Spirits of the Wildflowers

by Parris Match

  Lastly, intermittent parting flares and flashes, instantaneous fitful exploded sparklers whirl-rising, then the fires glowing embers withdraw and quit; and the closed little village became silent, but for the retiring denned pack of heeded snuffles and grunts, and suspended coughs.

  Dacoh lay prone in the dampened garden patch, mistily cloaked in the hoary hirsute deerskins crumpled pelt, just another indistinguishable lumpy mound; remaining lustily attached into the cooling then nippy chirp-less night, absolute desire contemplating what Dacoh must surely do… … . Accepting the conclusive premise he could not attain, his chosen object in this circumstance; he slowly and reluctantly started backing-out of the forbidden garden, when his stiffened forearm brushed-up against, a sizeable round brassy plump squash.

  Wildly impulsive, losing his common sense, denied what he wanted, but seizing what he could get; Dacoh twisted and pulled and twisted and jerked and plucked from off the vine, until it broke away from the rounded pod-fruit, emitting a distinct loud SNAP…. Looking hastily around in the menacing dark, he stood-up, threw the deerskin over his shoulder, heaved and hugged the large orange squash to his belly, and scampered out of the vine-webbed garden, then running rashly down the curved and snakelike pathway, to return to his safer starting point, before and through the pursuant shape-shifting darker roundabout specters.

  The moon shone brighter as Dacoh luckily made his way down the, long and lengthy, winding silvery path back to the river bank, carrying his unforeseen empowering reward. He lugged his hefty adolescent plunder through the cold dividing stream, and on safely reaching the other side, quickly dodged into the underbrush; dropped to his knees, with the cherished bulbous treasure lying on the ground before him, and breathed an expended sigh of deep relief. If he could steal an ordinary resplendent golden pumpkin, by way of the evasive light of the moon, of many that were available, he could most certainly achieve his primary goal.

  Dacoh ruptured the pumpkin with several hammered blows from a sharp edged stone, then busting some of the larger pieces into smaller portions; he scraped away the inner pulp of the moist fruit with his teeth, a welcome relief from his limited diet of dried prepared venison and corn-meal paste. Layering and cupping the broken thick pieces of squash, then placing them into the largest of the leftover casing, Dacoh buried the pumpkin and swept the area clean with the side of his hand, making sure that no sign of any residual evidence remained. Then Dacoh crept into a cleared brushy hollow and occasionally slept.

  A light brisk slanted rainfall descended upon the accessible un-canopied village of the River People, with incurrent gauzy sheets of ghostly mist that swirled and eddied through the denuded branches of the long-standing ashen oaks. But where Dacoh slept, the raging peripheral winds squalled without ease, jolting and angrily whipping the rivers bowed willowish trees, and the chattering tops of the quivering underbrush; viciously blowing, back and forth, within and through the turbulent restless night-time. Stinging sharp thornspike and broken twigs harshly pelted against Dacoh’s plight. There was no reprieve from the cold explosive blasts of thrashing wind; it burst under and through every small crack or opening in his inadequate deerskin body armor. The shivering blustery desolate night, was most assuredly a disheartening commencement, before his perilous pursuit.

  The day began in a stale deadening calm, the sky was dense and motionless, omnipresent sweeping grayness, the leaden odor of old musty sullen Spirits. Dacoh uncovered the pumpkin, removed a few smaller pieces, together with a deep-cupped chunk of the orange squash, and concealed the remnants again, gently smoothing some sand over the top. He retrieved his bow, arrows, and spear from their hiding place, because on this day, he must possess a sacrificial rabbit; to achieve his purpose it was imperative to obtain a fresh source of blood. Ahcoo’ah and Dacoh had discussed in every detail, a contrived ruse to meet with possible success. Dacoh prowled low within the sand-banked silt fields, amongst the scattered mounds of raised brush, cluttering the broad crusted sandy shelf beside the river, looking for the most ideal location to ensnare a yielding rabbit. Finally settling on a specific site, inside a thick encompassing briar, Dacoh artfully constructed a tunneled prickly-weaved counterfeit pocketed warren. He then within, set-up several rawhide twine noose snares, baiting them with some hunks of fragrant pumpkin; lengthened and lay down the concealed slip lines, and then hid inside the nearly red-berry adjacent bushes. He buried the bowlshaped section of the pumpkin, to mask any distracting smells that may confuse his furry prey; and then waited patiently for the favorable entrancement of the long-eared talisman; the skittish unwilling servant to Dacoh’s desired expectations.

