Greatest Change

Chapter 10

          "I know ya can handle yerself, Chayton. But I worry that I have just found ye. And soon ya could be taken from my very own hands, and that-" her words were silenced with his lips. Rough, yet tender at all once. Her hands immediately cupped his jawline, slowly pushing him away. Nobody was around, they were far too busy getting ready. Still, she worried about even one eye catching them. That's all it took, and she might get her head chopped off, figuratively of course. But there was nobody in sight.

          "Have I ever told you how charming your voice is?" he asked, moving closer to kiss her once more. He could feel her smile against his own, capturing her lips in a sweet and intoxicating kiss. He couldn't get enough of her. In fact, that's all he had thought about while in those war chambers. The way her lips felt on his own, her hands against his face or chest, and his heart beating harder than a drum. It had felt right. His soul felt like it could ascend to the heavens right then and there. He was in that dream, the dream in the forest where they had kissed without care, and with the everlasting craving for each other.

          "Speaking Lakota has...well, I suppose I am catching onto the thicker syllables of your language. I think my Southern drawl happens only when I am nervous now," she spoke, blushing slightly, "but I can always try to communicate that way if you wish."

          "No, no," he was talking sincerely, "please don't change a thing about yourself." She was the woman he had slowly begun to fall in love with. A quilt, although beautiful in design, always had small flaws intertwined in the smallest of fabrics. And yet one change could stain the whole thing. Chayton would never ask her to change, not now. She was the most remarkable woman, although stubborn, she was a woman of strength, intelligence, and beauty. The color of her skin meant nothing to him. The damage of her ancestors meant nothing. Clara was a divine creature of her own being. She believed she was created by her God in His own image, and Chayton could somehow have confidence in that. Every curve, every smile, every touch was celestial.

          "Are you nervous?" Clara asked, merely curious. From first glance, he didn't seem to be. There was no wrong or right answer really. Some men were not nervous, some were. Some fed off their nerves to form adrenaline, others fed off their own confidence. Every warrior was different. While Clara knew this would be his first physical battle, she also knew he was ready and prepared for this day.

          "No. What we lack in the Ojibwa ferocity, they lack in numbers," he expressed, "surely it will be a well-fought victory. Besides, you've given me something to live for." Before he could give her another kiss, a few footsteps were heard, and they immediately took a few steps away from each other. Wichahpi turned the corner, seeing them and then extending her hands for both of them to hold. The feast was about to begin!

          Clara hardly remembered any moment of it; she sat there, watching the flames and the shadows of people dancing around it. Time had slowed. She was caught in an infinite space where everybody seemed so...happy. It was war. Did that mean nothing to any of them? Perhaps not. Clara had to remember she was in an entirely strange world, still not what she was used to. Of course, she heard stories of when her father and Booker fought in the Spanish-American War. Young, reckless, and deadly. Some protested the war, wives became widows. There was a sense of fear in America over the word of war, like the shadow of a cloud slowly enrapturing a city. Everybody dreaded the moment it would come and hail rain from above.

          This was different though. It's almost as if the Sioux believed war to be the sunshine after a storm or even a rainbow. It was the revelation of light in a time of darkness. War to them was a victory in itself. Clara didn't see it as the way an athlete bragged about victories or businessmen destroying their competition. It wasn't necessarily bragging about who was the strongest, or biggest tribe. This was a lifestyle. It's how it was. Even the children or wives who were frowning earlier were now dancing, laughing, and chanting. War was a part of their life. The warriors seemed to be already decorated with medals, proud of their accomplishments.