리틀팍스

"So," my father said abruptly on one occasional dinner. We had cheese and some meat that day, which were in bad shape, like it just came out of the dump bin, which I think is where it came from anyway. "Did you chose your hunter's name?"

 I sliced into my cheese, trying to remember how Moosecurve had taught me to. "Well, not yet. But I'm getting some ideas." A hunter's name was a name that we get when we turned thirteen. I could choose a name I want, but if I don't choose that until the sunrise of my thirteenth birthday, the elder in the tribe would choose it for me; just like Laughingtiger named my father Owlfeather.

 My father munched on the hard, cold meat. "You're running out of time. You've only got five months before you graduate your child life. Then you'll go on as a brave fighter, a fighter of generations."

 'A peacemaker,' I corrected my father, only inside my head. 'A peacemaker I shall be. Not bloodly warriors.' But my father did get the point. My thirteenth birthday was coming up, and I would have to announce my hunter's name infront of the whole village, that is, what's left of it. My father had overslept -  he never admitted that, but from the way his face always turned red when I mentioned this part, he must have overslept - and was late, so Laughingtiger just named him Owlfeather. But I don't know why. 

 After I declare my hunter's name, my father would take me to the Bufflo Field - which is just a small plain, used in the place of the Great Plain we had back in my home land - and I would have my firstkill done - creepy, just so creepy. But I had to do it anyway, even if I don't like it, since my father was, and also is a true NATIVE American, and he took tribe traditions seriously. I had no choice but to follow - if I am in this reservation on my birthday that is...

 My father seemed to notice my silence. "Son, did the sky shake today?" he said, which was a tribe talk, a talk I hated, as I hated most of the tribe traditions. The sentense itself meant whether I had a bad day, which I learned from Moosecurve, but when my father said it, and emphasised "son", it meant whether I was paying attention. It's kind of a lecture, but a lecture that tests whether I was paying attention, because if I wasn't listening, I would probably say that my day was pretty good, because I would miss out the "son" part.

 "Oh, I'm listenting very well, paps," I said, in a childish way. I always called father "paps" when I was slightly annoyed by his words, which my father never took notice of.

 "Good to hear that. So now, I remember telling you about the affairs between the Yankees. Well, I've got good news. The tribes in the South are fighting pretty good. They've killed, or more like distroyed almost three armies of the Yankees. And the Yankees haven't been able to kill more than a chicken." - before continuing, he looked at Moosecurve, and nodded his head - "You said that if the Natives in the South become fierce and get on the Yankees' nerves, the security in the reservations would get strong for a few months, but it would fall fastly when the right time comes. I'm very proud of you for thinking so deeply. You were right. The security has been going off-gaurd, and fewer Yankees roam around this godforsaken place as the days pass."

 "Then our time is coming," Tigerfang spoke up in his rough voice. He sounded slightly annoyed that Moosecurve got aproved, but he didn't really show it, and my father never noticed the glint of hatred in Tigerfang's eyes when he shot a look at Moosecurve.

 Moosecurve didn't say anything. He seemed to be considering something in his mind. It proved that I was right; Moosecurve suddenly stood up, and emptied his dishes in the small basket we had, and put the dish on the shelf, actually a curved branch that had squeezed out between the tight walls of wood. He gave a slight nod to his father and walked outside. Moosecurve always did that when he was worked up about something, and this time, I wondered whether it was related with what Tigerfang had said. There was only one way to find out. I shoved food into my mouth, accidentally munching on a bone, which hurt so much that it made my eyes water, and hurried out, following Moosecurve. I grunted, feeling like I had eaten a pack of rocks instead of meat. The meat tasted like rocks, and it surely felt like rocks inside my stomach, rolling and bouncing as I sprinted after Moosecurve.

 'He's headed for the Shed,' I noted when Moosecurve turned right on the fork and went straight up to a house that was very old, with it's hams all falling apart. The little garden it had had some tiny sparks of life sprouting out from the bed of dirt, but the life in them were very unsteady, and it might go out any moment. I dashed passed the garden, almost reaching Moosecurve when the door opened. I turned back, and hid behind a small tree, just in case I wasn't wanted here. The door stood open for only a second - out came a lively pack of children, and they all lundged at Moosecurve. I was about to lunge forward when Moosecurve hugged the three squirming wild beasts and laughed; an action I haven't seen for a long time after we moved to the reservations. Then came a woman I've never seen before. She was about Moosecurve's age, but with the small wrinkles on her forhead and dark circles under her eyes, she looked much more older. She wore a disheveled dress, which might have been pretty when it would first made, but grown old over the years like the woman. I knew from the way her hairs curled that she had once been very stylish and pretty, but the war against the Yankees must have tired her, especially to take care of three romping children in this time of a year. I looked more carefully and decided she must have the blood of the Yankees, from her tired but sparkling blue eyes; probably one of her parents was a general or a nurse among the Yankees, and she probably had been seperated from them, probably kidnapped or left behind when the Yankees lost the war. 

 I watched patiently as she approached Moosecurve. He looked calm, and his hands reached for the knife tied to his waist. I held my breathe, knowing that Moosecurve would cut that woman into pieces if she took one more step. Even though he liked the Yankees, he never actually met, or allowed one to live nearby. He lunged at the woman, and I gasped, shutting my eyes instantly, waiting for the blood to cover the earth beneath them. But that didn't happen. I opened my eyes a teeny, tiny bit and looked. The sight was horrible; but there was no blood. Actually, there was no hostility between the two people. They were hugging each other, and their head had crashed into one another. I didn't bothered to see the rest. It was clear that I wasn't wanted there, and I had no intention to be caught by the two people. They might do anything to me, for they were blinded with love.