리틀팍스

I was only a boy when my family moved to the reservations the Yankees made for us. The place was bad, stinking bad. It was too marshy to do farmwork, and it was too steep to hunt. The only stream that ran through our place stunk like a three-day tuna, and I often saw the flesh of dead birds or mice flashing meakly through the rushing tide. We had to walk to get fresh water, and we had to beg to get food. Our house was a mismatch of crumbled wood and dirt. It was damp and wet when it rained, because of the gaps in the roof, which we couldn't afford to block up. It was seriously hot in summer, and it was seriously cold in winter. The harsh environment and the uneasiness in the air caused outbreaks among many tribes in the reservations, and our tribes weren't discluded. Three of my brothers died during those death years, and three years later, my mother passed away, and soon on, two of my brothers died because of some disease caused by eating raw meat. Only I, my brothers, Moosecurve and Tigerfang, and my father, Owlfeather, retained our small family. 

 Things were like that for after some years, until some tribes rose up against the Yankees and then began the long, dreary fight. The fight was savage, and my blood went cold when I thought about the screams of the tribe leaders and the terrified shouts of their men, the Yankees blood-curlding laugh, just like the ones the begger Yankee has, who always come sneaking up to our tents, searching for a chance to steal food. I never liked Yankees, who forced us to leave their land, but I never thought that I could hate them more and more over time. The begger Yankee would always shout throughout the village, "Yar nest! Yar nest!", just like a mad man, not that he isn't, but much more crazier. 

 Once I saw that begger Yankee with a woman, who looked thin as thin can be. Her bare, bleeding foot and bruised face made me think about my mother. The impression was similar, but my mother was much more well-dressed, and that woman was far too skinny. I barely saw her on working days, but I happened to come across her once or twice a month. She always shivered and coward away when she caught me in her glttering, fearful little golden eyes. I never believed in destiny, but my destiny seemed to tell me that those golden eyes would I come across again, in a different place, in a different life.

 The begger Yankee, or the woman never feared me, so my fear for the Yankees and their terrifying stories became lesser. The only thing scarying me now was a couple of rattlesnakes; one nearly caught me in the anckle with it's bloddy tooth, but I managed to kick it away. At that moment, I wasn't so scared, but after learning about rattlesnakes in some books Moosecurve bought me, it gave me the goosebumps just thinking that if I were a minute late, I would probably meeting the grim reaper by now.

 Moosecurve and Tigerfang are two features who would ever likely to fight. Usually Moosecurve gives in, but not on one particular topic. Moosecurve, like his smooth name, believed that we will one day cooperated with the Yankees and live among them, and become part of them. Tigerfang, in the other hand, was sharp and watchful, who would shudder at the idea of being hand-in-hand with the Yankees, never mind living with them. He woud always boast about the days he would get the Yankees on their knees. He would likely go rushing into a battle, but the Yankees never attached us, so there was no war. And at this period of time, when there were heavily armed gaurds around our reservation, there was no chance of starting a war, nevermind actually winning them. Tigerfang, dispite his hate to the Yankees, was pretty kind to me, except when he was thinking about the Yankees that is. In that time, Tigerfang would just look like a Tiger searching for a chance to leap at his prey without any hesitation.

 I never liked the Yankees, but I was more of Moosecurve than Tigerfang. I liked peace; I wanted to go back to our old lives back in the priairie, which is probably covered with blood now. I never enjoyed wars, or blood for that matter, which was one reason why I still hate preparing meals; I have to get my hands bloody when we have nice meals, and I would cough-up blood when I accidentally use some spoilled food in our dinner, and while tasting it before I got a chance to serve it.

 I kept constant touch with my family, which was a very hard thing to do in this days, when food were scarce, and my brothers were usually away, searching desperately to keep up the family. 

 When my brothers managed to get some plentiful food for the week, they usually did things they like; reading or hunting.

 "Moosecurve, how come you like the Yankees so much?" I asked Moosecurve one day when he happened to be found reading a book in the far side of the hut. He didn't look up, so I called again, with some irritation in my voice this time. "Moosecurve?"

 "Oh, hi." he said. He was squinting his eyes at the book, as if that helped him understand the launguage. "I was just trying to finish this book. American's are very impressive, I think, don't you? They write so many books full of interesting things."

 That was just like Moosecurve. He always called the Yankees "Americans" and tried to understand their culture. I always asked him why he liked people who he have never seen before and is a total stranger, but Moosecurve always said that the "Americans" and we shared the same blood, which were total nonsence. From what he always believed, "Americans" and "Native Americans"- which I found out was what the Yankees called us, practically- are both "Americans" so they are the same tribe. I never belived that though.