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Makawee was laying out corn husks to be dried and used as woven baskets, when the call from Dancing Wolf came to her. As the words he telepathically sent entered her brain, she immediately halted her task, then headed for the teepee which he made as a home. Upon reaching the natural dwelling she pulled back the flap which served as a door, then stepped inside to find Dancing Wolf, who was patiently waiting for her. Carpeting the ground were animal skins, upon which Dancing Wolf was sitting cross-legged. Taking her place right across from him, Makawee just waited for him to begin the conversation.

“The woman….” Holding a small knife in his left hand for whittling, he skillfully maneuvered it into a chunk of wood. “How was she today, while you were harvesting herbs?”

“She did good,” his sister replied back in Lakota. “And she seemed to know many of them.”

Lifting a brow at this, Dancing Wolf halted his whittling. “How could she possibly know? Who allowed allowed her to see the ways of our people?”

“She comes from a people who know them, too. When I touched her arm, I saw the grandparents who gave her the knowledge.”

Pleased to know that his captured woman had some awareness of plant medicine, he came to the conclusion that she could be helpful in preparing many remedies for the camp.

“This makes me happy to hear,” he said to his beloved sister, and the knife against wood did its own thing, totally moved by the spirit man within him. “Anything else you’ve noticed about her?”

“We did some planting today in the field, and I noticed she was very quick. It seemed to come easy to her, and she is not afraid to get her hands right into the dirt.”

So she knew how to plant, that was very good. And he was certain with his sister’s assistance, the woman would do just at fine at learning other tasks that Lakota women did. Recalling the oral tradition of White Buffalo Woman, he knew very well that the work of women’s hands and the fruit of their wombs, would keep the village — wichothi – alive and well. Among his people, women were central to the wichothi’s prosperity, so it was crucial that all females were treated with honor and respect.

“How do the other women take to her?” He asked.

“Along with myself, Singing Voice, and Gifted With Horses, most are taking to her well. But there are a few who do not like her, one being Ten Beaver Woman.”

Completely unsurprised by this declaration of his sister, Dancing Wolf only continued to whittle, knife sliding easily through the soft, tender wood.

“We are all very curious to know more about her,” Makawee continued, “but figuring her out is not the easiest thing.”

“You know about her grandparents giving plant medicine knowledge, so surely you must have read her spirit.”

“Yes, but reading her spirit requires touch, and you already know that. It will be far easier for you as man, than it will be for me.”

“I plan on getting closer,” he shared. “But I must take my time and gain her trust, first.”

Nodding her head in agreement, Makawee went thoughtful at his words. Then, after a moment of watching him whittle, she chose to share some information that she’d managed to garner.

“There is something I did find out, regarding those scars that she has on her body.”

Immediately recalling the day at the stream when she’d been given a bath, Dancing Wolf halted the knife in his hand, then focused his gaze upon his sister. Ready to listen, his ears perked up keenly, as he was overly eager at hearing the story of just how she had got them.

“Her master gave them to her.” Expression slack with sadness, she gently bowed her spine. “He beat her very badly with a thin strip of leather. Each time it hit her skin, it made terrible welts.

“This master,” Dancing Wolf said. “Where does he come from, and what other sort of things did he do to her?”

“I did not see beyond the master whipping her,” Makawee stated. “I only held onto her arm for a very short while, so what I saw was very limited.”

He nodded at this, then lowering his gaze back to the wood in his hands, allowed the knife to make intricate curving patterns upon it. “She has had great sadness happen to her, I can see it through her eyes.”

Dancing Wolf made the proclamation with confidence, and Makawee agreed with a nod of her head.

“What is she called?” He curiously asked.

“Marrrgaret,” Makawee awkwardly said, furrowing her brows at the way it had just refused to slip right off her tongue.

“Marrrgaret?” The name felt strange against Dancing Wolf’s tongue, and as he pictured her face, he decided that name didn’t fit her at all. “No, we will have to change it.”

“The white men’s names are very strange,” his sister agreed. “I think it was her master, who must have made it.”

“Then we will make her a new one,” he said. “When she is adopted in, her Lakota name will be given.”

Feeling good about his words, Makawee offered a nod. And as Dancing Wolf gave the signal that she görükle escort was okay to return to her duties, she did.

