A Warriors Tale

A Warriors Tale

A Chapter by Rory CJ Frankson
"

there was a storm coming... the likes of which, The People had never seen before. Nor were many aware it was to fall on them. Such a loss...

"

A Warriors Tale... chapters for: Engage 'the focus'


Something, some day. Will get under my shield, and kill me. To be a little wore out, but applies... Grandfather, when is it a good day to die. Well pick any day, and any 'one' of them, would do. Whether its determined or by happenstance, possibly. The outcome is the same. What do we have to fear death, when it is our ultimate release. Over time the warrior had grown a list, maybe the first, was why worry unless its called for, and comes to you for a useful purpose. Yes, that had been a good fast upon the mountain. Communing with the Ancestors, beyond the known Morning Star.


He'd travelled away from their series of Valleys. Off the Great mountains table, and further out then he had ever gone before. Searching for better ways to be of use to his People. To at some point ask, “what is an honourable way, to die?” dreaming tow headedly what kind of impression would that leave, in the tribe. Would they gather at the Fire and sing of his victories. That he had died for the Greater Good, of the People. It took a good longer while, before that list got its added onto. The totems of life always there, and at times. Get in the way, and alternate things. Re-arrange, themselves.


Small things that the tribe out of learning a certain way, would struggle with added things. He had a dream one night in his Tipi, out of sweaty discomfort. Grandfather showed him the silhouette at sundown of his Hoop and placement in the camp, and backed by the Great Mountain chain. With their so few passes to what was on the Spirit-side of that mountain. To see at the top the poles were set a different way. He went out the next day and created the adjustments to his Tipi. A few stopped to watch., and before the nightly fire began. The whole tribe, was talking about it.


Out of trying different things, he found that there was needed a vent on the bottom...yet thought, 'what about the Creepy Crawlers'?


The next day, it was off to visit the Medicine Trail Grandmother, and have a sit and tea with his Auntie. Auntie's was a whole hoop, even though she never settle with just one mate, and was never known to have given birth, to a child of The People. None in the Tribe expected that of her, or expect anything from her, for that matter. For it seemed she knew of all the Star Trails Home. That knowing passed down through the longer seasons, beyond memory. It didn't take long in the telling, for her to be rooting around in her cave for this and that plant and herb. Not really saying much, but her eyes dancing Fire and listening to every word he said... with the occasional nodding, and pop off for more things to bring to the growing pile. He thought, 'things for a cooking Fire? He had no mate, no woman to cook for him'? Auntie seen his puzzle looks and gave a startling cackled laugh, from the belly. Shake her head mysteriously, and was off again. Finally on return, she explain all that he need do.


When the young maidens of the Tribe seen he was building his own cooking fire, they and many of them, swoon into a retreated cloudy remorse. All manner of things were being spoken into the winds. Not many were seeing a warrior, many were now maybe thinking he was an oddity and a mystery. As much of his time spent, held no meaning for them. Many of his Uncles, trying to visit and invite him home for meals and build some of the Stag, into his body. Maybe find the melody of harmony. With one of their daughters. All that wind had only pass him by, as that season was the result of one dream, and took all that summering out. To chase that trail.


At the gathering for the camp sweep, he joined the Maidens. He wanted to see how and where they collected the ground cover for the Tipi's and what the ceremonies were, that accompanied them. How they as one, went from Tipi to Tipi. How all the tribal families had their possessions moved out, as if they were ready to break camp, and travel off to their winter hunting grounds.

Trail of Trials.


When he was done, he had really enjoy his day with the freshness of giggles and fluttering of lash... that could soon tie you to, Babies! One Maid, in particular. Was new to the tribe and brought from another scout camp and brought with her. Hereditary hunting grounds for The People, and Eelia enchk'ah Running Fawn. Ignored him, completely. Oskahal knew, he'd seen his coming Mate, and as a young boy he'd dreamt of her. Played with the children of a different People, that almost lived the same way they did. It was known, that they were Elder related and at times at War with the People. Always in the dream, it was hard boy young warrior competitions, and her. On the sideline, watching only him. Ever since her arrival. His dream girl, deem to ignore him? He couldn't fathom it entirely...

All the needful things gathered from Auntie, was out, and he was looking at it all, and wondering where to start? A shade cross in front of him and he look up...

it was, Running Fawn.


Smiling, behind her hand. To ask with mirth and interest, sparking behind her eyes. “What are you doing, Oskahal Night Wanderer”, a new name getting around the camp, and not sure he liked it, or what it maybe might mean to The Elders. It bugged him but in his blush, he had to answer her. Her eyes widen all the more, as his whole plan just spill right out. He had to stop when he seen the questioning eyes and a delicate couple of fingers, worrying a precious lip. What came out, made his mind run away.


