dappled mustang, Song, along the lakeshore, her horse’s powerful muscles rippling with each long stride. She loved how she and Song moved together, how the air rushed against her face and lifted her hair. Her father said that riding was the closest that a person ever came to flying.
This was the very reason Raven did not wear her hair in twin braids like the women of her tribe, but neither did she quite dare to wear it as her father and brother did. The warriors cut their forelock short and used grease and pitch to make the hairs stand up as stiff as a porcupine’s quills. Instead, Raven made her own style and had wound narrow braids at her temples and wrapped them in ermine that was decorated with shell beads and quillwork like the men. The rest of her hair she left loose and as wild as the mane of her mustang. Her dress was also a mixture, shorter than a woman’s, made from a single buckskin like a man’s, but for modesty and comfort she wore both loincloth and leggings beneath.
Raven wore a skinning knife about her neck, as most females in her tribe did, but she also carried a deerskin quiver from the six-point buck she had felled when she was eight. Within, metal-tipped arrows waited, ready. She carried her strung bow looped over her back. The taut string, fitted between her breasts, revealed her curves.
Raven knew that more than one woman objected to her hunting, but they never said so to her face and they did not turn down the meat. As for the men, her position as the chief’s daughter insured that she had no shortage of suitors, just a shortage of suitors who interested her. Hunting and riding were more appealing.
Now she sought to catch her older brother, Bright Arrow, who had somehow managed to leave camp without her knowing. His stealth was only one of the qualities that she admired. Up ahead the party of warriors turned at the sound of her approach. There was Little Badger, Turns Too Slowly and her brother. Little Badger grinned with pleasure at her appearance, but her brother did not. In fact, he did not even slow his big blue roan stallion, Hail. It was only now, when she drew close, that she saw her brother did not carry his bow, but his lance. Were they raiding already?
“I could have shot you,” said Turns Too Slowly, realizing belatedly that he had not even reached for his bow.
“What are you doing, Raven?” Bright Arrow asked, his voice so stern he reminded her of their father, Six Elks.
“I thought you were hunting elk,” she said, already aware of her mistake.
Her offer was met with silence. Finally Turns Too Slowly spoke.
“This is no hunt.”
“We are scouting for Sioux,” said Little Badger.
Her eyes widened and excitement and fear rolled in her belly until they were blended like berry juice in water. She had not seen a Sioux snake since the attack when she was only seven.
“Have you seen any?”
Her brother raised his hand, halting Little Badger, who was about to answer.
Her brother’s scowl deepened. “This is their territory. It is wise to be certain we are alone. If they are here we must prepare to fight.”
Was that a yes or a no?
“Did Father send you?”
“Go home, Little Warrior.” Her brother now made her childhood name sound like an insult.
She stayed where she was, toying with the leather fringe on the pommel she had made with the help of her grandmother, Truthful Woman. “I will help you scout.”
“You will not.”
Since word had come of the raids against their people by the Sioux, he was not so forgiving of her insistence to leave the camp.
“I can track game better than Little Badger and hear better than Turns Too Slowly,” she said, unable to keep the belligerence from her voice.
“And ride better than all three of us, I suppose,” said Turns Too Slowly.
“Yes.”
Turns Too Slowly gestured toward camp. “So prove it by riding that way.”
Her brother was more to the point. “Do you know what they do to female captives?” he asked. His voice held a note of irritation. She knew. The enemy would disgrace her, take her freedom, give her all the hardest work and worst food. Still, she lifted her chin. “I am not afraid of the snake people. I would kill them first.”
“Brave words, but better still, ride home where you are safe,” he said. His tone changed, now quiet, respectful with just a note of desperation. “If you are here, I have to worry over your safety.”
She wished they could stay in their mountains instead of moving east into the territory of the Sioux with the endless grass. But the whites had built a fort and then sickness had taken so many. Her father, their chief, had moved them here, thinking it better to face an enemy they could see.
She looked over her shoulder at the way she had come. Back there she knew the women were tending cooking fires, gathering wood and gutting fish caught on the trawl lines. She looked forward at the blue lake glimmering through the trees and the forest thick with brush.
Her heart tugged, whispering for her to ride.
“We will take you back,” he said, turning his horse.
She did not want to be escorted to camp like some wandering child. She could take care of herself. Hadn’t she killed a deer, elk and pronghorn? Hadn’t she skinned them and dressed them and carried them home over her horse’s withers?
Bright Arrow did not wait for her to reply but pressed his horse forward.
As he passed her, he said, “You’ll be safe there.”
She did not want to be safe. She wanted to be a warrior like her brother. His hands were tough and smelled of leather, instead of stinking of fish.
“I’ll take her,” said Little Badger.
Bright Arrow eyed his fellow. “And leave us one weaker?”
She suspected that this was not the only reason her brother said no. Ever since Bright Arrow had caught Little Badger trying to put his hand up her dress, he had not left any of his friends alone with her. It was just as well. She liked the sensation of a warrior’s touch, but would not let anyone lift her dress. She was a woman of virtue, not some Sioux captive to be used by anyone.
Still, her stubbornness had limits. She would not leave her brother with one less warrior on her account, especially if the Sioux were near. But with the sun streaming through the yellow leaves and the wind still blowing warm as summer, it was hard to think of danger.
“Have you seen any Sioux?” she asked.
Her brother shook his head.
“Then, I will find my own way home.”
Before he could object, she wheeled about, urging her horse to rear before bounding off the way she had come.
She heard the sound of hooves beating the ground behind her. A glance back showed Bright Arrow in fast pursuit with his comrades close behind. He was an impressive sight at full gallop, with his long hair streaming out behind him and the
