The Wild

02

Wonder will not leave my mind. My mind is consumed by her and her beauty.

I casually stroll through the village until I reach my destination: the horses. No one was tending them at this moment. I walked over to the one I like to call my favorite. "Good evening, Quanah," I coo to her, rubbing her neck. I embrace the brown and white paint mare, daintily wrapping my arms around her neck. She nickers. She snorts as I untie her from the hitching post.

I walked to her side and patted her shoulder. "I am going to get on you, now, Quanah," I say gently. I place my hands on her back and hoist myself up, climbing and twisting until I am sitting upright. I breathe a sigh of relief once I am on her back, and gaze around the village from my new height. I grab a hold of her mane, and I back her up and turn her to face the woods. I make sure no one is looking, and then take off into a gallop, digging my heels into her sides.

I keep my body low and close to Quanah until we get inside of the forest. It is then when I loosen my form uncaringly. I still hold tight, but not as tight as before. I let her run until she tires. Until she has her fill of freedom.

We reach the end of the forest, and I stop her there, for she would have kept on going. I let my muscles relax as she stretches, panting. I look around as she does so.

We are in a grassy area once more. Everything seems peaceful until I spot smoke over the horizon. A fire. . . ?

Before I know it, my body eases Quanah into a trot. Towards whatever is disrupting nature.

Several minutes – most likely half an hour – and I stand at least a mile away from the source of the smoke.

Another tribe. . .

A feeling of dread sits in my stomach as I dismount Quanah, telling her to stay. She begins to graze.

I stalk over to the village tents. Examining the people minding their own business, I fail to realize I am hiding behind one of the larger tents. I'm amazingly close to these people, this other tribe. . .

I then see Wonder, addressed with war paint, standing with a few other horses nearby. I think she's the only one who has noticed me due to the way she perked her ears in my direction and lifted her head.

I thought she was the only one who saw me, but then someone's hand is around my wrist. A man's. His hand is calloused, and he looks angry. His other hand carries a bow. "Who?" he says. Demands, rather.

I suddenly spill information. "I-I am Sisika of the Comanche tribe. I mean no harm."

"You are not a spy?"

"No, no." His grip tightens on my wrist, as if a warning, and then he releases me, cautiously.

"Why are you here, Sisika?" He doesn't put his bow away. He is still suspicious.

"I was wandering, and then I saw smoke. I wanted to make sure it was not danger."

He seems skeptical of the truth, but eventually gives a slight shrug and turns away from me. "You will follow."

"Y-Yes." He begins to walk, and I trail after him.

"I will bring you to Chief Vooheheve. He will decide if you are friend." The man paused, as if for a dramatic effect. "Or foe."

Chief Vooheheve? I have heard of him, but he is a Cheyenne chief. . . Have I really travelled this far?

Sooner or later, we arrive at an average-sized teepee. Inside is a fire, placed in the middle, and behind it is a tall, muscular Cheyenne man with a feathered headdress sitting on his head. One word stuck in my mind.

Chief.

The man and myself stand on the side opposite the chief. The smoke rises, floating out of the tent and I can't help but become memorized. My eyes snap back to the chief, though, when he clears his throat. "Who are you?" He asks me. His voice is deep and rich. It could soothe an angered child.

"I am Sisika. I am with the Comanche tribe," I declare, trying to make my voice as stable as possible. "I do not mean to intrude. I was just exploring, and came across your village." I make my statement right away.

He raises an eyebrow. "Exploring, you say? What for, my child?"

"I like to. It is a. . . Hobby."

"I see. You do not mean harm?" He asks tentatively.

"N-no, Chief Vooheheve." My body is tense, and I am nervous. Very much so.

He thinks for a moment in consideration. "Very well, Sisika. I trust-"

Chief Vooheheve is cut off by another man rushing into the teepee with terror in his eyes. "Chief! White man!" Those words said all.

"What? Where?!" Chief Vooheheve stands up instantly.

"To the East, Chief!"

We all rush out of the tent, and my eyes widen. The teepee we were in was facing into the east, so I saw everything.

My eyes were wide as I witnessed the White Man fighting the Cheyenne. Fire. Fire, everywhere and loud booms filled the air. I looked in the direction of the sound. It was coming from long, metal rods the White Man had. I watched as one was fired, hitting a Cheyenne man. Blood spurts from his wound.

I am scared. Terrified. But even through my horror, a growing worry in my chest intensifies.

The horses.