  Dacoh laid in pause, the grey of the day seemed to halt, sense of time was stopped in a silent vacuum, two eyes as one; waiting for the appearance of a wayward rabbit, was a breathless monotonous undertaking. Dacoh’s thoughts lustily drifted to the smooth bronzed sinuous body of his coveted vessel, his stomach muscles contracted and a low sensuous growling moan vibrated in his throat, bringing him instantly back to the task at hand. The open space between his hiding place and the location of the snares, became the all-inclusive enclosed core of his world on this gloomy day; interrupted by the exquisite visions of the lithe nude young woman sashaying through the clearing, which captured and absorbed Dacoh’s yearning covetous heart. Dacoh’s overly focused eyes wilted into a drowse; he shook his head brusquely to regain his straying attention.

  An inquiring malicious marauder’s piercing squawk, could be heard coming from somewhere close by; startle-seen tremulous flapping of the dark demon’s wings, to alight over, just above Dacoh’s head. The glossy beady-eyed black-tattler, perched wobbly, so bent on the uppermost slender stray branch of the highlighted risky berry bramble, where Dacoh lay hidden below; cling-rested for a seemingly generous moment, without voicing a telling disclosure; twitchingly cocking its head back and forth, ravens black-n-yellow eyes peering about it’s choices; then quickly in an arrogant flap, that most common dark traitor flew off.

  Dacoh could clearly see Her, a bewitching graceful vision of his arrested desire; she stood there in her native tanned beauty, waiting for him, beckoning for him to come, enticing his passions-driven hunger; a large tawny-brown long-eared rabbit at her feet. Blinking… from his stupefied daydream, Dacoh saw the rabbit hesitate, then in quick halting increments, dart towards the prepared thorny briar, to the intertwined hole that softly held, the baited and cloaked, sickle-binding blades. Dacoh readied himself; he would have little chance to capture the skittish rabbit, the snare at best would delay the frantic escape of his quarry; the dense thorny cage and the looped noose trap that he had set, would leave him an instant to deliver, a final decisive blow. The dull-witted rabbit dashed up to the patch of brush, scuttled along its side, and on locating the diminished fabricated tunnel; wriggled its nose, lowered its lengthy ears, then scurried back toward the aroma of succulent temptation, and entered the burrow of the bristled cavern.

  Sneakily, gradually crawling closer to the securely barbed warrens only entrance, Dacoh uncovered the end-lead of one leather twine noose, and firmly twisted it around his tightened fist; immediately with great force Dacoh suddenly jerked back on the hard-drawn cord. The waxen bush instantly detonated, sand and twig sprays erupt, but the interwoven barbed branches temporarily seized its furry captive. The thrashing powerfully-legged rabbit spew sand and bits of brush in every direction; Dacoh held tight, pulling with all his strength, equally the victims long-haired body strictly stuck to side of the grasping thorn mesh; the rabbit beating and rolling about, struggling desperately to free itself, then the rabid rabbit became completely motionless. Dacoh waited a few moments and once more yanked forcefully on the line; again the fettered rabbit went into a second burst of frenzy, thrashing wildly about. The bush exploded and violently shook as result of the self-inflicted flaying of its panic-stricken trapped prisoner of the solemn pledge; then the utterly exhausted quivering rabbit, quickened weak heart to the last breaking, submissively quitted ag
ain, meekly but heavily panting, ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-panting, in its deadly thorn-fixed coffer-box.

  Tugging slowly but steadily on the bound leather cord, the line tightening and then snapping free from its entanglement with the barbed vexing bush trap; little by little, Dacoh began to drag the shuddering rabbit out of the thorny hooked hollowed space. As the soft limp rabbit appeared, Dacoh could see that the cord had wrapped itself around the extended elongated foot of the substantial shaggy animal. The subdued stooped stupid rabbit had sealed its doom, by its frantic tumbling and thrashing, in the woven afflictive confines, of the enticing entrapment chamber, in the warped spiny brush. Dacoh quickly grabbed the insensible stretched trembling rabbit, before it knew it was breaking free of the distress of the supposedly captivating hole, and promptly cracked its neck.

