Red Thunder

~Chapter Three: Part II~

Winnie stood up, dusting herself off and regaining composure. "But you're not! I need to stitch you up right away," she exclaimed, worry creasing her brow into an adorable, fretful pout as she stared down at me.

I nodded in agreement, pressing my hand over the bandaged wound. The fall had jostled it into bleeding again.

Winnie came and knelt beside me, her hair, brownish red like that of a beaver's coat billowing outwards, entrancing my muddled mind. She checked the makeshift bandages and grimaced at what she found. They were rapidly turning crimson.

"I need to get you upstairs into the loft. It is the safest place I can think of. You cannot be moved after I put the stitches in, and my family must never know you are here!"

I understood. She was risking scandal and punishment by helping me. Some might even consider her aiding me as treason to her people. Times were tough here lately to say the least, and hostilities between our two peoples were running dangerously high.

"Here, put your arm around my shoulders and I'll help you up," Winnie directed, circling an arm around my back, careful to avoid my bandages. "We'll take it one step at a time."

I did as she said, trying not to put too much of my weight on her, but I was becoming too woozy and weak. My body slumped over her smaller one and she staggered, but collected herself and pushed on stubbornly.

I was surprised at her strength, as Winnie half dragged half carried my wobbly self over to the wooden staircase.

"Here is the first step."

I drew in a deep breath and raised my moccasined foot, placing it on the raised plank of wood as my rescuer struggled to push the rest of me up. We repeated the process for all fourteen steps, and when we finally reached the top, Winnie's knees were trembling and she was panting heavily. I was in no better shape.

She led me a few steps to a little pallet bed that stood against the wall. Groaning, I was able to lay facedown upon it with her aid. I closed my weary eyes. The blurred and spinning imagery was making me nauseous, and I did not want to be sick in her presence.

I heard Winnie collapse onto a chair beside the cot as she caught her breath. "We sometimes use the loft as a spare room. That's why the bed is here. But don't worry —we only have guests over for Thanksgiving and Christmas, which are still a few months away. I'm not certain if they will even come this year anyways."

I listened to her speak intently. Not so much for the words she was saying, as just enjoying the sound of her voice and the feel of her closeness. It gave me something to focus on besides the pain.

"Red Thunder, I need to go to the house and gather my medical kit. It should only take a minute. Try not to move while I'm gone, alright?"

I opened my bleary eyes to see Winnie bending over me, the angle giving me an allusive glimpse of her enticing, snowy cleavage. She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, which caused jolts of pleasure to shiver through my skin, easing some of the sharp burn of the gunshot wound.

I swallowed nervously, nodding.

Winnie smiled sympathetically and reached forward with her other hand, gently brushing the strands of my sweat and blood coated hair away from my face and neck. The contact caused more tingles to rush through me, settling in inappropriate places. If I weren't so weak, I would have leapt from my skin! Beautiful Winnie touched me with such tenderness and compassion; it sent all sorts of warm feelings through my heart. I wanted nothing more than to pull her close and hold her, but at the moment I was too weak for that to be anything more than a fantasy.

My injury is completely worth this though, I thought.

As long as I survived.

But I was confident that Winnie could heal me, if only her family, or any other white people did not discover me. Very few had my woman's honest, kind heart, I knew.

And I needed to get back soon, before my people sent others out to find me, putting themselves in danger.

I pushed back the throubling thoughts of my ordeal for now, I did not want to start worrying about all the "what ifs." That never seemed to do any good. Instead, I gazed back at my savior. Winnie reminded me of one of the wašíču's angels that were spoken of in their church, and I would not be at all surprised to see a halo of light glow about her head. Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka had a path for the two of us, I was sure. One that we had yet to travel, so yes, I believed I would live. I had to. If not for the sake of our possible future together, then for the safety of my tribe. Someone had shot me from behind, and cowardly would-be killers like that had no place on this land. They were all too likely to strike again.

Winnie rose abruptly and turned around, violet skirts swirling. She bolted down the stairs with the speed of a rabbit, calling behind her, "I will be right back!"

I smiled and settled my cheek more comfortably against the unusually fluffy pillow, closing my tired eyes to await her return.

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