* * * *

Margaret looked up from the dead buffalo carcass in front of her, wiping her sweaty forehead onto her upper arm. Saturated to the elbows with fresh blood, she wondered how on earth everyone else could so easily do it. The women around her each had a task to carry out, some wielding long, sharp knives and efficiently skinning the huge animal, while others scraped hair off of the thick hide. Her own personal task was to cut meat from the bones, and while she was doing a fairly decent job of it, the knife had a way of continuously slipping from her blood soaked hands.

Each time that it did, a certain group of Lakota women softly giggled, eyes continuously focused upon her as if they were just waiting for her next screw up. Their lips curled with a sneer as they watched her, dislike twisting their features as they waited for her next move. One of them in particular seemed to really disapprove of Margaret, and known in the encampment as Ten Beaver Woman, was highly desired among all of the men.

Undeniably a pleasure to look at, Ten Beaver Woman had her choice of suitors. Many men were actively courting her on a never-ending basis, but she still had yet to settle upon just one. Her name had been given after a French Canadian trapper offered ten beaver pelts in order to receive her as his wife. But her father had blocked the union, not seeing the trapper as worthy or brave enough to receive his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Cheeks hot and burning at her inability to keep hold on the knife, Margaret once again made a go of it. Still a little clumsy in the way that she held it, she did her best to ignore Ten Beaver Woman and her friends. Luckily Makawee was sitting right beside her, so Margaret was afforded the chance to gain some much-needed help. Taking the knife from Margaret’s hand, Dancing Wolf’s sister began demonstrating the proper way. With adept fingers and smooth curves of her wrists, she held the knife at an angle, then cut into the buffalo flesh with admirable skill. Once the meat was sliced off, it was dropped into a huge clay bowl, which had various sizes of meat that were waiting to be cooked. Handing the knife back to Margaret, she spoke a word in Lakota as encouragement.

“Iyute try>.”

Holding the knife tighter this time, Margaret cut into the buffalo, imitating the way Makawee had done it. The meat was slippery in her hand but her grip remained firm, and in no time at all, she’d cleaned the meat right off of the bone. Smiling at her progress Makawee nodded, then gestured to the animal for more chunks to be cut off. Feeling more confident Margaret got busy, slicing off chunks, cubes, or any other size of meat that the band would need. Makawee was right beside her to give continual instruction, but after some time she let Margaret on her own.

Marveling at the size of the huge animal, she knew it would make for a very good meal. The flesh felt tender even to her hands, and thinking back to her time on the plantation, came to realize that meat like this had never been given to the slaves. If they had any meat at all, it was only the least desirable portions, but never a large enough portion to actually fill their bellies and nourish.

Ever since coming to live with the Lakota three weeks ago, Margaret had eaten like an actual human. Rather than gruel or corn meal mush for breakfast, she now ate wild rice and berries, or sometimes a delicious corn pudding or thick, hearty porridge. Dinner always included meat, varying between stews and soups, to roasted meats with wild rice. One of her favorite meals was a bison soup with prairie turnips, but she also enjoyed a recipe of berries, water and tallow, which were then mixed with powdered turnips to create a delicious bread. Everything they gave her to eat was greatly enjoyed, as she’d never felt so nourished or satisfied in her entire twenty-two years.

She was dressing better too, no longer in the stained, ripped, and smelly clothing which kept her feeling ashamed. Now she wore dresses made of buckskin or deer hide, and soft, comfortable moccasins which protected her feet. While working the fields at her master’s plantation in Texas, she’d been denied any shoes at all. Just before she’d escaped, Margaret had managed to obtain a burlap sack, and using torn strips, had wrapped the material around each of her feet. This had kept them protected while she’d been en-route, but on crossing from Nebraska into South Dakota, they’d gotten too ripped and worn to remain on her feet.

She didn’t like thinking about her former life in excruciating bondage, but every now and again she just had to compare, and was overly grateful to be among people who actually treated her as the human that she was. She always felt feminine now in the Lakota dresses, and no longer like a mule who was being worked to death.

