Set in the 1800's, Kissed By The Rain is an interracial love story, featuring a Native American warrior, and a runaway black slave woman. This is a tale that weaves romance, historical, and paranormal all-together in a sweet love story.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
The warrior ran swiftly through the forest, trees becoming a blur as he sped right past them. Tall in stature, he was impressively built, chest broad and powerful and commanding attention. His skin was medium tan, with reddish-brown undertones which were richly warm. The fine musculature of his body ensnared the eye, hips narrow and buttocks tight, while his legs were long and leanly muscular.
His face was splattered with blood, still fresh and warm from his recent kill. Strong in his nostrils, it carried a rusty scent, yet instead of his usual prey, the one he’d just taken down was of the human species. With swiftness he ran on his toes, lengthening his legs so he could travel even quicker.
He knew the land well, as he’d grown up in the forest since boyhood, and the scent he was catching just didn’t fit in. Invaders were on his trail, and he could tell by their smell they were like the one he’d just killed. Simply put, they were people who just didn’t belong on the land. In his heart he knew they were hunting him, and dashing at top speed, he sought to evade them.
Twigs snapped beneath his feet, moccasins padding over forest debris as he ran quicker. A loud boom echoed through the forest, letting him know they were closing in. Suddenly the scent of sulfur hung thick in the air, both threatening and oppressive all at the same time. His nostrils flared wildly, not knowing the scent yet understanding that it was somehow connected to death. And it was then that he knew he couldn’t head straight back to his people, as tracing a path to the camp would surely lead to the tribe’s destruction.
Veering away from his usual path, the Hunkpapa warrior cut through a mossy thicket, then jumped over a fallen log. Yet he was more than certain that they wouldn’t be easily thrown off, and as if to confirm, another loud burst of sound went off. This time it was close enough to sting his ears, and the impact of sound was nearly deafening.
Also overbearing was the scent of one of the invaders, yet no sooner did his nostrils capture the stink, did a soft whoosh of air pass right by his head. To his ears it sounded like a pop, most unnatural and completely off-putting. But he had no time to process what was happening, as a hot, burning sensation suddenly spread along his right ear.
He couldn’t see the patch of skin which had been singed right off, but he could feel the scorching sensation from whatever had hit him. Rather than fear he was energized, and ready to battle whatever had caused it. Adrenaline kicked in and he now slowed his pace, as whatever sought him out was now right up on him.
A figure stepped into sight then, clearly a wasichu from the looks of his pale face. Holding a rifle he pointed it right at the warrior, finger pressing the trigger as he lined up the shot. Eyes narrowing at the hunter, the Native male uttered a low-throated sound, then rushed forward with undaunted bravery.
In the span of a second, an arrow whizzed through the air, sinking into the white man’s neck with brazen speed. The hunter had no time to process his final moments, as a tomahawk sailed through the air, striking him dead right on the spot. The warrior watched as the man fell to his knees, then onto his side in a motionless heap.
Whoops of victory could suddenly be heard, and the Hunkpapa male spotted a fellow warrior emerge from thick brush. Known to the tribe as Hawk, he stood at medium-height, with two long braids which reached mid-back. A second tribal brother came forth as well, revealing himself from behind a fallen tree. Known as Runs With Courage, he had bow in hand, and regarded the wolf with a disapproving look.
“Why did you come out here alone?” Runs With Courage asked. “There are other lurking, and they wish to kill us.”
“The invaders are increasing,” the Hunkpapa warrior said. “More come everyday, and nothing is done to stop them.”
“If they come into our camp, we will make war on them,” Runs With Courage replied. “But until then we remain silent and watch them.”
“The invaders are a serious threat to our people. We can’t just sit back and let them find us, we must go after them.”
“You should have alerted us.” Hawk heavily frowned. “We go out as a group, Dancing Wolf, not all alone.”
Standing tall with chest pushed out, Dancing Wolf just stared him down. A quiet confidence took over his entire demeanor as he then gave a firm response.
“My spirit called me out beyond the camp, so I went. Somebody needed to survey it, and that was me.”
