Page 72 of Savage Illusions

When she re­ac­hed the tra­vo­is and Spot­ted Eag­le stop­ped his hor­se, Jole­na fell to her kne­es and gas­ped with shock when she fo­und her­self lo­oking down at Kirk, his fa­ce the only thing vi­sib­le. She was stun­ned spe­ec­h­less by the black pa­int that had be­en ap­pli­ed to his fa­ce and his ap­pa­rent li­fe­les­sness.

"Kirk," Jole­na whis­pe­red, gently fra­ming his fa­ce bet­we­en her fin­gers. Te­ars sprang from her eyes. "Oh, Kirk, what did they do to you?"

Spotted Eag­le dis­mo­un­ted and knelt down at Jole­na's si­de. A com­for­ting arm slip­ped aro­und her wa­ist as he ga­zed at her. "He is ali­ve, but we­ak," he ex­p­la­ined softly. "And the pa­int you see is al­ways pla­ced on Cree cap­ti­ves. It will wash easily away. But the­re are ot­her things than pa­int that I must warn you abo­ut."

Jolena glan­ced qu­ickly at Spot­ted Eag­le, his war­ning ca­using fe­ar to en­ter her he­art. "What el­se is the­re?" she sa­id, her vo­ice drawn. She eased her hands from Kirk's fa­ce and clut­c­hed them to­get­her ner­vo­usly on her lap.

"You shall see so­on eno­ugh," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, slowly un­fol­ding the co­ve­ring of be­ar pelts.

He co­uld fe­el the ten­si­on in the air be­hind and all aro­und him as the Blac­k­fo­ot pe­op­le in­c­hed clo­ser, wat­c­hing.

He co­uld he­ar Jole­na's shal­low bre­at­hing.

Out of the cor­ner of his eye he saw his chi­ef­ta­in fat­her co­me wal­king slowly and he­avily to­ward him, sup­por­ting him­self with his tall shaft.

Brown Elk and Mo­on Flo­wer al­so ca­me and sto­od be­hind Jole­na, Brown Elk's hand on her sho­ul­der as a re­min­der of his ne­ar­ness and to show his lo­ve for her.

Kirk slowly ope­ned his eyes. At first ever­y­t­hing se­emed a blur to him, but when he be­gan fo­cu­sing his eyes, they wi­de­ned with re­li­ef when he fo­und Jole­na the­re, ga­zing down at him.

"Sis," Kirk sa­id in a raspy whis­per. "I'm go­ing to be fi­ne. Don't cry. Ple­ase… don't… cry."

Jolena for­ced a smi­le and aga­in pla­ced a gen­t­le hand on his che­ek. "I can't help but cry," she mur­mu­red. "I tho­ught you we­re de­ad. But he­re you are, Kirk, as fi­ne as a fid­dle."

"I… wo­uldn't say… that," Kirk sa­id, la­ug­hing softly. "But I will be so­on. I pro­mi­se."

When the last of the be­ar pelts was la­id asi­de, re­ve­aling the pa­int that co­ve­red every inch of Kirk's body and the wo­unds that we­re scat­te­red ac­ross his legs, ab­do­men, and arms, Jole­na felt a bit­ter­ness ri­se in­to her thro­at and the ur­ge to retch qu­ickly over­w­hel­med her.

She swal­lo­wed hard, over and over aga­in, un­til the bit­ter­ness sub­si­ded. She to­ok the blan­ket from aro­und her sho­ul­ders and qu­ickly pla­ced it over her brot­her.

Then she ga­ve Spot­ted Eag­le a ple­ading lo­ok. "Ple­ase ta­ke him to yo­ur te­pee," she mur­mu­red. "The­re I will ca­re for him un­til he is well aga­in."

She lo­oked over her sho­ul­der at her Blac­k­fo­ot fat­her. He had he­ard and nod­ded his he­ad in a si­lent un­der­s­tan­ding of her de­ci­si­on to be in Spot­ted Eag­le's dwel­ling in­s­te­ad of his. He had had a dre­am this last eve­ning of a be­a­uti­ful wed­din­gof his da­ug­h­ter dres­sed in the fi­nest Blac­k­fo­ot clot­hes as she jo­ined her he­art with Spot­ted Eag­le's for eter­nity.

He had gi­ven her to Spot­ted Eag­le wit­ho­ut he­si­ta­ti­on, for he was the fi­nest of war­ri­ors, fil­led with com­pas­si­on, co­ura­ge, and lo­ve for hu­ma­nity.

Spotted Eag­le wo­uld ma­ke a per­fect fat­her for Brown Elk's gran­d­c­hil­d­ren!

Spotted Eag­le le­aned over Kirk and gently lif­ted him in­to his arms. As his pe­op­le ma­de way for him to go to his dwel­ling, Spot­ted Eag­le car­ri­ed the slight whi­te man with Jole­na wal­king be­si­de him, her eyes ne­ver le­aving her brot­her's fa­ce.

When they we­re in­si­de the te­pee and Kirk was com­for­tably clo­se to the fi­re on a pal­let of furs, Jole­na hur­ri­edly bat­hed the pa­int from his flesh. She then sat back and si­lently wat­c­hed as Spot­ted Eag­le ever so gently doc­to­red Kirk's wo­unds with a her­bal mix­tu­re that smel­led ple­asant eno­ugh and su­rely to­ok the pa­in away, for Kirk sig­hed he­avily and clo­sed his eyes as he al­lo­wed it to be ap­pli­ed to his flesh.

When this al­so was do­ne, Jole­na slip­ped a ro­be aro­und Kirk's sho­ul­ders as Spot­ted Eag­le lif­ted him up to ma­ke it pos­sib­le.

Moon Flo­wer en­te­red the te­pee car­rying a smo­king pot that sent off a ple­asant frag­ran­ce of co­oked ve­ge­tab­les and me­ats. ''Allow me to help?" she mur­mu­red, set­tling down be­si­de Kirk on the op­po­si­te si­de from whe­re Jole­na and Spot­ted Eag­le sat the­ir vi­gil.

Kirk tur­ned his eyes to Mo­on Flo­wer, and his lips par­ted in a slight gasp when he ga­zed up at her de­li­ca­te lo­ve­li­ness.

"I am Mo­on Flo­wer," she mur­mu­red, set­ting the pot of so­up down be­si­de her. "Allow me to fe­ed you?"

"Please… do…" Kirk sa­id, smi­ling up at her. He tri­ed to le­an on one el­bow, but top­pled back down, too we­ak just yet to ma­ke even the slig­h­test at­tempt to fend for him­self.

Jolena re­ac­hed be­hind he

r for a wo­oden bowl and spo­on and han­ded them to Mo­on Flo­wer, smi­ling a si­lent thank-you for her as­sis­tan­ce.

Moon Flo­wer lad­led so­me so­up in­to the bowl, then sank the spo­on in­to it, so­on pla­cing it to Kirk's lips. "First the broth," she mur­mu­red. "Then la­ter you can eat ve­ge­tab­les, then me­at." Spot­ted Eag­le pla­ced a hand be­ne­ath Kirk's he­ad and lif­ted it slightly from the pal­let, enab­ling him to swal­low mo­re easily.

Kirk sip­ped the broth from the spo­on, his eyes ne­ver le­aving Mo­on Flo­wer, to­uc­hed not only by her lo­ve­li­ness, but by her kin­d­nes­ses. "You are as be­a­uti­ful as yo­ur na­me," he sa­id as he tur­ned his lips a frac­ti­on from the prof­fe­red broth.

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