward her, his look uneasy, and he said, “Yes, and no.”

  Dead silence filled the air. And the only thing to be heard around them was the lapping of the water in the lagoon, and an occasional squawk of a gull.

  “What does that mean?”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I would almost rather face the fieriest warrior in all the prairie than have this conversation with you.”

  “Oh?” Sierra frowned. But all she said was, “And what conversation would that be?”

  He grimaced, and turning fully toward her—much as
a man might do if facing a firing squad—said, “I will be leaving you at Fort Clark.”

  “Oh?” At this news, her stomach gave a queer pitch, and she stared up at him in surprise. However, all she did was inquire, “Leaving me? But didn’t you say that…?”

  “I promised not to take you back to St. Louis. This is not the same thing.”

  “But—”

  “Consider, Princess. How could I bring you farther into Indian country in all conscience? It is simply not safe to do so.”

  She stood there, her arms spread wide as he caked gook and mud onto them, too stunned to say a word. At length, however, she asked, “What do you mean, not safe? Have I not sneaked through Riccaree country with you? Have I not slipped through their scouts?” She stirred uneasily, her breathing becoming quick, short. “High Wolf, consider all that I have learned. I can disappear into the countryside, I can strike camp without leaving a sign, I can even read images upon the earth. And now, as I’m beginning to master the art of scouting, you say you’re going to leave me behind?”

  He paused, his brow furrowed. And there was a flicker of foreboding in his countenance as he responded, “It is true that you have done well, but there is so much more you do not know, have not mastered, and it will be easier and quicker if you remain here, secure—behind the wooden walls of the fort. In truth, knowing you are safe will allow me the freedom to travel farther north in search of the prince.”

  “Freedom?” Her look, underneath the scoutlike disguise, was incredulous. And she continued, “For a man who has been regaling me with promises of passion and talk of marriage, you seem anxious to be rid of me…”

  At her words, High Wolf bristled, his manner at once brisk, and he said, “Do not twist my words. You know well that I do not wish my freedom from you. I require it only long enough to give service to you. There is a difference. I will either find the prince or not, and will bring the news of what I discover back to you, here.”