The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 35

Jaira struggled to keep up with the long-legged Frenchman. He wore fringed buckskin and mocassins, his steps sure as they wove through the dense forest.

"We are in hostile territory," his lowered voice reached her ears as her ankle twisted on yet another tree root.

"Hostile? As in what?" Jaira stooped to rub her throbbing leg before skipping two steps trying to keep up.

"Iroquois."

A wave of relief washed over the young woman. Iroquois! They were allies of the men at the fort that had been raided not a week ago. Jacques would not be so fortunate should they stumble upon a band of Iroquois. He did have a point in being concerned.

Jaira would never know if it was because she had thought of it for too long, but at that moment, the leaves moved a second before bare-chested warriors leaped from the trees. With a mere glance at Jacques, taking in his French-native appearance, he was swiftly scalped, his body discarded without a second thought.

Raising the bloodied scalp in his hand, Eagle emitted a blood-chilling death cry before striding over to Jaira who was certain she'd be his next victim. Instead, he tilted her chin with his free hand, eyes roaming over her features. Without a word, Eagle grabbed her wrist, dragging her back into the forest. Encircled by warriors, Jaira wished she had stayed with her sister.

It was much too late for regrets.

Jacques' remains, left for forest scavengers, were long forgotten as Jaira limped, unable to keep up. Blisters, raw and bleeding, covered her feet, her shoes offering little protection against the raw terrain. Eagle signaled the others to stop before turning towards Jaira. Her heart clenched realizing she had drawn unwanted attention to herself. She'd heard stories of captives who were murdered simply because they couldn't keep up. Hoping they were only stories, she couldn't take the risk.

"I'm fine, really! Keep going!" she motioned with her hand, encouraging them to continue.

A flicker in Eagle's eyes was the only indication he understood English. In one fluid motion, he flung her unceremoniously over his muscular shoulder, continuing forward as though she weighed nothing.

Embarrassed, Jaira stared at the ground below, dangling over her captor's shoulder as she was carted away toward an unknown future.

****

Strong Oak narrowed his eyes, watching the Frenchmen wander through his village. He had never expected Jaira to leave, certain she was only bluffing. It was one thing to have a wife die, something one would never wish upon any husband, but to have a wife leave him...and with a Frenchman! A bitterness wrenched his soul leaving a sour taste in his mouth for the Frenchmen infiltrating their camp. Cutting down the forest, they toiled, erecting a fort no one truly needed.

He had never held animosity towards his chief. It was a dangerous game to play, however, Chief Long Knife was clearly fooled now that he had converted. Unfit to lead his people, he made decisions that would destroy the tribe. The French wouldn't be content to return to Quebec once their fort was complete, he was certain of it. Why would they leave this new fort? It was clear they would bring more of their people, having built it only under the pretense of protecting the Wyandotte. Surely Chief Long Knife wasn't so gullible.

Their way of life couldn't be the same and yet, the situation was much graver than several pale-skinned men working in their midst. With a gentle touch or look in her husband's direction, Dark Star was leading her husband away from their traditions, their fierceness soon to be a distant memory. She didn't understand their ways or the consequences that would come if her husband turned his back on their traditions.

Divided, the tribe would be weakened and in a weakened state and even Chief Long Knife's God would be unable to help them.

****

Jaira recoiled as Eagle pulled the scalp from his belt, sitting beside a small fire the men had coaxed to life. She huddled close, savoring the warmth. Of all the men, she trusted Eagle. After all, had he meant to kill her, he would have already. Why would he have lugged her over his shoulder for miles just to finish her off? No, as long as she stayed beside Eagle, she felt strangely safe.

That was until he pulled the scalp from his waist reminding her that he was no gentleman.

Skillfully he used his knife to scrape the tissue and veins from where the skin connected to the hair until it was as smooth as possible. With sure strokes he cut it into fourths, creating separate pieces. Then, standing, he reached for the branch of a sapling, scraping off any trace of bark.

Creating four small, round frames, he stretched the skins across them, fastening both together until they looked more like the frame for needlework, though much more ghastly. There was no way she was going to let this man touch her after what she had seen. No, tomorrow she would walk even if it killed her.

Hanging the scalps on a pole, Eagle surveyed his work in satisfaction before turning away from the fire. The moon was high in the sky when he gestured toward an area that was smooth on the hard ground.

"Sleep now."

Jaira hesitated, frowning. He was announcing he needed to sleep? Well, okay then…

Eagle repeated himself pointing to the same spot.

"Sleep now."

Like a child, Jaira stood, hobbling to where the warrior had indicated. Hunkering down onto the ground, she used her arm as a pillow, turning her back to the fire and the warrior standing above her. A slight rustle was the only indication that he had joined her, sleeping at her side a small space between them. The night was cool, wolves howling in the distance.