“We could have gone with you, Dancing Wolf. We have to back you up.”
“And you did,” said Dancing Wolf. “You took down the wasichu that trespassed onto our land.”
“There were two others, a full mile back.” It was Runs With Courage who spoke now. “One had his throat cut open, and the other we took down with an arrow.”
Dancing Wolf’s hands were still soaked with blood, so it was no secret that he was the one who’d ripped out the throat. It was news to him, however, that his pack brothers had taken care of the other wasichu.
“We did what was needed to protect our people,” Dancing Wolf said. “Go back to the camp now, you both did your part.”
The two Hunkpapa Lakota warriors exchanged an uncertain look, then following the command of Dancing Wolf, started off. Once they were out of sight, Dancing Wolf stripped out of his breechcloth, so that his skin was bare and completely exposed.
The gentle, bubbling sound of a nearby stream was calling to him, and making a path right for it, he headed off. It was a matter of seconds before he’d reached the water, and squatting down he washed himself. The blood on his face was quickly removed, then he splashed his chest and private parts. Icy cold but invigorating, the pure fresh water made him feel like new, and cleansed with the liquid which was provisioned from Great Spirit that watched over him, the Hunkpapa warrior rose back on his feet. Stretching out his tall, lean body, he felt his neck crack as he adjusted his muscles. Narrow waist, lean hips, and long, muscular legs were now on display, along with his manhood, which hung long and proud between his thighs. Wavy hair grew from his scalp, trailing down over his shoulders until it hit that point just below his breastbone. Jet black and glossy, it was bound in leather ties, which allowed his locks to beautifully drape over his broad, muscled chest.
Body still relaxing from all the exertion he’d just put out, he pushed out a breath that was hot and heavy. Still completely nude, he just enjoyed the fresh air, allowing a breeze that came along to gently wrap around his bare form. It felt good to be like this, out on the land and all on his own. But little did he know, a pair of eyes watched keenly from a hidden spot.
* * * *
Well-obscured and completely silent, the runaway slave girl intensely watched, keeping her eyes pinned on the warrior who stood before her just mere feet away. Undeniably masculine, he was a magnificent sight to take in. She had not seen a man like him before, all bare and natural and so strong looking.
His features were stunning, the sharp cut of his face drawing her in. Taking in his almond shaped eyes, she saw they held an intensity that was a little intimidating, yet at the same time, there was also a warmth. His lips had a fullness she really liked, and the strong cut of his jaw was pleasing to gaze at. What really got her, however, were the shape of his sculpted cheekbones. The structure it gave his face was breathtaking to say the least, and caressing his features with her eyes, she continued to gaze in admiration.
His reddish-tan skin captured her eyes as well, highlighting the lines and definition of his well-toned male body. And although the slave woman knew she should not be looking at his most private place, her eyes lowered to take it all in. As soon as she looked, her breath caught in her throat, noting the generous hunk of flesh which hung between his rock hard thighs. The energy it gave off was powerfully male, and even in its softened state, it was impressive to her eyes.
Having hidden herself in the hollowed out trunk of a tree, the runaway slave did her best to keep totally quiet, as even the slightest movement could give her away and lead to her capture. Still eyeing the warrior with big curious eyes, she watched as he put his breechcloth back on, followed by his moccasins which were artfully beaded.
His gaze then shifted to the dead white man on the ground, and immediately he went over to take possession of the rifle. The slave girl watched as the Native man curiously eyed the weapon, and she could tell from the way he held it, that he was fully aware it was a powerful weapon. The gun had a strap attached to it, and slinging it over his shoulder, he allowed the weapon to rest comfortably against his back. She then watched as this warrior man gazed up at the branches which framed the sky.
He spoke something then, in a strange language completely foreign to her ears. But as the words came out, she found that they sounded beautiful, mysterious even, and she perked her ears. It was then she realized that he was speaking to God, and listening on, she wondered what he was saying.
