by Stephy Smith
"That'll be them. They're an evil lot, those three. Mother insisted we go back to our farms. Otherwise I would stay with her until our aunts and uncle leave," Travis said. Jessie and Cord nodded.
"I will go to her when it is safe. Safe trip my friends." Shining Moon turned his horse toward his village. His pulse pounded in his neck. The wind whipped across the plains and whistled in the sleeping, frozen grass. He glanced toward the sky. The rest of his ride went by in a blur.
Upon reaching his village, children giggled and ran from one teepee to another. The familiar sounds pulled his attention to his own people. Their lives were simple. The men hunted; the women prepared the food, carried water, and moved the camp when the seasons changed. Sarah's way of life was different than he was accustomed to. He had liked the feel of the cabin. Growing used to the idea to live in one area was odd but appealing. To stay warm all winter where the cold couldn't reach into his old bones tempted him. He had built himself a small one-room cabin in the breaks near the edge of the river. For the last few winters, he had stayed upon the plains while the rest of the tribe moved to the winter camp. Mrs. Burgess had needed him, and he needed to be near his Sweet Sarah.
Shining Moon's sister ran to him and clutched the mane of his horse. He slid down its side and turned to face her.
"What is it Walking Doe?"
"Standing on Edge fell. Leg broken, I think." She heaved the words between breaths.
"Will the boy never learn?" He patted his sister on the arm. "I will go to him."
"He is in a lot of pain. Broke skin, bone sticking out." Walking Doe led the horse toward the pasture.
Shining Moon entered his lodge. Orange embers in the circle of rocks glowed. He tossed a few buffalo chips in to stoke the fire. The light of the fire brightened and he piled a few sticks to the blaze. He placed a pot of water on to boil. While he waited, he pulled out the herbs and crushed them in a curved stone. The long slender stone he held in his hand grated against the bottom of the bowl. The herbs to make tea were set aside in a wooden bowl. He poured the water and let it steep until he finished mixing a small amount of water with the herbs he had crushed for a poultice. With his medicine in hand, he made his way to Standing on Edge. His sister's child was of the reckless sort, always into something without a care of the consequences of his actions.
Astraea Press
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