Red Fox nodded slowly. “Have a heart,na-vesene,” he comforted. “No man can or should control the life of another. She is as she is. However, there is also the brother, who was a part of your dream, as well. How he will affect your destiny, I do not know. Perhaps he may yet play a role.”
“Perhaps,” Swift Hawk agreed. “However, if I am at all critical of this woman—and I am critical of her—I would admit that I am more so of the brother.”
“Haa’he,” said Red Fox. “I understand.”
“What does one say of such a man?” continued Swift Hawk, as though his friend hadn’t spoken. “What does one say of aman who believes he knows as much as there is to know about a thing which is as vast as the world is wide? Do not our scouts constantly learn? Do not I? Are not our hunters ever alert for something that could teach them?”
Slowly Red Fox grimaced. “The woman’s brother is surely a fool.”
“He is if he believes he knows all about the life of a scout—from thisbook.”
“And yet,” Red Fox observed, “have we not seen that the white man gives much authority to those blackened marks on these bits of paper?”
“It seems to be so.”
“And so perhaps the brother is fooled in this way. Truly, many of their race could be.”
“However,” Swift Hawk added, “in this one instance, I would have to agree with the sister. As we both know, there are some awarenesses that go beyond the material world, and it is doubtful the white man has captured these on bits of paper. Plus, there are many skills thatdorequire practice.”
“Haa’he, na-vesene.That there are.” Quietly, the two men stood within the shadows of the buildings, gazing outward, toward the parade grounds. At some length, Red Fox continued, “I will go to the prairie and seek out the highest point there, where I might communicate with the Creator. Perhaps He can show me why these two imperfect human beings have been given to you in a vision.”
“That is good,na-vesene. That is good.”
With a quick nod, Red Fox turned away, stealing into the deep shadows of the buildings.
Watching him leave, Swift Hawk found himself frowning, wondering. Had he been right in withholding what he had from Red Fox? Something that might be important?
Truth was, there was another aspect to his reaction as regards this woman, one that troubled Swift Hawk, perhaps more than any other he had yet to contemplate. Something thateven he found difficult to admit. And it was this: his innate and quite male reaction to the sight of this vision called Angel.
As Swift Hawk pondered upon it, he recalled that it had been with a sense of wonder that he had overheard the brother address the white woman as his sister. Until that moment, Swift Hawk had not realized that, vision or not, the woman was available.
Even now, Swift Hawk sighed as he experienced again the mixed emotions that this knowledge set to fire within him. For that awareness, as simple as it had been, had felt as sweet as a southerly wind, yet as wicked as the coiled snake.
In quite a masculine way, he had yearned for her. She, the woman from his vision.
It was something he could never admit; it was something that could never be. For the white woman could mean but one thing to him, and that was the means to an end, the learning of how to free his people.
And yet, if all were to be known, Swift Hawk would have to confess that he was more than a little attracted to her. Alas, despite his own good sense on the matter, there was much about her that he found to admire.
Warming to his subject, he recalled the way she looked.
True, many of his people considered the white man to be a pasty being, more ghostly than handsome. But the paleness of this woman’s skin, even the star-like hue of her hair, gave her a translucent image that was beautiful, as if she were the stuff of dreams, not reality. So fair were her features, she reminded him of the beauty of the white buffalo, at least in its innocence and magnificence.
Was she also, as was the white buffalo, sacred?
Sacred?he thought, rebuking himself.She, with the tongue of a shrew?
Even still, how pleasing was his simple recall of her, of the honeyed scent of her, of the sexual tension that surrounded her with every breath she took, of the pale locks of her hair. In hismind’s eye, he saw again how the golden rays of the sun had reflected off her blonde tresses, as though the sun’s mighty radiance had endowed her hair with life.
Despite himself, he smiled at his thoughts.
She was a tiny thing, small-boned, delicate; even her stature was less than it should be, that is, if one were to compare her to the women of the Cheyenne nation. Indeed, so petite was she, the top of her head scarcely cleared his shoulders. Yet what she lacked in height, she made up for in feminine curves and allure.
He shook his head, as though the action would drive such thoughts from his mind. But it did not. Instead, the urge to cease and desist this line of thinking only served to bring on more.
Perhaps, then, this was to be the real test of his resolve. Was the Creator even now testing him? Taxing his vow of celibacy? A vow that had been quite necessary, as Swift Hawk remembered it.
For as a young man of twenty winters, Swift Hawk had fallen in love with a beautiful Cheyenne woman, Juneberry Woman. She had been young, willing, beautiful and a widow, and in her presence, Swift Hawk had forgotten the seriousness of his life’s purpose. Even now, in the guileless remembrance of it, he shuddered.
