No Return for Those Who Flee

A sudden gunshot startled the horse, and it reared up. Young Anakwadokwe pressed herself against its muscular neck and gripped the mane between her slender fingers.
"Easy, easy, Hinto, it's all right," the girl patted the horse's neck, soothing him. "Those people are far away. They won't harm us."
At least, that's what I hope. Coming so close to the settlements of the white men was dangerous – especially alone.
But she had no choice. One of the chief's youngest children had fallen ill: the baby was still so small, barely strong enough after birth, when the tribe broke camp and set out southward.
Two days into the journey, the wise women noticed something amiss. The child refused to eat and had stopped crying. Everything they tried proved useless.
So the eldest chief's daughter decided to ride to the outpost, a day's travel from their camp. Knowing well that everyone would oppose the idea, she left at night, while the camp slept.
The road had worn her out completely, but she held onto hope – not for a blood brother, for every child that they may lose on this way. That tiny little being to whom she had grown so attached in so short a time. So she decided that never want to see he's mother's tears.
As soon as she entered the settlement, Anakwadokwe drew attention. Indian women usually appeared among the pale-faces only when they had been cast out by their tribe, when they had no place left in the world and were ready to take any work just to survive.
But Ana was on horseback, her clothing spoke of status, and the bow slung across her back lent her an air of quiet menace.
As she rode down the main street, she caught envious glances from her former tribeswomen. But she knew that if she looked at them, she would feel all the pain that had accumulated in them over the years. So she looked only straight ahead.
The apothecary's shop was marked by a bright signboard. Though she could not read English letters well and complicated words were quite beyond her – she felt that this was where she needed to go.
With the help of gestures, Anakwadokwe managed to explain to the apothecary what she wanted. She offered him a sack of grain in exchange for the tincture, but he refused, saying he had never seen such a courageous woman before.
Anakwadokwe left him, leaving a small good-luck talisman by the door. Her conscience would not have allowed her to walk away without paying for the medicine.
Mounting her horse, she immediately broke into a trot, unwilling to draw even more sidelong glances. But she slowed at the edge of the settlement, catching sight of a familiar figure.
"The elders are angry because of your sudden disappearance. You could have consulted them before leaving or at least told me of your plans."
"You know what they would have said. In their view, it is better for a child to be reborn into a better life than to accept help from foreigners. What kind of future do they dream of, if they are ready to wage eternal war with them? Though they themselves are no better than the settlers – if only because they fight with the settlers' own weapons and then complain that those weapons bind souls to the earth forever, instead of letting them pass on to the ancestors."
"Your views reach too far, Kwe. No one will agree with them anytime soon. You are like a cloud on the horizon – you never know what to expect: a merciful shade on a scorching day, or a violent storm that sweeps away all peace."
"I want only peace for my family, and for my people. I want the spirits to know that I will never give up and never stray from my path."
"That is exactly what I like about you, Anakwadokwe. No matter how much your parents try to rein you in, you still walk your own road."
"And you are forever following me, Mekya. Aren't you tired of it yet?" She gave a faint smirk, turning her eyes back to the road.
"Do you think I would abandon my future wife? My parents would never forgive me."
"They want to speak with my father again?"
"Yes, I think it is happening right now. Hard times have begun in your family. I don't think the chief will refuse this time. He may lose one child, and with your character, he will certainly be looking for someone who can keep you in check."
"Are you comparing me to a stubborn horse?" Fire flashed in Anakwadokwe's eyes. "At this rate, you will certainly never win my favour."
She abruptly broke into a gallop and sped off into the distance. She deliberately took an unfamiliar path, one that significantly shortened the way back to the tribe. Arriving at the camp, she saw her father and Mekya's parents emerging from a tipi.
Removing the saddle from her horse, she waited for the right moment, then approached her father.
"This will help your son grow strong. But the choice is yours: use it and help the child, or please the elders and lose him." Ana feared that her father would simply pour it out, rendering all her efforts meaningless.
"I will accept this gift from you, though many will be against it. Thank you. Perhaps only this can save my son." The man gave a slight nod and smiled with the corner of his mouth. He smoothed his long black hair, which reached down to his waist, and looked at his daughter again. "You care for your brother as if he were your own child. Isn't it time to think about joining your fate with someone else?"
"I know whom you mean. But I also know that you yourself would not want to let me go through life with a man who has not made a name for himself."
"Mekya has long been known as a skilful hunter – he tracks his prey with the ease of an eagle, even from afar. And he found you today, did he not?"
"Mekya's spirit is not yet strong enough to begin a new stage in his life. He still needs time."
"Tell me when you are ready. I will not use force against my only daughter."
"Believe me, it will not be soon. He is like a brother to me."
The man entered the tipi, leaving his daughter alone with her thoughts. Anakwadokwe saw Mekya speaking with his father, and he was clearly displeased with the outcome. They both disappeared into their tipi, and the girl noticed one of the elderly women walking toward her.
The day was drawing to a close, and some were gathering around fires near their tipis. Men's and women's fires were also lit throughout the camp, and sometimes the young were invited to listen to the legends.
Sitting down near a woman whose hair was like salt mixed with pepper, she began to listen to the stories. The sun had already sunk below the horizon; the wind had taken the reins and made her shiver with every gust – but the tales, once heard at campsites, drew her in completely.
The last story had been told to her long ago by a woman of the Shoshone tribe.