But then suddenly, cutting through the peaceful stillness of the forest, a yelp left her lips and she furrowed her brows. Something had suddenly bitten her, and face tightening with pain, she then felt a sting. Yet no sooner had the sound fled her lips did the warrior shift, his stance now menacing and prepared for a fight.
He’d moved so quickly, she hadn’t even seen him grab a knife. But the blade he now held was wickedly sharp, pointed right in the direction where she was so well hidden. He couldn’t possibly see her and of course she knew that, but her heart beat quickly and she began to pray.
Not wanting to be captured and sent back to her master, she pleaded for God to keep her concealed, but as the warrior stepped forward with a methodical slowness, her muscles went tense and her skin grew clammy. Squeezing her eyes shut, she then unwillingly gave into fear.
* * * *
Dancing Wolf did not know just who it was that had made the sound, but to his ears it was quite high-pitched, and undoubtedly of the female kind. Ears perking he strained to hear more, but the only noise now was wind rustling through the trees.
Not a problem, he thought to himself, because his gaze was pointed right towards the direction where the sound had come. His ears were very good at picking up sounds from afar, and those in his tribe, said that his hearing was almost supernatural like.
This was how he knew which direction the sound had come from, and focusing very intently on a huge, fallen tree trunk, the Lakota warrior stepped slowly towards it. Ears still keenly attuned, they worked to pick up even the slightest bit of sound. Covered with thick underbrush and patches of moss, the fallen tree was cleverly hidden. It was also hollowed out with space roomy enough to fit a human, which provided the perfect cover for one who wished to hide.
Taking his time at approaching it, the Hunkpapa warrior could now pick up the sound of very heavy breathing. Whomever was hiding tried very hard to muffle it, but he heard it all the same, along with a heartbeat which thumped out in fear. Now standing right next to the well-disguised fallen tree, the Lakota man eyed it curiously. Tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brows, he then realized a scent was wafting up from it. A very bad scent, musky and skunky in a way that reminded him of rabbit urine.
But a rabbit wouldn’t breathe in the way that this human did, all hot and heavy and filled with fear. So despite the strong stench which nearly repelled him, he lowered himself into a squat, then had a look at just what was inside. And as he saw two wide eyes staring right back at him, an incredulous stare took over his face. Just as shocked, the face gawked back at him, and before they could make any move, Dancing Wolf reached out. He grabbed hold, then gave a tug, capturing the person fully into his grip.
No longer hidden by the rotting tree trunk, a fully exposed young black woman shrieked out in terror, back flat against the leaves which carpeted the ground. Gazing up in pure horror her eyes widened to a comical size, primal scream piercing the eardrums of this man who had rooted her out. Regarding her with intense focus, he took note of her skin, which was a rich brown color that reminded him of freshly turned earth. But it was hard to take inventory of anything else, as the sound she continued to make was the most high-pitched and unbearable caterwaul he had ever heard.
Desperate to make it stop he spoke stern words in Lakota, but this only intensified her fear. Clutching her waist with a forceful grip, he then fully took her into his arms. Lifting her up was effortless, both hands surrounding the soft curve of her feminine waist. Vice-like and exuding power, his arms now effortlessly cradled her, and by this time her screams had become rasping breaths. Along with trembling in his grasp she was also hyperventilating, as the shock was far too much for her system to fully take on. The terror she exuded was keenly felt by the Lakota warrior, and knowing full well she was totally helpless, he softened his gaze as he carried her off.
Like a doll in the arms of a giant she gazed up at him, big brown eyes wide with fear and total uncertainty. It was now that he had the chance to really check her out, and fixing his gaze on her hair, noticed how thick and unusually textured it was. Worn in two long plaits that nearly reached her waist, the woman had locks he couldn’t help but stare at. Completely different from his own, he wondered what it would feel like beneath his fingers. Then suddenly he took note of the scent wafting up from her body, and he finally realized why he hadn’t immediately known that she was in hiding.
This woman reeks of rabbit grease, he curiously thought, and that was when he came to understand that her entire body had been slathered in it. But why, the Lakota man thought as he gazed down at her with a puzzled expression. Staring back up at him she gave him no answer, only shook uncontrollably in his arms as a visible pulse in her neck violently quivered.
