Stolen Breath

A few days later, I stood watching as Little Turtle crushed some wild gingerroot into paste. This remedy was to soothe the stomach of a young woman named Dawn Star who was expecting her first child. As Little Turtle poured hot water over the crushed ginger to make tea, a cry arose from one of the scouts on a distant hill.

We both looked up as Dancing Feather came galloping riderless into camp, her neck covered in lather. She looked the same as when I’d first laid eyes on her at the salmon falls—wild and untamed.

My heart sank. It looked as if she had run away again, and I was sure Red Cloud would trade her to the first person with so much as a sack of camas bulbs to offer.

I see you have thrown your rider again, I said angrily as Dancing Feather skidded to a halt in front of me. Is she hurt badly?

I didn’t throw her, cried Dancing Feather, gasping for breath. Pale Moon is ill! We went for a ride along the river, and she began to cough. She dismounted to take a drink from the river, but she was too weak to climb onto my back again. She fell asleep by the riverbank, and I could not wake her. Her skin felt very hot. We must go back to her at once!

Someone gave an angry cry behind us. I spun on my haunches as Red Cloud came up to Dancing Feather and seized her dangling rein. “What have you done to my daughter?” he cried, jerking roughly on the bridle.

Dancing Feather rose up on her hind legs in terror. Red Cloud struck her with his fist, and she reared still higher, slashing the air with her hooves.

Listen! I cried to her. They will soon understand that you did not throw Pale Moon. Just calm down before you hurt someone.

Dancing Feather dropped to all four legs and let out a shuddering breath.

Now pull away quickly before he ties you up, I said.

Dancing Feather jerked the rein from Red Cloud’s hand and skittered about ten paces away. She neighed shrilly and wheeled around in a small circle.

Follow me, follow me to Pale Moon! she cried.

But Red Cloud did not understand.

“Let the horse run away,” he said in disgust. “I have no time to chase down a disobedient nag when my daughter is lying injured somewhere.”

But Little Turtle was watching Dancing Feather carefully. “I don’t think she is trying to run away,” he said. “I think she has returned to lead us to Pale Moon.”

He slipped on my bridle and swung up onto my back. Red Cloud whistled for his own horse, who came running.

We set off after Dancing Feather, who began to canter away through the valley. As worried as I was, I felt great pride that Dancing Feather had returned to find help for her rider.

As we rounded a bend in the river, I saw Pale Moon collapsed on the sharp stones at the edge of the bank. She looked as frail as a corn-husk doll. Dancing Feather trotted over and nudged her with her muzzle.

Pale Moon stirred. “Dancing Feather … you came back,” she murmured. Then her eyes closed, and coughs racked her body. It sounded like someone was trying to steal the very breath from her body.

Red Cloud dismounted and lifted her onto his bay stallion. Dance with Arrows was normally fiery and difficult to manage, but today he walked quietly with Pale Moon slumped on his back. Little Turtle and I rode close beside them to keep Pale Moon from falling.

When we got back to camp, Red Cloud carried Pale Moon into the family’s tepee and called on Wise Elm for guidance. The old healer gathered his herbs, feathers, and shaman’s drums and went into Pale Moon’s tent. For many hours, the sounds of chanting and drums came from within.

Dancing Feather was beside herself with worry, tossing her head as she paced the campsite.

You did not abandon your rider in a time of need, I said to her. You are a true Nimi’ipuu horse.

The concern did not ease from Dancing Feather’s eyes. I only hope my help did not come too late, she said.

To my surprise, Red Cloud came over to comfort Dancing Feather during a moment he was not with Pale Moon. Dancing Feather’s eyes widened fearfully at first, but she lowered her head when she realized he was only trying to stroke her neck. I was glad Red Cloud understood that Dancing Feather had not hurt Pale Moon.

But despite Wise Elm’s efforts, Pale Moon’s cough did not improve. She lay coughing and murmuring feverishly in her tepee for nearly a week. Worry hung over the campsite like a dark cloud.

Do you think Pale Moon will die? I asked River Rock. I was standing on the side of her blind eye, and I nudged the old mare gently so she would know where I was.

I do not know, said River Rock. Dancing Feather said that Pale Moon’s skin felt hot. When a horse’s skin gets very hot, something is wrong inside.

I felt a chill that had little to do with the cold autumn breeze. Little Turtle came over to Wise Elm, who was boiling some strong-smelling herbs over the fire nearby.

“Grandfather,” he said. “I think it is time for me to seek my wyakin.”

Wise Elm’s face was as lined and solemn as an ancient tree that had weathered many storms. “It is late in the year, Little Turtle,” he said. “You would risk freezing in the mountains.”

“I must go ask for guidance so I can help Pale Moon.”

“You have already helped her. We have given her medicine from the plants you gathered last summer. Speedwell to help her cough up the fluid in her lungs, and coltsfoot to ease the irritation in her chest. We have said prayers for her. We have done all we can. If it is the will of Hun-ya-wat, she will recover.”

“Maybe it is the will of Hun-ya-wat that I seek guidance from my guardian spirits on her behalf.”

Wise Elm looked at Little Turtle for a long time. “It seems just yesterday that you were a little boy sneaking honey from my medicine stores whenever my back was turned. I see you are now becoming a man. If you feel your wyakin is ready to reveal itself to you, then you must take this journey.”

“Tawts, Grandfather,” said Little Turtle. His eyes shone with a brightness I had never seen before.

That evening, he went into the sweat lodge and stayed there all night. His mother and elder sister brought water to pour over the hot stones. When Little Turtle emerged the next dawn, he wore only a loincloth and his body was smeared with white paint. Wise Elm stood near my shoulder as Little Turtle drew near. He handed Little Turtle a buffalo robe. “May Hun-ya-wat speak to you through his creation.”

Little Turtle started to walk away, and I followed him eagerly.

“Stay, Golden Sun,” he said. He was not holding the training cloth, but his hands and his voice told me to be still. He began to walk away again.

I whinnied with distress. I knew what stay meant, but Little Turtle was going somewhere important and I wanted to go with him. It is a very serious thing for a horse to break his rider’s command, but at that moment I couldn’t help myself. I cantered over to him as he reached the edge of camp.

“Golden Sun, you must stay here,” said Little Turtle. “It will be very cold in the mountains. There may be danger.” His face was calm, but a flicker of uncertainty showed in his eyes.

Then Wise Elm spoke. “Normally a boy goes on his vision quest alone, but I do not think even hobbles would stop this horse from following you.”

“And I would much rather have him with me!” said Little Turtle. He sprang onto my back and turned me north to the mountains. I broke into an eager trot, my hooves clattering on the frozen earth. I did not know where we were going, but I knew this was no ordinary ride.