Find Me

The Doe

I kneel to drink at the brook, but I stop and look around first. Four winters in the forest have turned me flighty, like a bird, and like the deer I dread the white man and his lightning-stick. For I am dressed in the skins of deer, and the eyes of the White Man will see no difference.

I know I am not alone. I hear a scuffling on a ridge above me, but I hear many feet and no voices. I move my spear closer to me as I rinse my hands in the clear, cool water, and lift some to my mouth to drink.

The scuffling noises grow louder, and I hear the bleated cry of an injured deer. I sigh. I throw water on my face, washing off dirt and dry blood, and turn to scale the ridge.

"Esiban!" I call. The fat raccoon at the brook's edge complains loudly. He ignores me, shoving a crayfish into his tiny mouth. I whistle for him, and imitate the calls of the raccoon, but he continues to ignore me.

"Fine!" I declare, scaling the ridge myself. At the top, there is a doe, lying still save for her cries for help. For a moment, I consider her easy food, but something inside of me is stirred. She raises her head to look at me, and she is unafraid. Her eyes are honey-brown and liquid, peaceful and steady.

I lay down my spear and approach her, slowly, my hand outstretched towards her. "I will not harm you," I tell her. "I am Running Horse. I am you friend, and I am here to help you."

The doe seems to hear my words. She blinks, and she lays her head down. She is scratched and bleeding, as if she has been in a fight, and her leg is twisted and broken.

"I will help you," I tell her. I break a stick off a nearby tree and take the bandage from my medicine pouch. I remember Nokomis, how she set a brave's arm when it had shattered, and my hands mimic her actions. I grab the doe's leg and pull. She bleats, but she is strong. She does not move.

"You are strong, young warrior," I tell her. For she is young--this is probably her second autumn. She is beautiful, her fur soft as I stroke her, her eyes soft and sweet and unafraid, her breath swift and focused. "I will name you Sebewesha, the Brook, for that is where I found you."

Esiban finally scrambles up the ridge, panting from his work. He looks at me and objects, not wanting another animal to steal the affections I give him.

"Shut up," I tell him.

Esiban comes to me and crawls on my narrow shoulder, resting there while I put a splint around Sebewesha's wounded leg. She is still, her rushed breathing the only show of her pain. She is admirable. "You are strong," I tell her again. I push Esiban off my shoulder, take Sebewesha into my arms, and stagger under her weight. I carry her on my shoulders, as I once saw a white man carry a sheep.

I am careful not to hurt her, but she struggles against me anyway. I calm her, cooing in the way I have learned comforts all animals. Sebewesha grows still again, and I begin to walk.

Sebewesha grows heavier with every step, but I walk on. It is a mile to the house I have made for myself, a house inside a dead and hollow tree. It is one of many houses I have made for myself, for I wander so that the white man will not find me. And I know that I will not be found.

This house, though it is closest to the white man's village, is my favorite. It is near a tiny stream, and I have dug caches to store baskets of food in. In my house, I sleep on a bed of the furs I have hunted--furs of deer and squirrel and rabbit, and even raccoon, despite Esiban's objections.

I am glad to see my house, for I am beginning to stagger under Sebewesha's weight. I lay her down next to my hollow tree, stroking her coarse fur. She opens her eyes and looks around, and she tries to stand. I coo at her again. She lays down, and I check the cast on her leg. It is still set.

"You are strong, young warrior," I tell her, and I try to stand to get her water. My legs are tired from carrying her; I fall when I try to take a step. I try again. I can hardly get to my feet this time, and so I reach for my spear to help me. I have left it at the brook.

"Esiban!" I call. I cannot see him. I call his name until I fear the White Men will find me, and then I strike the ground in anger. I try once more to stand and finally succeed.

"You are weak," I mutter to myself. "You are a disgrace to your clan and to your family." And with that, I stumble through the woods. As soon as I retrieve my spear, I will sleep. When I wake, I will be strong again.