It was a full three miles to get back to his people’s camp, but he was in exceptional shape, and so the journey wouldn’t be hard at all. Knowing the forest like the back of his hand, the Hunkpapa Lakota warrior used his internal GPS. Keenly aware of just where to step, his moccasin-clad- feet avoided the knobby roots which were underfoot, as well as wickedly sharp brambles and thorns. The woman had grown quiet now and that was good, but her body was stiff and tight, a little clammy too, which did concern him.
Wind flowed through the trees as they journeyed along, both melodic and mysterious as it played a celestial tune.
* * * *
Eyes gazing up at this Native man who held her, the young black woman couldn’t help but check out his features, noting the reddish-brown tint of his skin. Contrasting beautifully with his jet black hair, it had a hue she couldn’t help but admire. Then her gaze returned to his locks, and it was then that she studied the way it was bound in some kind of material, which made a criss-cross pattern against his hair. Made from buffalo rawhide, the traditional hair ties held the strands of his hair in two long ponytails that went down past his breastbone.
Where she came from, men didn’t wear their hair like that – all long and silky and adorned with these unusual ties. The hair of this wolf man who held her had waves in it, and she couldn’t help wondering what he did to keep it looking so good. High-boned and remarkably handsome, the warrior’s face wore a serious expression, yet there was also a gentleness beneath it all. Although she was quite slim from a lack of proper nourishment, the woman began to wonder how he could carry her so effortlessly for as long as he had. With no clue as to how long it would take to reach their destination, she deeply pondered what his plans were.
If he had wanted to kill her he would have already done it, but who was to say he hadn’t planned something else that was almost as bad? Having escaped from a plantation deep in the heart of Texas, she was terrified of being sent back. But what if this man would do just that, and was only treating her gently so that she wouldn’t fight back?
As if I would have a chance, anyhow. Her heart beat quickly. He is strong, I can tell by the way he holds me.
And then suddenly a thought came into her head, and stomach rolling in dread, she began to wonder if he would torture her. She’d overheard stories about “the savages”, from white people back on the plantation, and they had all been dreadful and horribly frightening.
Yet no sooner was the thought released did she suddenly feel guilt, as the Hunkpapa warrior had shown no signs of aggression. In fact, he seemed kind, and it was then that she noticed he was watching her. Beautifully dark and framed by thick lashes, his eyes gazed at her intently, as if she were a puzzle he were trying to figure out.
Staring right back, she gave him a look that was soft, yet still uncertain of his true intentions, there was a wariness in her expression. A soft smile was given as he knew that she was nervous, and as his look deepened further, she lowered her lashes in a sort of shy way.
The forest seemed endless as they continued along, and mind shifting to her harrowing escape from the plantation, she recalled how completely terrifying it had all been. Choosing only to travel at night, she’d had close encounters with all sorts of wild animals and biting insects. More than once she had almost been poisoned by a snake, and while crossing a river during her way through Nebraska, she’d nearly gone under and drowned.
The physical stress hadn’t stopped there, as the bread and dried meat she’d brought along didn’t last long at all, so she’d resorted to roots and leaves, which were terribly bitter in flavor. Thanks to the knowledge she’d garnered from her grandparents, she knew which ones were safe to ingest.
Along the way she had looked for the lit up lanterns, which told her it was a safe place to shelter for the day. A dark one meant it was too dangerous to stop, and on those particular days, she had continued along, well beyond the point of exhaustion. Worst of all the adversities, however, had been the bloodhounds who sought to sniff her out. Led by the trackers who were under control of her master, they’d relentlessly pursued her trail. The only thing which had kept them at bay, was a mason jar of rabbit grease that she’d slathered on. From head to toe she’d covered herself, even working it into her hair so that the hounds missed her scent. It had worked like a charm alright, but after many months of traveling with sparse opportunities to properly bathe, she knew that she had to totally stink.
Suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious and ashamed, she dryly swallowed, then stiffened in his arms. Yet as far as she could tell, he didn’t take note of her scent. Not only was his face completely calm, but he still carried her as a groom would hold his bride.
