"I tried thinking of the fire. But, I was so cold, I couldn't do it any longer."
"Then, tell me of things you find joy in."
"Christmas, new clothes. Fashion. Strips of cloth I use to curl my hair. And you. I am suddenly thinking you bring me joy."
"You flatter me. We are here at the shelter at last. Do not leave me."
"It's so hard to keep from sleeping."
Suddenly, his arms were around her, and she was so cold she didn't feel the pain when he picked her up. Soon, he was carrying her into a place of warmth.
He deposited her onto something soft, and, without pausing a moment, he began to rub her hands and then her feet. It went on and on. She felt his hands all over her.
Suddenly he was speaking to her in concepts only again. "Do not be alarmed. I must remove your clothing, for it is wet and frozen. I have a warm robe that is not wet, and I will wrap you in it. I will have to move you a little to remove the clothing from you. I might have to cut some of your clothing from you."
She didn't answer. It was beyond her.
Again, with his mind alone, he said, "Talk to me." When she didn't answer, she heard him speak to her in his own language. She tried to communicate back to him, but found she couldn't and so remained silent.
However, she held on to the sound of his voice, afraid to sleep for fear she might not wake up. There was a quality about his words she found beautiful, and she responded to his voice and to him, refusing to give in to the darkness. Indeed, it was as though with his touch and his voice alone, he was keeping her alive and conscious.
She felt him pick her up and wrap her in something very warm, and, as she settled back into its heat and against her bed, sleep claimed her at last.
****
THERE WAS NOT A MOMENTto spare to even build a fire, not if he were to save her from death. He knew if he were to leave her, even to collect wood for a fire, he might lose her. Besides, the falling snow and its blanketing effect over his robes and the branches, which had become their roof and walls, was keeping warmth within the little hut. All else could wait, since he had already loosed his Nokota pony, Goes Far, who had pulled the travois. Had he not done this, the pony would not have been able to move about and find shelter.
No, he couldn't leave this beautiful woman until he was satisfied she was warm and breathing normally.
Removing her icy, wet clothing proved to be more difficult than he might have ever imagined. She wore layer upon layer of clothing, and it was all wet, frozen and cold. He had to cut away some of the garments under her dress, for their removal proved to be difficult and troublesome. Some of her clothing also baffled him as to how it was removed.
And, even as he'd cut away the clothing, he had paused to rub her body so as to keep warmth within her. His tools were his hands and his voice, and, as he rubbed her legs and feet, her arms and hands, her torso and neck—even her face and head—he knew he would have to keep her alive with no more than the warmth of his touch.
He began talking to her in Blackfeet, telling her of his life, explaining why he was able to communicate to the wolves and why they were all brothers or sisters to him. Even though he knew she didn't understand his words, he believed his voice might keep her with him a little longer, giving him the opportunity to save her life.
At last he removed the final piece of her wet, icy clothing, leaving the loveliness of her body before his eyes, and he did look, if only for a moment. Quickly, he wrapped her in his own inner robe which was still warm from his body's heat and the fur of the buffalo which lined it. Then, he set to rubbing her everywhere, encouraging heat to warm her face, her chest and side, her arms, legs and feet—keeping away from her right side which was injured—yet admiring the beauty of her as he did all he could to bring warmth to her.
Darkness came and still he was stroking her up and down, drawing as much heat back into her body as he could. At least she was still breathing, though she was no longer conscious.
Hours crept by as he kneaded every part of her body, avoiding only those private and feminine places, for it was not his right to contact her there. It was well into the late hours of the night when she felt warm to his touch and her breathing became even, not difficult or constricted.
Because of these positive responses, it was only then when Eagle Heart felt safe enough to leave her for a little while to collect enough dry wood to build up a small fire—and a very small fire it must be because their shelter was composed mostly of pine boughs and logs.
There would be no sleep for him tonight. For one thing, the fire would require more fuel; for another, she still needed him to rub warmth into her. The friction kept her warm, as well as him.
He didn't go far from their hut in his search of wood because visibility was near zero. Still, there were enough dry branches close by which would keep the fire alive, and, quickly collecting them, he crawled back into their small hut and started the fire. Then, he glanced at her.
Sighing deeply, he knelt beside her and began to rub warmth into her once more, his hands moving up and down her body. Once the night had fallen completely, he began to recite ancient legends to her and said in the Blackfoot tongue, "Let me tell you the legend of howNapi,or old man, came to fall in love with a woman. Perhaps," he continued, "it is to be my fate, also, for I greatly admire you."
****
LAYLAH HAD A PROBLEM, a bad problem. Her bladder was overly full, but she couldn't relieve herself. In dreams, she tried to let it all go, only to realize the dream was not allowing her to correct the problem.
She tried to sit up, but became painfully sensitive to the fact she could not. Then, she cried. It was hurtful enough to try to get up considering her injuries, but with an overly full bladder, it was impossible. How was she to relieve herself?
She tried again to simply let it all go, but it was not to be. Alas, she was well aware she wasn't alone.Hewas here with her. She peeped her eyes open a little and, slightly turning her head, glanced at him.
He had gone to sleep sitting up beside her, his head bent down over his chest. How long had he been sleeping? She recalled being on the verge of consciousness sometime during the night and recalled listening intently to his voice. Sometimes he had spoken to her, sometimes had sung strange melodies while beating on an object that sounded like a drum. Although she hadn't recognized his words, it had seemed to her that she might never forget the sound of his voice, for it had appeared to her that he was entreating her to stay alive.