Her customary hairstyle was of two long French braids all bursa escort bayan the way down her back, but today she wore it half-down, with the upper half held back in a rawhide hair tie. Only wearing it completely loose when she went to bed at night, she usually preferred to keep it completely braided in, as her tasks throughout the day were often numerous.

With all of the meat now cut from the buffalo, the visceral cavity was now being opened. Singing Voice was the one to pull out the long intestines, and both women and children pulled off lumps of fat which clung to outside. They all eagerly snacked on it, merrily chatting while enjoying the taste. Encouraging Margaret to do the same, Singing Voice passed the tube-like organ to her. Not wanting to be rude she accepted it, and curious about the taste, she pulled off a lump of the jiggling white fat. Surprisingly sweet, it melted right in her mouth, and with a nod she let Singing Voice know that she enjoyed the sample which was given. They were just getting to the paunch which had been opened in preparation to be emptied, when one of the elders suddenly pulled her aside.

Known as Little Owl Woman to those in the camp, she handed Margaret a buffalo bladder which had been cleaned and dried out. Used by the encampment as a container to carry water, it was an object that Margaret had used many times since her arrival three weeks ago. She’d done the task before so she knew where to go to fill up on water, but as the elder pointed toward a particular tipi, her mouth went dry and she became very nervous.

Dancing Wolf’s lodge, she thought to herself, and accepting the bag with clear reluctance, started off toward the river so she could fill it up. While walking she thought about how they hadn’t had much contact at all since the day he had brought her to camp. Sure she saw him around every now and again, but he had been gone for the past three days, and as to where, she just didn’t know. He was mysterious like that, being seen around camp in one moment, and then suddenly taking off to somewhere else. From what she could gather, he seemed to enjoy being alone quite a bit, but he also had times of socializing with the other warriors in the camp.

Rather than heading to the stream where everyone bathed, she traced a path toward the river which was for consumption. The river was further off from the camp, but it was a pleasant walk, so Margaret didn’t mind at all. As she was approaching the stream, she spotted a small group of the band’s men. Known as part of the warrior brotherhood, they were chosen young men who were renowned for their fighting skills and bravery. Their faces were all familiar, but she didn’t know any on a personal basis, so it made her a little shy to see them all in a group.

They sat on large rocks that lined the river’s edge, and as she passed them by she gave a little nod, a gesture of acknowledgment and friendliness. A few of them nodded back, while the others just intently stared. But she did hear a few of them chatter, followed by chuckles that made her self-conscious.

Continuing straight ahead to the stream she began to hum a little song. It was Lakota, and often heard coming from Makawee’s lips, so Margaret had taken to humming it as well. It felt good to hum while she was doing her tasks, and on dipping the buffalo bladder into the river, allowed the cool, fresh water to fill it up. Now resembling a balloon, the animal bladder had heft to it, and after securing it closed with a rawhide tie, allowed it to heavily dangle along her side.

She then turned to head off and back toward the camp, but was immediately halted by one of the warriors. Blocking her path with his form, the Lakota warrior smiled down at her, his face young and handsome as he checked her out. Mink pelts were tied to the ends of his braids, creating an embellishment she just had to admire. Shifting her gaze to the others who were still seated on the rocks, she saw they all closely watched, as if waiting to see what their friend would do.

The one who blocked her was no older than twenty by her guess, which made him only a few years younger than she. Offering a smile right back, she let him know she wasn’t unfriendly, then stepped to the side so that she could head off. Mirroring her movement, he stepped aside too, and it was then she knew that he was doing his best to capture her attention. Not knowing what else to do, she stepped to the other side, and immediately he did so as well.

By this time his friends were all laughing, and grinning widely in response, the baby-faced warrior just ogled Margaret. Simultaneously annoyed and nervous, she thought for a moment as to what she should do. But then suddenly he reached out a hand, taking a chunk of her waist-length locks into his large palm. Seeming to marvel at its uniquely fluffy texture, he spoke a few words in Lakota, then released her hair and stepped back, as if to say that she was free to go on forward.

Not wasting a moment to do so, she took off bursa escort immediately and didn’t look back. The group of men all laughed at her nervousness, then loudly chatted in their language as she went off down the path. Ten minutes later she’d returned to the encampment, and as ordered by the elderly woman, headed straight for the lodge where Dancing Wolf slept.

