At length, the old medicine man continued. “And now I have a question to put to you boys, each one. What say you? Have you awakened today, after having gone to sleep yesterday?”
Each of the four youngsters nodded, though Swift Hawk wondered at these strange words. Of course they had all lain down to sleep the previous evening. He remembered it vividly.
“Ah,” said White Claw, “and so it would seem to you. But hear me now, it is time that you know the truth.”
The truth?
“Haiya,” continued old White Claw. “It is time. But I go before myself. Let me start at the onset of the affair, that you might understand.” Looking sagely around the circle at these four youths, the old man began his story. “It started long ago, so far back that my memory can no longer recall the exact day.” He sighed.
“It began on a day as beautiful as this one. ThePiksan, or the buffalo jump, had been successful. The people had run the buffalo over the cliff, our brothers, the buffalo, sacrificing themselves, that the people might endure. There was much happiness in the camp that day, and all were busy preparing the meat, giving feasts. There was much laughing, much joking, and…there was dancing, beautiful, graceful dancing.” Here, the old man drew a deep breath, pausing. Then, almost sadly, “Yes, ithad been a good day. But, alas, in this world there is always someone who is not content. And so it was that a great evil was committed by the men of our tribe, an evil that was followed by a terrible storm. And so swiftly did the weather change that many innocents were caught out in the open.
“You have seen such storms, even to this day. Within the breath of a moment, winds bring black clouds that accumulate fast, a terrible cold comes upon us, and if one is not prepared, disaster may occur…as it did this day. I know. Though I was then but a young man, I was there…”
“My mother, come quickly to shelter,”said the young White Claw, holding out his hand to the woman. “Do not hesitate.”
“Yes, son. But in a moment. I will not lose these skins that I have been working over this day.”
As the wind kicked up, a breeze rocked White Claw and practically swept him from his feet. At the same time anxiety filled his soul. Had his mother not heard? Did she not know? Or did she, like others in the tribe, disbelieve the sacred signs? White Claw said, “Leave them, Mother. I fear this storm.”
“This storm?” Though middle-aged, White Claw’s mother, Blue Shawl Woman, was still a beautiful woman, and she raised a clenched fist toward the heavens, as though daring the weather to do its worst. She even laughed as a burst of wind swept her hair against her face, yet it almost tossed her forward. But Blue Shawl Woman held fast to her position. “I have seen many a storm worse than this.”
“Worse perhaps,” White Claw conceded, “but none so evil, I think. Do you see how black it has become? And so speedily?”
“The night is dark also, my son. Do you fear it too?”
It was a carefully spoken insult. White Claw cast his glance to the ground, swallowing noisily. He must be patient, he knew. His mother simply did not know that anger, danger, even great harm were in the air.
But he could sense it. And it was this that gave him aproblem. How was he to convey this feeling of dread, this sense of urgency to his mother?
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, White Claw at last threw himself to the ground, and seeing the skins his mother worked over, he picked up one of them, that he might hurry the woman.
Blue Shawl Woman brushed him away. “Do you wish to humiliate me, that you would do my work for me?”
“Nay, Mother. But you must hurry.”
“Yes, son. I am.”
There was nothing else for it. White Claw came to his feet, though his movements were uneasy. So strong was the worry within him that he thought he might burst with it. “A large bird, and a very beautiful bird—one that no one could recognize—attempted to stop our hunters from slaughtering all the game within the herd of buffalo. Our men killed the bird.”
“Good,” said Blue Shawl Woman. “We need that buffalo meat, and if the bird was truly a large one, there will be even more food for the people.”
“Nay, Mother, it is not good. For the bird acted only after our hunters had killed many buffalo…perhaps too many buffalo.”
“There is no such thing as taking too much meat.”
“I disagree. Have not our wise men always said that there must be harmony, a balance in all things? And I think perhaps we were too greedy today.”
Blue Shawl Woman snorted.
“Perhaps it was a sacred bird that they slew,” suggested White Claw. “Maybe one of the Thunderer’s children.”
Blue Shawl Woman paused in her work, her glance at her son inquisitive. “Why do you say this?”
White Claw shrugged. “It is well known that the Thunderer can take the form of either bird or man.”
“Yes, but?—”
“And are the skies not dark, though it is but the middle of the day?” He paused. “You have heard my uncle tell me often enough that before a hunter takes an arrow to a kill, he should be certain of what it is he seeks to bring down.”