"It happened many years ago. A young girl was promised as a wife to a young Lakota warrior. They loved each other. Everyone could see the bond between them. But one day, shortly before their wedding, he left for war. When the first messengers arrived, they brought word that the young warrior had fallen. A few days later, the remaining warriors returned, bringing the bodies of the fallen, and buried them. But the young heart could not bear it, and the girl went mad with grief. A late evening fell upon the tribe, and the people heard singing above the cliff. There was so much sorrow and grief in that song that every heart clenched in pain. The girl's hair flew in the dance of her shattered soul; she danced faster and faster, giving all of herself. But soon the cliff ended, and she fell. The girl wanted to be with her warrior for life and she achieved it. This story is an example of faithfulness to one's vows."
Anakwadokwe couldn't help but remember that, as children, she and Mekya had promised to stay by each other's side for life, and that when they came of age, they would bind their fates forever. But at some point, the girl grew afraid of the responsibility and began to pretend that the young man meant nothing to her even though inside, everything turned upside down every time she laid eyes on the stately hunter.
"Once you promise to walk this path together, you can no longer run from it. You cannot undo your decision or change your mind. You can run away, of course – no one here will hold you by force – but you cannot come back and try again. For those who have once fled, there is no return."
And in that moment, Anakwadokwe had a revelation. She had heard the flute playing near her tipi many times, and she had often run into Mekya when he deliberately waited for her and stood in her way, silently asking: "Are you ready to go further with me?"
But she had always pretended not to know the customs of their tribe, as if she didn't understand what the young warrior was trying to achieve.
Only this time, she decided to act.
"We will wait no longer. I have realized that I am ready to walk beside him hand in hand." As the women began to disperse, Anakwadokwe found her father among the elders.
"I don't wish to disappoint you, my soul, but this evening he left to hunt buffalo. A large herd was spotted nearby. The gods themselves took pity and sent such a gift. So you will have to be patient. He will return soon, and then you can bind yourselves together."
For most of the night, the girl could not sleep, worrying about how the hunt would go. After hearing the story that evening, she feared above all that she would receive tragic news. Though hunting and war are different things – people die in both. Only toward dawn did exhaustion overcome the young girl, and she managed to fall asleep. Terrible dreams tormented her mind: she saw enormous beasts charging at the Indians, who fled from their mighty force. Not everyone succeeded, so cries rang out everywhere, and dead bodies lay scattered on the ground. All of it terrified Anakwadokwe; she wanted to hide in a safe place and wait out the chaos around her, yet at the same time she knew that Mekya was out there somewhere.
She ran forward, not looking where she was going, stopping abruptly now and then to avoid being trampled by horses or buffalo. There were many people around, but she could not recognize a single face. And then, when a familiar silhouette appeared ahead, she quickened her pace – but only a few metres from her goal, she heard a long, drawn-out bellow. She felt strong male hands on her shoulders, pulling her back sharply. The buffalo passed within a metre of them and with it, the dream vanished.
She sat up with a start, trying to recover from the strange vision. In the tipi was only her father's second wife, sewing together dressed hides and humming quietly to herself.
"The chief also left for the hunt in the middle of the night. He decided to oversee the process. He promised to return by evening with the others."
But in the evening, not all the men returned. The hunt had proved more difficult than expected. Many bold and swift buffalo passed through the valley, and they did not accept death easily. Some hunters were buried on that meadow, covered with stones. Those in whom a spark of life still lingered were brought back to camp.
Anakwadokwe walked through the crowd, hoping to find a familiar face. She had not seen so many exhausted and wounded hunters in a long time. Fear crept closer with every moment, and soon she noticed Mekya's mother running toward the camp entrance. Without hesitation, Ana rushed after her.
The young man lay on a makeshift stretcher; his skin seemed to have lost all colour, and his chest barely rose.
"A buffalo knocked him down," said the head of the family, crouching beside his son. "He was distracted by something – I have never seen him so unfocused."
"He is strong. He will pull through. He will regain his strength before we move on," the woman said, gently stroking her child's head.
Over the next few days, Anakwadokwe helped not only in her own tipi, but also in Mekya's family, doing whatever she could to assist them and to be closer to him. Every time she looked at him, she hoped he would wake.
But days passed, and he still lay there, lifeless. The constant strain drained all her strength. At first, she had held on bravely, but soon, as soon as she entered the tipi and lay down on the furs, she would immediately fall into the world of dreams.
The next morning, Anakwadokwe was woken by her father's wife, who shook her by the shoulder and muttered under her breath that the girl simply refused to wake up.
"Keep sleeping like this, and you will miss everything in the world," she said crossly, pulling the furs off the sleeping girl. "Mekya is awake! Anakwadokwe, if you do not get up this instant and do what you wanted to do, I swear by the gods, you will lose my respect! He is already walking around camp as if nothing happened, and all you think about is sleeping longer."
"Mekya is awake?!" The girl sprang up, threw on her overshirt, wrapped herself in a blanket, and ran out of the tipi barefoot.
"Since Mekya tried to win my attention in the traditional way, I will act as many generations of women before me have done." Anakwadokwe stood not far from the tipi. Her appearance drew considerable attention – including that of the very person to whom her gesture was addressed.
Mekya stood near his family's tipi, his dark hair loose and flowing in the wind, his eyes burning with the fire of life itself. When their gazes met, she saw genuine surprise on his face. The young man began to walk toward her slowly, uncertainly, thinking it was just another of her games. But Anakwadokwe did not run. She stood still, and when only a few metres remained between them, she closed her eyes and opened the blanket.
Time stretched unbearably. It felt as though minutes had passed, while fear raced wildly inside her, carrying away every last grain of calm.
In an instant, the sun seemed to dim and then she felt strong arms wrap around her waist. She drew the edges of the blanket over his back, and Mekya lifted her into the air.
From all sides came joyful shouts and congratulations; some approached them and offered small gifts.
"We are no longer Anakwadokwe and Mekya, apart. Now we are one."