Once she reached it, Margaret pulled back the flap which served as a door, then entered the roomy and well-ventilated dwelling. On closing the flap behind her for privacy, she noticed Dancing Wolf sitting cross-legged, jet-black hair loose and flowing so beautifully over his wide, manly shoulders. The waves in his locks were remarkably beautiful, and she suddenly realized it was the first time she’d seen his hair completely freed of any rawhide ties.

The attire he wore was a breastplate with buckskin leggings and beaded moccasins. Two feathers were stuck proudly straight up into his hair, and studying the notches cut into them, Margaret wondered just exactly what that meant. If Dancing Wolf could have told her, he would have explained that the first feather was a badge of honor at having killed an enemy, while the second made it known he had cut an invader’s throat.

Still holding the water-engorged Buffalo bladder, Margaret waited for Dancing Wolf to let her know just where he wanted it. Holding a chunk of wood in his hands, he gazed up from it, then gave her a gentle smile that was incredibly sweet. Smiling right back she ventured forward, and he gave the signal for her to sit right across from him. Happy to rest her legs, she immediately did.

Since she had never been in his personal dwelling, Margaret wondered what the occasion was. Constructed from animal skins, the tipi walls had beautiful designs painted onto them. As she checked them out, Margaret saw they represented the earth, animals, and personal experiences he had gone through. Filled with the scent of tanned animal hides, the spacious tipi had a peaceful and natural vibe lingering within it.

She could have kept looking even longer, but Dancing Wolf’s hand suddenly touched hers, causing Margaret to shift her gaze. As their eyes locked together she felt her pulse rate speed up, and was she starting to feel just a little bit flush at the physical contact? No time to process that thought, as he was gently retrieving the buffalo bladder from her hand.

He took a long, leisurely sip before passing it back to her to share, and indulging herself, Margaret began to drink. Cool, pure tasting, and just slightly sweet, it went down her throat with a silky feel. She drank the water so intensely that a few drips of liquid dripped down her chin, and mildly embarrassed, lowered the bladder from her lips. Softly smiling at her thirstiness, Dancing Wolf used his thumb to wipe away the dampness. Such a brief and tender gesture it was, yet it didn’t go unnoticed by Margaret, who lowered her lashes in a shy, yet coquettish way. As she handed the bladder back to him he secured it, then hung it on a hook that was attached to one of the tipi’s walls.

Now focusing his gaze back upon her, Dancing Wolf took her left hand into his, allowing his masculine energy to meld with her feminine spirit. Although Margaret was learning a few words of Lakota here and there, she was nowhere near close enough to hold a conversation. That seemed to not bother Dancing Wolf at all, however, because he was completely at ease in her presence. Also feeling perfectly tranquil, she watched as his right hand moved up to her face. Fingers sliding across the fullness of her mouth, he seemed to marvel at the shape. Plump and luscious to look at, he seemed deep in thought as he studied her lips, as if committing them to his memory.

The curve of her cheekbone was next for him to touch, which jutted out gorgeously from beneath her skin. A rich, dark brown that had a bronze glow just beneath it, her skin color seemed to fascinate him, and he caressed a thumb along the impeccable smoothness.

Mahogany rich in its color, she had always felt it was far too dark, as lighter skinned slaves back on the plantation always received preferential treatment. But Dancing Wolf made her feel as if it were deeply desired, and not in the degrading way she’d had to endure from her former master. Dancing Wolf seemed genuinely attracted to her, as his eyes had glossed over, softening in a way she’d never seen from any other man.

She’d never felt so appreciated before, never felt so beautiful or deeply wanted. And the way that her skin tingled beneath his touch, told Margaret that this man had an electrifying spirit. Feeling so soft and feminine beneath his caresses, she began to wonder if he would try and kiss her. She certainly hoped so, as her skin was flush now, with muscles losing tension in every passing second.

Wanting to touch him as well, she reached out a hand to mirror his actions. At the first touch of her hand against his face he lightly swallowed, eyes speaking the language of desire as she caressed his skin. The beauty of his face drew her in so intensely, features proud and regal and expertly crafted by God. He was easily the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and literally penetrated by his stare, felt her nerve endings tingle and stir with excitement.

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