The Savage

Eight

Distraught, feeling anger and despair climbing up my throat, I balled my fists tight, trying to keep from trembling. It felt as though the earth had split from beneath my feet, the bottom dropping out from under my world. Blinded by tears, roaring in my ears, I sat motionless, unseeing, unhearing. All the memories of my father washed before my eyes, his smile, his laugh, the black depth of his eyes, his voice, his touch, it all fled from me like night before the onslaught of dawn. I choked back a broken cry, a wail that threatened to betray my shattered heart, but it would not be contained. My howls echoed across the land as I lost myself to heartache.

Quivering as though I would fly apart, I felt gentle arms encircle me. That crumbled what little control I had left, and I sobbed, keening loudly of my sorrow. Among my people, I had been taught that a person's true character emerges in grief, and that mourners should try to be as virtuous as they can in the face of great loss. In that moment though, all my early training left me and I wept openly, shattered. The body next to me was warm, and calm, soothing me with quiet murmurs, and I felt no shame in my grief. The sun was edging over the horizon when I finally ceased crying, wiping my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve.

"Are you alright now?"

Frank's gentle voice made me jerk back, startled, flushed with shame that he had seen me so weak. Rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes I pushed away, getting up.

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked first." He shifted a little to face me, but did not rise, or attempt to approach. "Are you okay? You hurt?"

"No-" I had to stop, because tears gathered again, spilling down my cheeks, for I was hurt. My heart was broken into little pieces, and the pain was almost unbearable.

"What are you doing out here alone? What's got you crying?" his concern was genuine, and I cast my eyes quickly around but Wind Runner was nowhere in sight. Frank noticed and I saw something dark flash across his face.

"Did he hurt you." It wasn't a question, but a sharp demand. Hugging my shoulders, I shook my head, my eyes aching from the crushing grief.

"He yay, ah-day-wah'yea kee...He is gone." I tried to be strong, tried to stop my tears but I could not. Pain ripped through me again like the sharp edge of a knife, and I gasped, biting hard on my bottom lip.

"The Indian boy told you Napayshni is dead?"

"Yes."

"You believe him?"

"Hahn (yes)."

"I'm sorry little Butterfly," Frank was serious, soothing. "I truly am."

"I won't see him again, he's gone!" More tears came, flooding down my cheeks.

"You will. Don't your people believe in the spirit world? He waits for you, at the fires of your people."

"I will never get there." Sadness ravaged my heart, leaving me hollow, empty. "Without my father to guide me, I can never belong there."

Frank cautiously came near, putting his arms around me again. I was stiff at first, but my anguish outweighed my pride. Nestled into his chest, I buried my face and cried. How long I wept I was not certain, but when Mamma's voice carried from the house, looking for her husband and child, I tried to choke back my sorrow. Hastily trying to dry my face, I looked around, making certain she was not in sight.

"Mamma! She will not understand!"

"Easy Butterfly, its alright..."

"She will be angry-"

"She'll understand." He soothed me, lifting me into his arms as he rose. My first inclination was to fight, but I was too tired, too stricken, so I let him carry me home. Mamma caught sight of us, and her face went pale with worry.