Gazing up at the great forest trees, she saw that the branches were interlaced, which sifted the sunlight onto their forms in a delicate kind of pattern. Intensely curious as to their destination, the woman wondered what kind of plans he did have for her, as his ways were not just of a man, but a wild wolf as well. Heart palpating she dryly swallowed, then began to wonder if she shouldn’t plan an escape. She just hoped deep down in her heart he wouldn’t somehow sense this, because if he could that would leave her wide open.
* * * *
As they entered the camp all members of the tribe stared hard, focusing intently on the black woman who was held in Dancing Wolf’s arms. Brows rose in surprise and double takes were given, then whispering voices which were accompanied by pointing fingers. Not liking the attention she was getting, the runaway slave lowered her gaze, then nervously bit her lip as she came to wonder what would happen next. A crowd was gathering around them, keeping step as they reached out to touch her soiled clothing, which consisted of a plain linen blouse and long, simple skirt of matching material. Tattered, torn, and badly stained from her burdensome journey, the escaped slave woman wondered why they found it so fascinating to touch.
They also marveled at her deep brown skin, which was considerably darker than their own. The bronzy undertone she had gave her skin a healthy glow, and many seemed to notice, as various fingers reached out to caress her face. It almost seemed they were testing to see if her color would wipe right off, yet when it didn’t, they gave an incredulous look.
She wished so badly to just disappear, to go somewhere where nobody would stare at her dark skin or talk in a language that she couldn’t understand. She looked awful and felt awful, which made her shamed to lift her eyes. But the wolf man who carried her seemed surprisingly unbothered, weaving right through the crowd that continuously swamped them. Still cradling her in his arms with his gentle energy, he kept his head held high and continued straight ahead.
He continued carrying her past a large cluster of tipis until they reached a stream, where a small group of Native women were busily tending to the washing of garments. As Dancing Wolf came closer they suddenly stopped, duties forgotten as they curiously stared at the brown skinned woman that he held in his arms. Lowering himself to one knee, Dancing Wolf released his hold on the escaped slave, placing her gently in a sitting position just at the edge of the bubbling stream. Then turning his gaze on the Native women, he spoke deeply in his Lakota language.
Simple and to the point, he gave them a look that let them know he meant now.
“Why?” In her mid-twenties, the one who had spoken was called Makawee. Giving Dancing Wolf a pinched expression, she continued to speak. “She has hands to wash herself. We are not her slaves, she can clean her own body.”
“She stinks.” Holding her nose to punctuate her statement was a second woman, just slightly older than Makawee.
“Your refusal is not an option.” Dancing Wolf stood tall in his six-foot-two height, and looking them dead in the eye, stared them down.
“We all should listen to Dancing Wolf, as he has captured this woman, so she is now his property.” Elderly in age, yet possessing skin that was barely wrinkled, this third lady who spoke had a wise spirit.
“I agree.” Known as Singing Voice, the one who spoke now was nineteen years old, with long black hair that trailed well past her waist. “You need help, Makawee, and this new one he brought to our land could help out with domestic duties.”
“I don’t need any help,” Makawee stated. “I can take care of what needs to be done on my own.”
“You’ve been struggling.” The elder spoke once again. “You are his sister, and with a family of your own. This captured woman he has acquired, can take the place that you fill, so you can spend more time tending to your own family.”
“There are women in this tribe he can marry, why did he bring her?”
“It is an honor for him to have a captured woman who comes from different people.” Smiling softly at Makawee, the elderly woman used a soothing tone. “We are all equals, it’s the way of our tribe. And as long as she’s adopted in, I see no reason for us to reject her.”
Face falling in disappointment, it was clear that Makawee felt as if the elderly woman was taking sides. But as her gaze shifted from the elderly woman to her brother Dancing Wolf, she gave him a look that was purely sullen. This led him to move in closer, and lowering himself to a squatting position, gazed into her eyes and held onto her hand.
