CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Czanna had originally considered waiting until Stands Strong returned, knowing he would come home sooner or later. However, although she was well aware of his "disappointment" in her, she, too, was disillusioned with him.
Was she honestly expected to never again speak to a member of the other gender? And, this was so because of a "custom" a man could use to his own advantage?
No, she would not do it. It wasn't right.
Yes, all creatures should use discretion in a matter concerning jealousy; this she could agree to. But, to have to follow a general rule of never again being able to talk to another man or boy…?
She couldn't, she wouldn't agree to it.
But, on the other hand, she was married to Stands Strong—a man she loved with all her heart. And, if he believed this custom held legitimacy…
Oh, what am I to do?
It was the asking of this question that caused her to know what her path must be: she had to leave, if only to gain a few hours of peace. She would walk out of camp and go somewhere away from here; she would find a place where she could come to peace with her own thoughts and fears. Perhaps, she might even envision a resolution between her and Stands Strong.
Yes, this was a good plan, and this was right, but she shouldn't go too far away. However, it needed to be distantenough so the drums and the singing within the camp wouldn't interfere with her own personal soul-searching.
Upon stepping out from their lodge, she beheld Stands Strong's favorite pony tied up next to the tepee.
She was about to turn away when she heard the silent talk from the animal, and it said, "I will go with you. I see you are grieving, and I wish to go with you."
Czanna almost cried, and she felt for a moment as though the animal understood her dilemma. Stepping toward the pony, she placed her head against its own.
And, she said to it silently, "I cannot take you with me. You do not belong to me. Rather, you are my husband's favorite mount. But, your empathy for me brightens my heart."
Naato Omitaa answered her thoughts, saying in the mind-talk, "You should not leave here alone. I will go with you. Your man, my master, will understand. If he does not, I will tell him."
Czanna couldn't help what she did next: she broke into tears. She said, "I…I…"
"Take me with you," the pony insisted.
Czanna nodded, and, reaching out for the knots tying the animal, she quickly untied its bindings; then, taking hold of its reins, she led the pony out of the camp.
****
The sun was only beginning to set in the west, sending up its orange, golden and even red streaks into the sky when Stands Strong at last felt himself able to return to his lodge, there to speak with his wife without being in the throes of anger or resentment. Upon stepping closer to their lodge, he saw his pony was missing.
Gazing at the ground, he could discern at once what had happened: here was the trail of his wife, as well as his pony's, the animal following along behind her. Still, he threw back the tepee flap and glanced inside, confirming what the prints in the earth told him: his wife was gone and she had taken Naato Omitaa with her.
The tracks left upon the earth showed him that she wasn't riding the animal. Instead, she was guiding it, and his pony appeared to be following her meekly enough. It was all there to be read upon the earth.
Soka'pii,good. His pony would serve to protect her as well as it could.
He followed their trail easily, her boots alone leaving a distinct impression upon the ground, they being so different from the many other moccasin imprints of the others. This made following them so easily done he could do it almost without thought.
She was heading in the direction of the western hills, and leisurely he kept pacing along where their path led. He did not worry about her possible abduction. No war party would dare come into a Blackfoot encampment where all the people could easily thwart them.
That's when he heard it: his wife's voice, rising up into the air and filling the atmosphere for a good distance around her. The song she sang was sad; it was consuming also, yet the lyrical notes of the song were so beautiful, they wrenched at his heart.
Have my words to her provoked this?
Indeed, it had to be. How could he think otherwise?
Gently, and without willing it, tears stung his eyes, and he paused, listening to her voice and the melody of her song, so ethereal. She was singing in English rather than a language he didn't understand, and he lingered there, hidden from her, listening to her words:
Dear God, help me to understand what I must do.
