“Stay close,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, fragile and frayed.She nodded, her eyes locked on the man who had appeared like a specter—and saved us.
The warrior stepped closer, his long, dark hair catching the firelight.“No need to fear me,” he said again.His English wasn’t perfect—rough-hewn and shaped by a different tongue—but I understood him clearly.
“I am Dancing Fire,” he continued, touching his chest.“This is my cousin, Sky Raven.”Another man stepped from the trees, silent and intense, eyes scanning the darkness.
I could hardly speak.I had expected grunts, foreign words, not this—this man speaking with clarity and purpose.My world, already overturned, tilted again.Everything I had been taught about Native tribes was crumbling under the weight of truth.
Dancing Fire crouched in front of us, his gaze locked on mine.“What are your names?”
Paralyzing terror gripped me, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped animal’s desperate struggle.Mary and I stood at the forest’s edge, its towering trees cloaked in a dense, unsettling fog.I locked eyes with her—her pupils blown wide with fear, her breath coming in shallow gasps.Her terror matched my own, palpable and suffocating.
“We are from the mighty Sioux tribe.”Dancing Fire stepped forward, commanding but not threatening.“Those bastards—Kiowa—are our mortal enemies.Treacherous, violent men.”
His gaze flicked between us, unwavering and sincere.
“Do not be afraid.We came to protect you.If we hadn’t arrived when we did…” He paused, his jaw tightening.“They would have defiled you, scalped you, then left your bodies to rot.Our people value peace above all else.We must defend those who cannot defend themselves.Please—do not fear us.”
His voice, fierce and reverent, filled the silence, and with it, the weight of the moment shifted.
I gasped, my breath shuddering as relief mingled with disbelief.These men—these warriors—had saved us.My voice trembled as I stepped forward, forcing the words from lips still numb with fear.
“My name is Elizabeth Alexander,” I managed, the syllables feeling foreign and fragile in this vast, unfamiliar wilderness.“And this is my dear friend Mary.We hail from England.”
The words hung between us, as fragile as spun glass, a thread of trust extended to strangers in a world turned upside down.
Dancing Fire’s expression softened into a smile—warm, genuine, and so unexpected that it eased the iron grip of fear on my chest.
“It is an honor to meet you both,” he said kindly.“Please, come with us.I must bring you before our great chief and council.”His invitation was free of command, steeped instead in respect—and something else I couldn’t yet name.
Still stunned, we followed them, the only anchor in a night where everything familiar had been torn away.The riverbank unfolded before us, silvered in starlight, lined with birchbark canoes that looked otherworldly against the mist curling off the water.The world was a dreamscape of shadow and motion, and yet, Dancing Fire and Sky Raven moved with a certainty that defied the darkness—as if the forest and river belonged to them alone.
Dancing Fire extended a hand, guiding me to one of the slender vessels.“Careful,” he murmured, steadying my arm as I stepped inside.His touch was light and respectful—a balm after the brutal violence of the Kiowa.I offered him a faint nod, unable to find words for the gratitude stirring in my chest.
Under Sky Raven’s watchful gaze, Mary found her seat in another canoe.Our eyes met—haunted, weary, but alive.That, for now, was enough.
With barely a word, the warriors took up their paddles.The canoes glided across the river, as smooth as silk, propelled by an almost reverent rhythm.The water mirrored the stars above, a dark glass reflecting the night sky, broken only by the gentle dip and pull of the paddles.
There was none of Jules’ gruff shouting, no harsh splashes of our flatboat—only the whispers of the river, the hushed song of the wilderness, and the slow, inevitable passage into the unknown.
I clutched the side of the canoe, my gaze fixed on the dark water ahead.Whatever awaited us beyond the bend, I could only pray it would not ask more than we had left to give.
The canoe’s hull scraped the pebbled shore with a muted grind.I jolted, but Dancing Fire’s firm grip steadied me as he helped me disembark.My legs trembled beneath me, weak from fear and fatigue, and I staggered on the uneven riverbank.He offered silent support, never releasing my arm until I had found my balance.
Beside us, Sky Raven extended his hand to Mary, who gripped it like a lifeline.Her face was drawn and pale in the moonlight, but her eyes were wide with lingering terror.I reached for her hand as soon as she was upright, and together, we clung to each other—our last thread of familiarity in this strange land.
“Where are you taking us?”The words burst out before I could temper them, edged with anxiety and raw exhaustion.My voice rang out too harshly in the quiet, shattering the solemn hush of the woods.
Dancing Fire turned toward me, his gaze unwavering, his expression unreadable but clear.“Like I said...to our chief.To the village.”He spoke slowly in his halting English, each syllable carrying a weight far greater than its sound.“Both of you are safe here.”
Despite the uncertainty surrounding us, something about his voice—low, certain—cooled the fire of panic that had begun to flare in my chest.His assurance was not just spoken; it radiated from him, as solid and immovable as the earth beneath our feet.
Mary and I walked close, our shoulders brushing, taking comfort in that slender connection thread.As we followed Dancing Fire through the forest’s hush, my mind spiraled back through everything we had endured since the flatboat—Widow York’s biting commands, Jules’ rough kindness, the bloodshed, the loss, the chaos, and Amir.
His name was a wound—raw and silent.His absence was a gaping void I dared not dwell on, not here, not now.
Through the trees, the village appeared like a dream, the silhouettes of cone-shaped dwellings glowing softly with the light of fires and torches.Shadows danced across the stretched leather surfaces, flickering like spirits as we passed.The air was filled with a strange quiet—not silence, but a peace borne of ritual and purpose, of people living by the rhythm of the land.
We wove between the dwellings, the earth solid beneath our feet, anchoring us in a world that felt foreign and strangely grounding at once.For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was falling.