  To loosen the twisted noose from around the rabbit’s haunches, where it had firmly imbedded within the fur, Dacoh tied its feet together and secured the rabbit to his shoulder, the rabbit dangling fully extended down his side. Retrieving his spear and the largest bowl-shaped piece of the pumpkin, he returned to the rising path and surreptitiously made his way up the slippery slope to the introductory ledge, just outside of the open fracture in the wall; Dacoh’s first charming overview to the river valley.

  Near the skull portent-tripod, next to a huge boulder, on his knees within a gathered clutch of rocks, Dacoh scoured the inside of the pumpkin bowl, removing the sticky sand and scraping the excess pulp away, until the golden vessel was smooth and clean. With a keen consecrated arrowhead, he punctured the neck of the sacrificial rabbit and drained the dribbling blood, from the still warm carcass, into the awaiting partially filled container. Depleting the flow of blood from the good talisman-spirit, Dacoh stepped over to the brink of the ledge, purging himself of the unwanted wasted refuse, he flung the rabbits shrunken carcass, over the cliff, and down into the steep lower rockslide below. Dacoh poured a lesser amount of water into the bowl of blood, mixing it together with his finger, to delay the thickening of the blood; he would not utilize this ultimate source of preplanned trickery, for an uncertain interval of time. He carefully placed a light flat rock over the encircled bowl, propped and positioned sizeable rocks around and over the bowl of slowly curdling blood, to totally block the inherent predatory incursions of any snuffling curious mournful night scavengers of the injured or the dead.

  The sky partially cleared above the southern boundaries where the two rivers convene, with the fairly inclined flashing rosy-tinted sunlight kindly warming the land; a good omen for Dacoh as he cautiously descended the step path to the valley floor. A cooler swift windflaw blew down the valley, surely portending that the higher, both spotty and dense, gray blanket of clouds would soon retreat to the north. As the cold wind wavered, Dacoh could faintly smell the familiar smoke of the campfires of the huddling River People; the young man was found utterly alone in a land filled with countless other humans, he yearned to return to his caring secure family in the veiled mountain valley.

  Hiding his bow, quivers, and spear beside the path again, Dacoh returned where he had buried the pumpkin, unearthed it and carried some of the sandy shards to the river, cleaned the grittiness away, and ate what he could of the pithy fibrous inner surface; sluicing-out and refilling his water-gourds, he stepped back from the river, crouched in the bushes, and keenly long waited for the concealing disguise of dim darkness. The suspended mantle of gray clouds, to layover the intensified strata of quick-silver and gold beneath, had almost withdrawn from the northern boundary of the wetted upper river valley; fused ribbons of golden-hazy-white and pinkish-cotton auras, lingered on the imposing sudden brow of the sheer western ridge; a magnificent parting crown to the darkening jadeite green and other varied inset amberesque gemstones, of the rivers flourishing terrain.

  Hastily after the sunset, Dacoh crossed the cold dividing river; he walked up the path to the top of the hill, and soon going leftward and leaving the rutted track, he slowly paced his way over a patch of barren rocky ground and entered a dense tall thicket of trees and underbrush. Dacoh nested an area within the scrubs, spread his deerskin on the fallen leaves he had gathered all together, and laid down to get the sleep he required for tomorrow’s decisive trail. He could not sleep; the thought of the mission he had to act upon the next day dispirited him, he knew that how he performed on the following day would be his defining moment as a courageous man. His respected mentor, the honored Ahcoo’ah, had explained and asked him to do this duty for his people; and he must not fail.

  The pleasing carnal vision of the sensuous young woman appeared again before Dacoh; he could distinctly smell her without ever being close to her, the sweet aroma of the gracious creamy bud caught in his throat to the crux. The vacuous aching, deep inside his chest, toughened his determination and hardened him, reinforcing the power and renewed resolution that he sorely possessed. With the gentle wind rustling through the suitably dressed branches over his head, Dacoh peacefully passed the quiet night before the storm.

