UBC Chap1

...1832
.    It wasn’t that the Crow warriors didn’t need killing, Shadow Dancer just didn’t know if he could bring himself to do it. Camp dogs, the Crow. Gray Squirrel was his friend, and they should not have killed him and the Chattanocks who only hunted food for the people.
    He gripped his spear, and his hand felt wet and hot, even on this cold night. If the spirits guided his spear to the black heart of a Crow warrior, it would be his first kill. The Chattanock way, . . . bloodletting and dying in battle brought honor. But what if a war axe split his chest and he was the one to die? He didn’t want to die here. In three suns his people would leave this dead land of the Dakotas, and he wanted to be with them. Wanted to go back and set his eyes and heart on the burial place of his ancestors. But if he died in this land that grew nothing but death, would his spirit ever find rest?
     He tried to swallow the tightness that had filled his throat and almost choked him. He must be brave and—
    He tensed. Jaw muscles tightened when low voices off to his right slipped through the darkness to where he kneeled. He jerked up straight when he recognized one of them to be Young-Man-Who-Strikes-Fear-On-His-Horse. Shadow Dancer stilled his breaths to better hear.
    “. . . but the young warriors have shown great courage on the hunt. They have faced the mighty bear,” Four Horns said.
    “But the deer and the bear have no arrows and spears. This party has too many who have lived too few summers and have not tasted real battle.”
    “Do you call my son and our young warriors cowards, Young Horse?” Four Horns said.
    “No. Jumping Badger is wise for his youth and has courage, but he too hungers for his first kill in battle. I know not of the courage of the others?”
    “They must all learn as we had to learn, and we are many, while the Crow are few.”
    “Yes, but I am the War Chief,” Young Horse said. “And it is I who must send these young warriors out to face the Crow without experience and training. It is I who must face the wailing of mothers with heavy hearts if any should die this night.”
    “What you say is true, Young Horse. And it is I who should teach my tongue more patience.”
    “No. It is good we can talk open as brothers about such things. I value Four Horns’ counsel. He is my friend and has proven his wisdom and courage to me many times. It is as you say, we are many while the Crow are few. We will go and kill these Crow dogs and give peace to the spirits of Gray Squirrel and the others.”
    Shadow Dancer stared into the darkness, listened to the soft footsteps that grew nearer, and then he could see Young Horse and Four Horns. His eyes met those of Young Horse. A sneer came on the face of the War Chief. Shadow Dancer understood the war chief had no respect for him.
    Every Chattanock knew that Young Horse wished to be chief of all the people, but Shadow Dancer stood in his way. The ways of the Chattanock said that the eldest son or daughter of the chief would become the new leader when the father went to be with his ancestors — if that offspring was ready. And Shadow Dancer was the only child of Sleeping Bear, a wise and great leader. If anything happened to his father, it might well be Shadow Dancer who would lead his people, not Young Horse. Young Horse did not like this way of the Chattanock, and he wished to change it, make himself chief.
    He was glad his father stayed in camp. It was wise of him not to make Young Horse’s path to chief more easy. This raid should be led by the war chief anyway.
    The night became thick with blackness, and the wait grew heavy. Hole in the Sky returned to the ravine without making a sound. He had been keeping watch on the Crow.
    “The Crow warriors lay asleep around their fire,” Hole in the Sky told Young Horse. "They sleep with only one guard, the son of their chief.”
    “The Crow fear death during the darkness,” Young Horse said. “They fear if they are killed when the sun has gone to rest in the night sky, their spirits will roam forever searching for the Silver Valley where their departed ancestors go.”
    “But the Chattanock have no such fears,” Four Horns said.
    “No, we know no such ways of fools.” Young Horse raised his spear high. “We go now.” He brought the spear down, and every warrior checked to make certain the wrappings on the hooves of his horse remained tight and thick to kill all noise.
     Even being close, Shadow Dancer could hardly hear the horses moving out of the ravine. But he could hear his heart beating louder than the Chattanock drums during celebrations, and he could feel it pounding faster than the buffalo could run.
    The party moved along a level plain with scrub bushes and rocks, then up a rise that overlooked the Crow camp. Maybe seventy long steps away, like those a runner would make. Sixty . . .fifty . . . forty . . . His heart was still chasing the buffalo, stampeding across the prairie, and air would not come to tension crushed lungs. His mouth opened and searched, but could not find breath and draw it in. Could his charging heart be heard? His heavy breathing?
    They were close now. Everyone removed the wrappings from the hooves of their horses, and mounted. This was it!