“Has Much Patience was a wonderful brother to the both of us, but holding onto me tighter won’t bring him back, and you know it.”
Nodding lightly at this, his sister took a soft breath in, then slowly let it out before having her say. “I already know that, Dancing Wolf, but the way in which we lost him weighs heavy on my soul. So you must understand, you’re the very last brother I’ve got left.”
Nodding in reply, he only kept silent.
“Just know that this woman is from a different people.” Serious expression on her face, Makawee looked straight into her brother’s eyes. “So she will not be able to educate the children on traditions or ceremonial practices, and she doesn’t know a thing about our language, or family history.”
“So we teach her,” Dancing Wolf said. “You will help her understand, let her see that our ways are very important to us.”
Having no words to give in reply, Makawee could only respectfully accept what her brother had stated.
“She is with our tribe now, Makawee, and you must accept her. She has nowhere to go, so her home will be here.”
Ending the conversation with those words, Dancing Wolf stroked a palm over his sister’s hair, then stood to his feet and walked away. Now left alone with the black woman who sat silently by the bubbling stream, all eyes immediately swept toward her. Makawee was first to approach, then Singing Voice, who had knee-length hair. The third woman, who had held her nose, just sat staring at them from the sidelines. The elderly lady watched on with a smile, continuing to wash a pair of buckskin leggings which belonged to Dancing Wolf.
Now being attended to and encouraged to remove her soiled clothing, the runaway slave got fully nude in a rush, before immersing her body into the bubbling stream. Ice cold in temperature, it made her gasp out in shock, and yet at the same time she was grateful to be getting a bath. The Native women took off their shoes and hiked up their dresses, then motioned for the black woman to come forth, so they could cover her body with soap.
Makawee was the one to scrub her down, starting from her breasts and then her stomach, before venturing lower to the place down below. Although entirely non-sexual in the way that they touched her, the escaped slave hastily covered her female sex. Sharing a look of mild amusement, Makawee and Singing Voice realized that she should be the one to cleanse that particular spot. So handing her the bar of hardened animal fat and yucca root, Makawee allowed her the chance to handle her business.
Sinking further into the water to hide herself, the black woman diligently cleaned her sacred spot, then made sure it was thoroughly rinsed. Next to get washed was her thick, long hair, which was patiently unplaited by the two Native women. As the two long braids were undone, they soaped up her hair with the bar of animal fat and yucca.
Fingers massaging her scalp, the two Native females gave her hair a thorough bathing, working up a good lather so that the stink was fully cleansed out. Only once each and every strand had been saturated, did the dark skinned woman dunk her hair into the water, rinsing out the lather from her long, thick strands. Naturally gorgeous and skimming her waist, the runaway slave girl’s hair was a mass of lush, shiny ringlets.
No longer cold yet completely invigorated, the escaped slave girl felt anew and like a brand new person. She felt so good and free, that on exiting the water she forgot to cover up, and that was when the scars on her thighs became totally visible for all to see. Having been put there by her master, the lashes began at her upper thighs, trailing all the way down to just above her knees. Most of the scars were slightly raised, appearing almost ropy in their texture, but some were totally flat, displaying a criss-cross pattern against her skin.
She’d gotten into the water so quickly that the Native women hadn’t seen the lashes at all, but now that their eyes could take it all in, all four of the ladies gaped at her in pure shock. Spotting a strip of buffalo hide which had been set out for use as a towel, the runaway slave hastily grabbed it, then wrapped it firmly around her waist. Now blocked from her sight, the scars on her thighs could no longer be seen. But she still felt exposed and completely disgusting, so spotting a tree off in the distance, she quickly sprinted towards it.
* * * *
He’d seen it all from where he sat, and following her intently with his line of sight, watched as she took cover behind a tree, hiding herself from the women who had bathed her. Perched on a hill that overlooked the camp, Dancing Wolf had a perfect view of the bubbling stream, and all that had went down within it. One of the perks of being a wolf shifter was his excellent eyesight, and that had given him the opportunity to really check out her black, nude body.