“Are you Twined, Oskahal?”, a she/he spirit of the between?

In all that implied, he almost fell over. His conched position grown entirely uncomfortable.

“Huh, um ah wha?” fell out onto the dirt of dismay. Like mud, after a long rain sucking down his soul/spirit dream...scatter it, through out the stars in between. Totally, lost the thread. “huh?”,

Ba-blank.... nothing, moved through that taint.


She laugh, this time openly at the look on his face.“It is what some of the Crow Woman, are saying!”, said with an almost disdainful lilt of an unclean topic. To go on to in his relief, a more positive note. Her voice change, like his flute's winded gift to his heart, “I'll help you set up the cooking fire, and we'll see what it was. You were creating here, our Night Wanderer." Surprisingly enough, she thought and smile glowingly through surrender,  “I think I understood, some of what you explain to me of your changes here.”


Again came a twinge of almost a portent of some coming storm, cloud his thinking. He had to move and the Fire Starter he knew, was in him. Part of his giving to the Tribe as second son of the Sun. Was to start the First Fire, and with the Fire Carriers. They kept the camp always on the making of another day in the life of the People. The social centre of their camp, and Spiritual centre of their beginning, and Creation Stories. The One Hoop Clan. Their Teachings, passed down to The People.


Meanwhile, the One Hoop. Was looking just a little askew.

Most all the families had re-done thier Tipi storage and the cooking fires were making the coming meal, children and Maids all out picking berries. Mothers talking behind smiling hands that the matching was being now made. Eelia was with Oskahal, at their first fire. Certainly they would learn all about it in the Moon Lodge... later. Happy in their hearts she'd found that dream, and worked her way to here, to have it. Having walk across the mountain a mystery she had never reveal. To be found almost frozen solid, when to come around to not remember much of her world. Only knowing that within her People, she held a tract of hunting lodges. She was well thought of, and she vow one day to remember and get back to her lands, and People.

5 seasons pass.

Came, the coven of Crows Feet...


The actual Cooking instruction Auntie gave him, took awhile. The camp meals were done and dusk on the way, someone else would tend the Centre Fire, when Oskahal didn't show up. The resulting stink, was almost unbearable, and they must have made a mistake, they were thinking. Maybe actually go and get Auntie and drag her kicking and screaming into camp. No, Auntie lived in her cave through all seasons. For more than half of that, in total solitude. As the tribe left for their hunting grounds and stored summer foraged harvest. Praying it be enough, to get their families through the coming winter.


It was summering season and creepy crawlers was what Oskahal had on the brain. They worked well together, and it almost seem to be like they knew what they were doing. Well, except for the stink the nearest neighbours the over flow of Otters Camp, began to complain about. About the same time it was to add the final ingredient... they both shook thier heads and tossed 'the Devils Club' in. That was roughly translated and the people had no word or concept of the devil... only the void and the horror that lay beyond that spirit realm. So, they were expecting maybe a Auntie joke on the Tribe... namely her brother the Chief, and the concoction just explode. Into all manner of imagined mayhem, from...

The Witch.


As the large boiling belly bag begin to roll and they added a couple more hot stones... when again opened, the aroma that waft through the camp was amazingly fragrant. It seem that night was one of the most remembered for the happy time. That became of it. Dancing, drumming, singing... children running to put on their best regalia. Wind flutes floating through the air. As the couple sat beside their first fire, exhausted.


The mystery concoction, had to cool overnight before the next phase entered into the project. His mind was out there somewhere, wondering why he never knew women worked so hard. Or even a harder thought of why he had never thought about it? A warm worn hand, came to be placed on his knee. He hadn't even recall she sat beside him, to turn and look into deep pools of reflected fire.


“I will go to the Elders, in the coming day,” her high elegant cheek bones, set in all seriousness to look almost carved out of living stone with the coming commitment, “to tell them I have my match!”


Put his large hand, over hers.“More, than Stars. can say!”, was all he could manage. As the mist came to cloud his vision, a tear broke through from the well of tears, to run down... slip off.


A Warriors face...















scene 2


(to be con't)


It was a small wave... in a big pond.




© 2014 Rory CJ Frankson



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Added on August 15, 2014
Last Updated on August 16, 2014
Tags: Native, historical sort of, the hoop, lost lifestyle, drama


Author

Rory CJ Frankson
Rory CJ Frankson

Vernon, British Colombia, Canada



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It's all about the music really. I'm a Writer / Musician. Write On / Right On! Peace... Romon in Review Out Post & Creative Standard Productions. Romonx Associated Artists Rory CJ Frankson .. more..

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