The first light snow of winter has fallen, and I stand shivering, waiting for John.
I told him to meet me on the evening after the first snow. He does not know why. He has been giving me food and old blankets, setting them by my door as a sign of affection, and I hardly know how to respond. My cousin White Otter courted a young man, but I did not see how she treated him. I scowled at their love, then turned to play with my brother Black Wolf or gather herbs with Nokomis.
I miss my people. I will miss John, too. I will miss his smile, the light in his eyes when he sees me, his warm embraces. For a moment, I reconsider my actions, but I hold firm. No. This is what is best for both of us.
I hear his footsteps approaching. I know that they belong to him and no one else--he steps lightly, almost as lightly as my own people, but was not trained in silence as my people were. He smiles when he sees me.
"Hey, kid," he says.
He looks at the ground around me. On my left is my medicine bundle--I have made a new one from a rabbit's pelt. On my right is a small handsled loaded with food and furs. I do not have enough food to last the winter, I know, but perhaps God will provide more food for me.
"John, see me!"
I am not holding a crutch. I am not leaning on my spear. I take one step towards him, then another, stumbling but never falling. It hurts, but only with the good pain the comes along with healing.
I try to walk too quickly, and I stumble again. John catches me. His arms are warm, like a blanket set next to a fire. I let him embrace me.
"Good job, Running Horse. I'm proud of you."
His voice almost sounds sad. I look up into his eyes, realizing how much taller he is than I, and stare. "You are hurt," I say.
"No--why'd you say that?"
"Not that--inside. Here." I place my hand on his chest, over his heart. "Why?"
"You remind me of a bird with a broken wing," he says. "A Running Horse that can hardly walk."
"But I walk. I live." My voice breaks. "And I say goodbye today."
"What?"
"I go--far--for winter. Your people are not there. It is--more warm. More safe, for me."
John grows silent. The wind whips his hair and his coat, and I shiver. I wish he would hold me in his warm arms and never let go. I wish I could go with him into his house and stay forever with him. And he tempts me.
"It's not too late, you know," he says. "You can come stay with us. We've got a nice big house. It's just me and Ma and Pa and Thomas--do you remember Thomas? The little blonde kid, not quite as tall as you, you helped him when he got lost one time. He'd love to see you again."
I remember Thomas. I remember his light hair and green eyes, and I remember his mean-spirited father. I remember that I am dying because I dared help him. I wish I could see him again.
"The man--with light-in-sky stick--he will hate you, John. He will hate you for loving me. And he will come--with his stick--to hurt you, because he hurt me...."
"He won't," John promises. "He won't hurt me. And he won't hurt you again, either. I promise. I promise, Running Horse, we'll be fine."
He draws me into his arms and it is everything I wanted. I am warm and safe here--warmer and safer than I would ever in the heart of the woods. But I tear myself away.
"You will know me for always, yes?"
John smiles. "If you're asking if I'll always remember you...of course I will, kid. I'll always remember you. And I'll...I'll always love you."
His voice catches in his throat, as if the words come easily and with force all at once. His blue eyes are soft and wet; I rub the tears from his eyes.
"And I will always love you," I promise. "And because I love you, I leave."
"But I won't see you again. Ever."
I shake my head. "I will see you if your God says I will."
John smiles again. He takes me into his arms and holds me tight and presses his lips against my cheek. I remember this act. It is called a Kiss; it warms me, and my resolve leaves me. I am ready to leave with him to his house; even if the evil man finds us and we both die, it will be worth it, for we will be together.
But I look up into his eyes, and I want him to live no matter what happens to me or to us.
"I go bye now," I say.
"I'll always be here for you if you change your mind," John says.
"I know."
I stand on my toes, wincing as my leg explodes in sharp aches, and kiss John's cheek. Then, limping, I grab the ropes of my handsled and look at him one last time.
There are no words spoken between us. No words are needed. I tug on the rope, and the sled bumps over the snow after me. I leave for the heart of the woods, where I will be safe but alone.