The way her skin gleamed beneath the sun was incredibly beautiful, and he couldn’t get over just how perfectly shaped her body was. Of course he hadn’t been spying at all, only observing the whole bathing process to ensure the job was done right. And it had been of course, but watching her gorgeous dark skinned body get all soaped up and then washed off……
Swallowing dryly his muscles lost tension, eyes glossing over as he remembered the sight.
He didn’t care about the scars she had, only saw the beauty that lay beneath them. And he knew deep in his heart, that he would give anything to slide between those thighs. He had to have her, that was all that he knew, but he didn’t exactly know if she felt the same.
Around the camp he was known as very good looking, and not once had it been a challenge to get his sexual needs met. Along with being an excellent hunter he was very skilled on a horse, and had killed his first buffalo at the age of twelve years old. His first human kill had been at the age of fourteen, an Ojibwe raider who’d tried to rape his sister as she’d gathered firewood. Overall, he was a valuable asset to the tribe, so why wouldn’t she see him that way, as well?
She’s scared of you, came the voice of his spirit man from within. She knows nothing of you or your people.
Turning his gaze upon the woman, he saw she still sat alone and hidden by a tree, and deep in his heart, knew that his spirit man had been telling the truth. Her trust, he needed to get it. But as the elders always told him, trust should be earned, not freely given. While holding her in his arms during the walk toward camp, he’d felt a deep wound in her spirit, and had come to realize she’d most likely been hiding from the pale faced men who’d been roaming about in the forest. He knew from trips to trade with the white men, that they were known to keep slaves.
Word had even passed between various camps of Lakota, that white men who were known as masters, gave gifts to those who turned in slaves that escaped. It didn’t seem right in his head, however, for a mortal man to be a master over anyone. It was weird and unnatural and went against everything that he stood for. While it was true that he, himself, had captured the woman and saw her as his property, he only had plans on treating her good. And if she gave him any children, she’d have the same status as any full-blooded Sioux.
He cared for her already, not in a deep way as he hardly even knew her, but he’d picked up from her wounded spirit that she hungered for love and attention in a most genuine way. And he would never raise a hand against her, as it was strictly forbidden among his Lakota tribe.
Still gazing deeply at her from his spot up on the hill, Dancing Wolf began to wonder if she had any interest in the ways of his tribe. In order to live among them, she’d need to learn their culture and want to become one, or else they would clash and never come together.
He also came to the conclusion that bridging the language gap had to be done, otherwise how else would they ever be able to communicate? She spoke no Lakota and he didn’t know any English at all, so it would not be easy to say the things he truly wanted. Surely they could come together in the physical way without needing to speak, but something inside him wanted more, and when the time was right, he would begin to teach her Lakota. But first they needed to form a kinship, and he knew in his spirit that it would take some time.
Having been so deep in thought, he realized his gaze had shifted up to the sky, so directing it back on the woman, he was shocked to see that she was staring at him. To his surprise she boldly held the stare, seemingly unashamed that she had been caught looking. He liked that, however, and feeling excited that her gaze was so intently upon him, Dancing Wolf looked right back, heart beating more quickly as their eyes fully locked. He could have continued staring at her forever, but then his sister and the other three women who’d been at the river with her, suddenly approached the tree where she sat.
Watching as they joined the woman in sitting beneath the branches, he came to realize they were there to comfort her. Extremely pleased that his sister was attempting to bring her into the group, he watched as his sibling grabbed the black woman’s hand, then gazed deep in her eyes and began to speak. Realizing it was a sacred moment, Dancing Wolf stood to his feet and turned away, not wanting to intrude on the heart-to-heart moment.
He could have listened in, as his bond with his sister was extremely strong, but he respected her, and all the women of his tribe, far too greatly to spy on a moment which was clearly private. Heading back to the camp where the rest of his tribe was located, he felt pleased at the way things were going, and decided right then and there that the woman would indeed come to trust him. He would make her very happy here, so that she’d want to stay and be a part of it all. And as the wind fully embraced him with a heavenly soft caress, he felt certain that the Great Spirit above fully agreed with his plans.