  In the silvery gray of this dawn, Dacoh knew he must position himself early, to avoid all detection, for he was not sure when someone or anyone would be coming down the well-worn path to the one gathering place on the river. Sensibly pondering his risky situation, he stepped down the pathway towards the village; stopping in his tracks, he circumspectly considered a cluster of brush beneath a huge overhanging less leaved solitary tree, next to the slightly sloped mounting trail. Dacoh turned and could see that he was out of view of any person who occupied the beach of the river, for the bare crest of the rounded graveled knoll stood in their way; he then looked in the direction of the village and could perceive that he would have a clear vision of someone drawing near, forthcoming around a rising curve in the trail, exiting a shallow brushy gully; and he would have ample time to prepare, or to take a quick escape. This would be the chosen place where Dacoh’s unique colorful existence and destiny would be decided.

  On the outer unseen edge of this thicket of brushwood, beside the prominent aged oak, that lay on the path towards the village, Dacoh carefully swept and cleared the ground of any dried leaves, twigs, or tiny scrub; he would not want to give any prior snap notice of his planned intention. Dacoh selected a rounded rock that fit in his clenched hand, caped the deerskin over his head and crouched himself into an indentation at the back of the bushes; still allowing him a clear surveillance, in both directions, most import to the advancing trail from the distant settlement of his adversary. With the deerskin tightly cupped around his face, Dacoh kept a vigilant watchful eye on the pathway coming from the village of his enemy, the exclusive River People.

  The enchanting young woman sauntered up the trail all alone, dressed in her beautiful supple finery, the swish of a flowing doeskin garment of golden-tan, bejeweled with red/white/turquoise beads of design; her shiny ravens-black hair festooned with bright feathers and colorful flowers. She was bare footed but for the flickering rhythmic ankle bracelets showily dangling from her slight and delicate limbs. The young maiden then glanced to and fro, like an innocent wary lightfooted fawn, closer and closer, she drew nearer, to the willing and wanton, predatory patient mountain-lion-in-wait. An awakening, buzz… zzing lone bee circled and flitted about, annoying vexatious pest… to Dacoh’ s quiescent sweaty dreamers face, and then abruptly flew off, and in-n-n-n-n-ncessantly dron-n-n-n-ed into the unseen distance.

  Dacoh heard a skittering tremulous noise, a small spotted lizard appeared beneath him, between his dusty cinched-up moccasins; the doltish reptile busily jerking his head forth and back, never really seeing Dacoh towering above him, just as quickly darted away to stay on the top of a warmer-rock; his head rapidly popping from position to advantage, searching for the tiny transparent gnat on the fly. The sound of light chatter wandered from beyond the gully, soon Dacoh could make out the bobbling heads of the women coming up the path; four women and five children tramped up the trail, soon passed-by his brushy lair, and hastened over the hill on their way to the r
iver. Passing the time, Dacoh mulled over the plan for his escape; above all if he were to be successful in the capture of his tender fawn, he must be clear headed and entirely focused, fear or doubt could not distract him.

  With a light stomping patter and the clacking of rocks, a slim youngster ran out of the gully and up the hill, stopping under the tree only a few feet from where Dacoh was hidden; momentarily several smaller children came bounding from the rut followed by three women plodding up the moderate slope. As the women neared the tree, all of the children ran up the hill, with the indifferent women close behind. Dacoh settled down and with an aching seed, patiently waited for his intense sexual desire to be fully satisfied.

  Several repeat appearances followed.

  He did not immediately see nor hear them coming, suddenly they were before him, quietly making their way up the open trail. The benevolent ancestors were watching over Dacoh and his sacred quest; just the young woman and her guardian were visible on the path, and, “Aie!”, the little fawn was walking in front of the other woman. Dacoh kept his eyes set on the trail, behind the two advancing women, rising out of the gully from the village, until they were parallel to the tree; and then glancing quickly up the path, to see that it was also clear; he dashed like the skittery lizard, swift and smooth, rounding the patch of brush towards the back of the two women. The older woman instinctively startled to turn her head before Dacoh slammed the rock into the side of her scull; as the smashed old crone was crumpling senseless to the ground, Dacoh lunged at the younger woman and body slammed her down onto the hard-pan-path, knocking the breath entirely out of her. Grappling with the struggling and grunting young woman, Dacoh held her forcefully down and took lengths of cords from his waist-band and quickly tied her hands behind her, her legs kicking and thrashing about; and then rapidly binding her thumping knees; feeble whining cries, and faint breathless yelping, sounds of weak empty protest, spilled from his constrained and deflated captive.